Woody waited until Worm had driven out to the mile mark in the Dodge and waved his flag to show he was ready. Then he took off again. This time he decided that he'd wind Cindy Lou up real tight in low as fast as he could, and jam her into high with his foot all the way down on the accelerator. The hot rod fled down the salt flat with a defiant snarling roar. For the split second when she was in neutral between gear shifts, it seemed to Woody she would shake herself to pieces. Then he flipped her into high and again experienced that clean lancing forward as the gear took hold.
With the accelerator all the way down it seemed as if Worm and the ground he stood upon were being flung toward him. Then, from the engine by his side, came a strange and ominous sound. It started as nothing more than a heavy knocking but in seconds was as if forty blacksmiths were beating on a boiler with sledge hammers. Cindy Lou slowed down so fast that it seemed as if her brakes had seized. Woody slipped her into neutral and turned off the ignition. The clanging and hammering stopped immediately.
Worm came loping up. "What happened, laddie?" he asked.
"I don't know," Woody said. "She just blew up."
"Turn her over," said Worm. Woody pressed the starter, and the grinding and banging started immediately. Worm got down and looked under Cindy Lou.
"Connecting rod," he said. "A piece of it has come clear through the pan. Yere oil's leaking oot. Worse than that. It must have broken through the cylinder wall. There's water wi' the oil."
He looked at Woody and decided not to say anything more. There was nothing more that could be said. Cindy Lou was a wreck. She'd need a completely new engine if she was ever to run again.
They towed her home in silence.