Speed Demons by Jeff Beesler
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Sleep denying him its blessing at every turn, Chase gripped the remote, nearly choking the electronic life out of it with his grasp. Hopefully, there was something worth watching on the boob tube. He switched back and forth between a movie with unrealistic gun fights and car chases, and a featurette involving scantily-clad women shaking their assets to the tune of low-budget, cheesy porn groove. The latter might have interested him if the blasted subtitles didn’t keep getting in the way of the cleavage.
Blast it, he thought. Why do I always have to let Dylan goad me on like that?
Maybe Chase was being a bit rash. After all, Dylan wasn’t the one who screwed up all those many years ago. He may have had no gumption whatsoever toward personal responsibility, but at least the younger Weaverson’s offenses had done nowhere near as much harm as Chase’s had.
Scarcely a religious man, meanwhile, Chase couldn’t help but believe that only divine intervention could have ever woke him up from acting like a complete imbecile. Closing his eyes for a second attempt at sleep, snapshot images immediately flashed in his mind, mental echoes of the night his life changed forever.
He remembered the lightning, something which never really scared him growing up and which he didn’t think much of at the time. The squall had come from out of nowhere, sure, but Chase was already two beers into his buzz by the time the weather turned sour. He didn’t mind waiting it out, considering he was already at the Boot Spur Waterin’ Hole, along with Dylan and a bunch of their friends. They called themselves the Rowdy Crowd, men in their early 20s whose only skills altogether consisted of chugging a beer down in less than 60 seconds. Too bad Dylan wagered against Chase and lost five whole bucks in the process.
The thought amused him for a second, although deep in his heart he knew it shouldn’t have.
He strained for a distraction from his memories, to escape the details of what came next after that binge drinking. In the process, his finger pressed down on a button, replacing the porn flick with a breaking news report filled with images of that earlier crash on Highway 613, the same metal shards, the same bodily fluids oozing down the asphalt, away from the shrapnel.
Or were they from the same wreck? Upon a closer look, Chase discovered two school buses, a jeep, and three utility trucks were involved, but no RV. He scratched his head. Had there been another accident? It wouldn’t have come as any surprise. People just weren’t firing on all cylinders lately.
He flipped to the next station, which showed a different collision. This time, a motorcycle had rammed into the back of a police car. In the background of the camera shot, Chase saw an ambulance pulling away from the scene, lights flashing.
Why all the accidents? Was it always like this along this particular highway, or was it all just a lousy coincidence surrounding the Weaversons’s move?
Chase’s fingers sank into his pocket and brushed against his phone. Forgetting for a moment that Dylan’s phone was long gone, Chase flipped his open. The lack of an answer forced him to remember a second later. He shut off his phone, and then the TV. With a lot of luck, he might awake tomorrow morning no worse for wear.
The sounds of screechy tires and shattering glass erupted from somewhere on the other side of his motel room wall. He spun around, a rush of adrenaline gearing him toward action. Yet he was perfectly safe in his room. The danger lay beyond his locked door. That didn’t mean it’d stay on the other side, however.
Then again, maybe it was nothing. His nerves were most likely shot from the day’s accumulation of stress. Between raging drivers, Dylan’s constant need for a good time, and moving from the big city back to Grains Plains, he’d been zapped of strength.
What he wouldn’t give for a good forty winks right about now.
Another crash, this one followed by a scream, and then a shot of gunfire. Something had really mucked up the world, and he wasn’t about to go out there. He was safe right where he was in his motel room.
For now, he thought begrudgingly. After all, Dylan was still out there. If something happened to him, Chase would never forgive himself. He didn’t need that weighing on his conscience, either.
Slowly he inched toward the window. Holding a finger against the blind, he took in the chaos unfolding outside. A station wagon flipped over on its side and struck a road sign, bending the post backward. Emergency lights flared under the glare of a street lamp as a police car rolled up in response to this. The officer flew out of her vehicle, raced to the wagon, and aimed her gun at the driver’s door. Some drunken bastard was probably behind the wheel. Chase pursed his lips at this.
He halfway withdrew from the window when his corner vision snagged an unusual sight. Spinning back around, he watched a hand punch through the driver’s side window, shards of glass flying every which way. The officer fired a few rounds at the hand, sliced open by the glass and bleeding, but also strangely deflecting the bullets without effort. An elderly man climbed through the shattered window and crawled on top of the driver’s side. The officer took three more shots at point blank range. Every bullet struck its target, but bounced off him each time. Throughout this, the old guy didn’t even flinch.
The officer delivered one final shot before she looked down at her gun, and then at the old guy. In its glow, light from the street lamp nearby captured the sheer terror on her face.
