“Oh my God, Red, slow down!” screamed the blonde as I screamed around corners, pushing the Camaro to her utter limits. The car felt like an extension of my own body, a return to who I was in my soul. Turning the steering wheel felt like guiding my bulky frame just so until one of my firefighters was in position to put out a pesky set of flames. I could feel the road against her tires, rubber gripping the asphalt in such a familiar way. Her engine didn’t rumble like the deep, reverberating diesel bass that I was used to, but she purred in her own way, revving hot and heavy as eight cylinders fired in a symphony of mechanical precision. 

I floored the accelerator as I skidded around a turn, fishtailing slightly on a patch of gravel before snapping back into my lane. The Camaro leapt forward, slamming us back into our seats as all 430 horsepower engaged and we flew down the road, quick as a soaring bald eagle. Looking over to the passenger seat, I saw the blonde was clutching the door handle and the dash, cowering down into the seat with her eyes averted. “Slow down?” I asked, laughing. “Isn’t this great?”

“No!” she shrieked, looking at me. “I know you’re a great driver, but for the love of Jobs, save it for your deliveries! Drive like a normal person before you give me a heart attack and you have to explain to Larry why Samantha didn’t show up today!”

Samantha, I thought, relieved that she’d given me that little tidbit. I had almost asked her earlier, but even a just-turned-into-a-girl truck like myself knew I was already on thin ice with the blonde. I didn’t want to entirely ruin my new life before I even found out what this life actually was. Begrudgingly, I let friction slow the car for a minute, coasting along the road. “Better?” I asked.

“A little,” Samantha said, voice tight. “I always wondered how you got the pizzas out so fast. Now I wish I didn’t know.”

I rubbed the steering wheel affectionately with my hand, almost caressing the old leather. “Samantha, when you have a car like this, sometimes you just have to let her really purr. She was born to be wild and free, and who am I to say no?” The Great Scrapheap would surely look down on anyone that drove this monument to American ingenuity timidly.

Samantha sighed, then nodded. “You and your cars are just something I’ll never understand… just like you can’t understand me and Apple.” She reached down into her bag and pulled out a phone that looked quite similar to mine, but with a different configuration of those little circles on the back. Running a hand along the edge of the phone, she stopped at the charging port, nestling the tip of her dainty finger against the small indentation. She held it there for a moment and then sighed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said quietly. “Some things just don’t work like they used to.”

I thought about all the modern cars with their crumple zones and plastic parts. Even half of the American models were made in Mexico these days, with substandard steel and foreign microchips controlling everything. Boneyard, half the fire engines in my station were made out of the states. Nobody wanted to pay for American Quality these days, and nobody in America wanted to produce it. “Damn shame,” I agreed, steering around a Japanese import. It looked pretty enough, but would that car still be running in forty years like my Camaro? 

Of course not.

Like everything else this morning, my hands seemed to know exactly how and where to go to get to work. After a few minutes, we pulled into the parking lot of a small building, the words “Pizza Planet” emblazoned in red above the front door. I took the first available parking spot, and Samantha looked at me like I was crazy for the tenth time today. “Handicap spot, Red?” she asked, blue eyes searching my face. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re, like, always so amazing at everything… but today just feels weird.”

“I had a long night last night,” I offered, which was quite true. Besides, I couldn’t very well tell Samantha that I’d only been a woman since this morning. She would probably not believe that yesterday I had not only not been a girl, but had been Red-1, the greatest fire engine to ever grace the roads of Randle, Ohio. If only she could have met the real me, Samantha might have been truly impressed - instead, she was stuck meeting this large-breasted, useless bag of flesh. 

Samantha grinned, giving me a knowing wink. “I bet you did,” she laughed, grabbing her bag as she opened her door. “Maybe you can tell me all about it later.” She slipped out of the car and gave me a small wave as she ran inside, leaving me thoroughly confused once more. I’d definitely said something that she found funny, but why? What was so amusing about a long night?

My musings were cut short when I accidentally pressed down on the accelerator, revving the Camaro's V8. The leather seat hummed beneath me, and I could almost feel my perfect teeth chattering. I closed my eyes, luxuriating in the power of American Muscle, one of the best things ever created in this world or any other. I could feel my heart beating fast, almost in tune with the pistons firing mere feet from me. My lips parted involuntarily, and for some reason I pressed my thighs together. 

The ZL1 was not the only thing getting hot and heavy anymore.

“I know how you feel, girl,” I said, caressing the shifter with my right hand. “I wish I could still feel my engine pounding. Don’t worry, though - I’ll give you plenty of chances to soar. I lost everything, but you can still be free.” The Camaro gave a particularly loud roar and I smiled. We understood each other.

The door that Samantha had entered slammed back open and an older, chubby man in a white hat came scrambling outside, dark eyes looking around before spying my car. He was holding a large bag, and he walked over to the passenger side of the car, setting the bag down on top of my car. He yanked the door open, then leaned down and glared at me. I caught a quick flash of his nametag - Larry. This had to be my new boss.

“What’s this, eh, Red?” he said angrily. “You too good to come get your own deliveries now? I gotta cook ‘em and bring them out to you? That’s some bullshit, Red, some real bullshit.” He disappeared back out of sight, then returned with the bag, setting it on the passenger seat. It radiated heat and smelled wonderful.

“Sorry, sir,” I said, quickly snapping into my official on-the-job demeanor. Nobody would have ever accused Red-1, fantastic fire truck, of not doing his job as well as it could possibly be done. If this was going to be my new life, then I was darn sure not going to start off by being bad at my new job.

He looked at me quizzically. “Since when do you sir me, Red? What’s with you today? Just get the damn pizza out.” He reached out and handed me a piece of paper.

“What’s this?” I said, looking at it. 

Larry’s eyes narrowed. “I ain’t in the mood for this shit today, Red. It’s the fuckin’ address. Take the bag, get the money. It ain’t rocket surgery.” Without another word, he slammed the door and ran back into the store. 

I looked down at the paper, just now noticing an address and a series of numbers, then glanced up at the dash. “What do you think, girl, can we do this?”

The car seemed to rumble an affirmative.

“Okay, then,” I said, patting the steering wheel. “Guess it’s time to deliver some pizza.”

<< Author's note: This will make four chapters this week, and beginning now I will publish two chapters a week - one on Monday afternoon and one on Thursday afternoon. When I have time, I may also publish a bonus Saturday chapter. If you have any thoughts on these days, let me know >>