Speed Demons by Jeff Beesler
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A murmur of activity drew Chase awake. Numbness throughout his body made movement near impossible. Every breath he took drained him of energy. But at least he was still able to draw air in.
Although that might not be a good thing for Peddle if I ever get my hands on him, he thought.
While his eyesight gradually returned, he counted the number of ways to dispose of Peddle, none of which were legal. For the moment, he banished such ideas from his mind. They’d only serve to make him transform that much faster.
He found himself in the same bedroom he’d woken up in earlier that morning. Voices coming from the open doorway indicated the others were awake and dealing with Peddle. Chase rolled his head toward his injury, discovering the shoulder gauzed. Fortunately for Chase, someone had the decency to doctor his wound.
A squabble broke out in the other room, forcing him to focus. He swung back around to the other side of the bed so he could face the door and absorb more of what they were saying.
“I didn’t mean to do it!” Peddle’s whine seemed to have sharpened since his conversation with Chase last night.
“And yet you shot my brother anyhow.”
Was that rage in Dylan’s voice? Selfish, immature Dylan, who couldn’t deny the lure of the party lifestyle that had spoiled both Weaversons rotten as teens, now took to Chase’s defense? With a grunt of approval, Chase shook his head, giving himself a temporary headache.
“I thought he was a demon sneaking up on me, so I fired first. It could happen to anyone. Look, he shot you, too,” said Peddle shamelessly, apparently willing to throw Chase under the bus. “This demon business is making us all trigger-happy.”
“What were you doing out there to begin with?” Brittany asked with an even snider tone than before.
“None of you people understand what it takes to run a business. I do. I have to look out for my franchise no matter what.”
Ah, the arrogance of Mr. Gus Peddle. Chase couldn’t wait to wring that man’s scrawny neck.
Brittany groaned. “Honey, there’s no one left to sell your stuff to. Everyone’s fled town, died, or become a demon. Your business has gone under, sweetie.”
“I still have customers,” Peddle blurted out, and then gasped as if he caught his mistake too late.
“Really?” Dylan asked, sounding like he didn’t believe any of Peddle’s claims either. “Who’d possibly buy anything from you? The whole store has pretty much been thrashed.”
“It doesn’t matter. I had to go back. I assumed you were too busy to notice me. I just hadn’t expected your lady friend here to drive to my gas station in her Jag, and then sucker-punch me after I’d shot Chase. By the way, if you plan on being with her, watch out for her left hook.”
Chase traced his fingers over the gauze once more. Maybe he’d been wrong about Dylan and Brittany earlier. If the opportunity ever arose, Chase would apologize to them.
“Peddle, you’re a piece of…”
“Dylan,” Brittany cut him off. “Insulting him isn’t helping.”
“Maybe not, but it makes me feel better,” said Dylan.
“Mr. Peddle, sir,” Simon said. “Is it true your gas turns people into demons and that you’ve got pills that could’ve cured my mom?”
Whatever answers Peddle sputtered out, Chase didn’t catch any of them. He didn’t need to, given that he already suspected the truth. He remembered the crash he’d heard from inside the store. Had that been Peddle, and if so, had he been alone? Someone other than Chase and Peddle had to be present at the gas station. Who could make Peddle keep quiet, and why did Chase suspect it had something to do with those pills?
“So you couldn’t have at least talked to us about it before you ran off?” Dylan said, striking another blow for the group.
“Your brother wouldn’t have listened to me. Right now I feel like it’s every man for himself!”
“I wonder what your employees might say about all this,” said Dylan.
“They’d both understand. A lot of what needs to be done is already automated, and vendors help with the rest,” Peddle said, a subtle boast included in his tone.
“This man is a fool,” Brittany said, her voice containing the same lethal intensity as the glare she’d given Chase earlier.
For once, Chase agreed with her. If not for the pain, he’d have gotten up and gone to strangle Peddle right then.
As it was, he had to settle for working on sitting up as the others argued more among themselves.
“Why don’t I just go ask Chase what he thinks about…huh?” Dylan’s voice grew louder while he approached from the living room. “What the hell are you doing, Chase?”
Chase had just slid his second leg off the bed when Dylan rushed to him, gripped both legs, and lifted them back onto the bed.
“Stop!” Chase protested, still at low strength.
“That nasty shot almost did you in,” said Dylan. He bit his lip, his eyes filled with dread. “You’ve got to take it easy, bro.”
Chase struggled to slip off the bed a second time. “Not so long as those demons are out there. Besides, who’s keeping an eye on Peddle?”
“Brittany and Simon both have it covered,” Dylan said, directing his thumb over his shoulder.
“Not good enough.” Chase grunted.
Dylan snatched Chase’s arm. “Don’t be stupid. You’re not going anywhere until you’ve had time to heal.”
“There’s no time!” The words erupted from Chase without relent. “Those demons will kill us for sure. But if by some miracle we survive, I’ll see to it Peddle rots behind bars for shooting me.”
Dylan sat down at the end of Chase’s bed, watching where Chase’s feet were.
“Just let it go, Chase. Peddle already feels bad enough about it,” he said with a long sigh.
“No.” Chase glanced up at the ceiling. “The maggot very nearly killed me. Do you believe I’m wrong in wanting to hurt the man?”
“What’s wrong with you, Chase?” The creases around Dylan’s brow tightened. “I’ve never heard you talk like that about someone before. You’re not changing into a demon right now, are you? Because I can always go find Peddle’s pills before that happens.”
Chase mumbled but did not say anything, the restrain brought on by the demons singing their same song in his mind.
Peddle is no longer of our concern. Once you find your gun, you can end his worthless life. We’re done with him.
The fact that the demons themselves now supported killing the gas station owner drew a wicked smile to Chase’s face. He happened to glance up and caught the way Dylan’s face blanched at the sight of this evil leer.
“What?” Chase snapped.
“I’m really worried about you. Maybe I ought to get a pill or two from Peddle.”
Chase snarled his contempt at Dylan. How dare his brother interfere in this matter? Peddle deserved nothing less than to have his innards smeared all over the road right outside Simon’s front door. Even the demons now supported gutting the worthless gas station owner. If Dylan didn’t proceed with caution, Chase might have to kill him, too.
“Say something to me, bro,” Dylan insisted, the quiver in his pitch uncontained.
His persistence infuriated Chase.
“Don’t act like you give a damn about me, Dylan. Why don’t you just go back to your bedroom romp-fest with Brittany and leave me alone?”
“Screw that, Chase,” Dylan spoke with equal resolve. “Don’t deal with this on your own. Let me in. It’s plain as day that you’re still hurting from when you ran down that woman while driving drunk.”
“What?” Brittany’s voice carried over from the bedroom door. “You’re a drunk driver on top of everything else?”
Chase and Dylan faced the doorway. Brittany stood there in all her slutty glory, her dress looking even tighter than before, if such a thing was possible. She bore her teeth in a hungry grin, a different kind of lust cast in her eyes. In her hand was Chase’s .
“Brittany, what is the meaning of this?” asked Dylan, his voice uneven.
“Sorry, Dylan. Your brother belongs to us now. Anyone who would drunkenly plow into a pedestrian and drive off to let her die is someone we want working for us. Time to go, Chase Weaverson.”
A mesh of confusion and fear marked Dylan’s face. Chase watched as his brother held up his hands, appearing unable to process the image of Brittany standing there with a firearm pointing at him.
Chase, meanwhile, was ready for this. Hell, he only had the past seven years to prepare himself.