The old guy crouched down for a second, and then jumped the officer, clawing at her with murderous ire. He maintained his position despite her efforts to shove and kick him off her. Swipe after swipe tore out gobs of her innards, spraying the immediate area with her blood.
It was all Chase could do to reel himself away from the horror right outside his motel room window. He knelt down onto the floor, hurling the contents of his last meal onto the shag carpeting, the stench of partly-digested corn dogs permeating the air. A couple of chunks stayed lodged in his throat for a second longer. Then he gagged on them and they went to join the rest of the puke already soaking into the carpet.
Then a terrible thought struck him. What if Dylan was returning from the bar already? Sure, Dylan usually waited until last call before leaving, but that was only if he hadn’t scored a date with someone. If tonight proved to be the exception rather than the rule…
He snapped to attention. Ignoring this insanity was not an option. He unbolted the door, pried it away from the sill, and rushed into the night, realizing at that moment how he didn’t know in which direction his brother had gone. But with that old man still tearing into the cop, maybe Chase could sneak past undetected. No way would he spend a night in a town where a drunk driver could be shot at and still somehow gut a cop using only his fingernails.
Then in between another round of car crashes, a howl too shrill to be human pierced the air. Had a coyote wandered onto the lot? At least that kind of animal he could contend with, thanks to years of hunting with Pa and Dylan.
In that instant, the old guy clutched his head, slapping palms against scalp, as though overcome by the mother of all migraines. He banged his head against the concrete walkway cutting across the parking lot to the sidewalk. In doing so he cracked open his head, his flesh becoming a darker shade of red. Jagged horns of pure bone grew from separate lacerations on opposite sides of the forehead, crackling like kindling as they broke on through. Seams in the back of his pants ripped apart as something grew out of the guy’s backside. Chase squinted, his heart pounded as he caught sight of what looked like to be a tail oozed over with blood and slime.
The old guy dragged his newly-reshaped, diamond-like talons along the parking lot. In doing so he tore whole chunks of asphalt from the road and flicked them everywhere. Then the creature paused, examining Chase. A grunt from the beast’s shrunken snout told Chase to run.
Chase almost stumbled over his own feet as he backed away from the creature. Snarls and snorts grew louder as Chase drew closer to the safety of his motel room.
Only a few feet to go…
A whoosh of wind above startled h
He scrambled to his feet and charged for the door once again. Any minute might very well be his last, and then what? Would Dylan realize what happened and get the hell out of dodge before it was too late?
Or was Dylan already dead? The thought nearly paralyzed Chase, but the demon’s latest roar kept him focused on making it back to his room. He wouldn’t have gone outside in the first place if not for Dylan.
Chase gripped the doorknob to his motel room. In his rush to handle it, he heard something click. Somehow, he’d jiggled the handle hard enough for it to lock. To the right, claws found purchase in the motel wall just below the room number. Wood debris splintered off and sprayed him in the face as the predator further shattered the wall with a jerk of its hand. During this, something guttural discharged from the creature’s lungs, sounding almost like a laugh.
Throwing his back against the door, Chase shielded his eyes before something flew up in there. Then he held onto his breath, waiting for the inevitable.
Might as well face my death the way Pa would want me to, Chase thought bitterly. Thanks a lot for asking me to die in this town instead of continuing on to the farm, Dylan!
The monster snapped its jaws at him, drool trailing from its lips, teeth barren. It swatted at him, yet missed by inches, a seemingly deliberate avoidance, like perhaps it thought Chase wasn’t worth the effort after all. Chase kept his eyes wide open on the creature, still expecting instant death.
It didn’t come. The old guy creature leaned in and sniffed Chase up and down like a gluttonous hound, its face too near for Chase’s liking. Chase remained motionless during this inspection. A grunt ejected from the being’s throat as he pulled back, apparently put off by Chase’s sudden lack of motion. It snapped its fangs at him once more before scurrying off elsewhere, possibly toward prey that would actually keep running rather than play dead.
At once Chase released the heavy lump in his craw, the breath of fresh air a welcome sensation to his airways. He combed his pockets for his motel key. Thank heavens he still had it on him. He inserted the jagged metal into the hole and strangled the handle until it finally gave. Tearing into his room, he slammed the door behind him, locking the room at both the handle and deadbolt.
Despite the door and windows being shut, he could still hear the chaos in the distance. With no way to get a hold of Dylan, Chase sank down on the floor between the two beds, closing his eyes and clenching his fists.
“Damn it, Dylan. You better not die,” he murmured. “Because I’m going to kill you myself.”