

Speed Demons – Smashwords edition

Copyright © 2012 by Jeff Beesler

Published by Jeff Beesler at Smashwords

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Author. Your support of author's rights is appreciated. Re-selling this eBook without permission is punishable by law.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book, an original publication, was registered with the United States Library of Congress Copyright Office in September 2012.

Cover designed by Sean Sweeney

Artwork by Mark Rosenwald

To my sister, Jessica, and her daughter Eva Maria, who have proven that through perseverance, all things are made possible.

SPEED DEMONS

By Jeff Beesler

CHAPTER 1

HIGHWAY 613

The speedometer needle swayed on either side of 65 MPH, five miles over the limit. Chase Weaverson's hands gripped the steering wheel with such might he nearly made his knuckles bleed. Sweat trickled down past his dull blond eyebrows and into his eyes, the salty moisture stinging them. Every few seconds, he wiped the perspiration away with his arm.

What a time for the damn AC to act up again.

His mind shifted elsewhere as a whiff of tobacco filled the cabin air of Chase's cherry-red pick-up. Chase's brother, Dylan, sat in the passenger's seat, sucking in a puff from his cigarette, wearing a goofy grin as though he was proud of his lungs being blacker than the hair on his head.

One final puff later, Dylan rolled down the window and flicked the butt out into the open. Outside heat seeped into the cabin, ridding the brothers of what little cold air they had. Chase said nothing, pretending he didn't see a thing. But then he smiled when the car behind them honked as if fuming over this littering. Dylan had probably ticked off some nature lover or goody two-shoes.

At least he's not being a nuisance in rush hour traffic, thought Chase.

Not that they were anywhere near urban sprawl. Their drive had taken them out to near the middle of nowhere. In the distance, clay-colored mountains towered over the desert land. A vulture glided high above the cactuses and Ponderosa Pines that served as the only plant life this far out from Grains Plains, the Weaversons' final destination. Being accustomed to the farm life since they were children, Chase couldn't remember hanging out under very many trees over the years. The boys usually had to wander a couple of miles away from the family farm in order to find the nearest oak.

Not far off behind them was the only other vehicle on the road, a rust-coated motor home whose front bumper dangled just above the cracked asphalt. It appeared to be chugging along at about twenty under the limit, posing no immediate threat.

A moment later, Chase looked into the side mirror again and found the mammoth vehicle riding his tail. His jaw dropped at the sight of this. Motor homes, especially this one with the twisted fender, weren't exactly built for speed. He flipped his signal on and changed lanes, veering to the right to let the motor home pass.

Horn blaring, the RV zoomed on by. It swerved onto the median, kicking up a cloud of dust before it jerked back into the left lane and continued on its way.

Chase eased up on the gas pedal for a minute or two, heaving a sigh of relief. If that other driver crashed, they wouldn't take the Weaversons with them.

The next sign advertised a rest area two miles away. Chase rolled his shoulders slightly, muscles stiff from sitting too long in the same position. Their drive had entered its third or fourth hour, but he wouldn't have noticed this if his bladder wasn't almost dancing in rhythm to Dylan's salsa-style ringtone.

Probably another one of Dylan's Hedon City honeys wanting to chew his ear, or maybe something else, Chase thought. Shaking the thought from his head, he focused on the road ahead.

Behind the rest area marker, another sign listed the next three major points along northbound 613, including Grains Plains.

Lifelong home for Pa and Ma Weaverson and the family's farm, Grains Plains now served as the spot for the brothers' homecoming. Without first consulting Pa, Ma had phoned Chase and Dylan last month, insisting they move back to help out with the farm as Pa was getting on in years. Chase had pursed his lips at Ma's request. If Pa ever found out, she might be in for a world of hurt.

Then again, Ma always held her own. Her stink-eye alone could just about beat the living snot out of someone. The mere thought of this drew a smile on Chase's face.

Meanwhile, Dylan seemed lost in his own little world. He kept murmuring sweet reassurances over the phone to one of at least umpteen women whose hearts had shattered over his departure from Hedon City.

"No, Yolanda, I won't be gone long. Nah, I'd never leave you, baby. You're all I ever need."

Chase sighed, a tinge of envy tainting his heart. Dylan now lived the sort of life Chase used to live, seven years ago. Going out on a Friday night, enjoying the company of a woman or three; yeah, that was the life.

But that was seven years ago and Chase had reached the age of 30. Now his idea of having fun on a Friday night involved a bucket of chicken and a marathon of long-dead TV sitcoms. All the while, Dylan kept partying without any thought for the future. Chase might've been able to tolerate the constant phone calls if Dylan didn't keep making kissy noises into the phone. Couldn't his brother wait to find new ladies in Grains Plains to try and charm? What was the point of continuing to lead those city gals on like this?

"I miss you too, honey," Dylan cooed, winking at Chase. He pretended to stick his finger down his throat and gagged silently.

A coarse groan broke away from Chase's throat in response to this.

Dylan covered his phone with his hand. "Do you mind not groaning, Chase? I'm trying to cheer up my honey."

"Whatever."

Dylan, apparently unable to sense Chase's tone, gave his brother a grin and returned to the mobile innuendo, ending the call with Yolanda and starting one up with a different girl, this one named Tiffany.

Chase rolled his eyes and tried his best to ignore his brother. He navigated the next two turns, which soon grew into a series of S-Curves. Another marker indicated the rest area was only a mile away now.

Almost there, he thought. Every muscle in his legs and back ached, demanding he stop and get out of the truck for a healthy stretch. Even worse, he could hardly feel his feet. That rest area was perhaps his best chance to get the blood pumping into his toes again.

Rounding a corner, Chase suddenly slammed on the brakes, pressing down harder on the pedal than he normally would've, given the funny tingling in his foot. In front of the Weaversons was the RV from before, stopped right in the middle of the road and blocking both northbound lanes of the roadway. The resulting near-whiplash from stopping suddenly snapped Dylan away from his phone call.

"Chase, do you mind? I don't have time for your crazy highway games," he growled, imitating Ma's stink-eye to near perfection.

Chase scowled but didn't say a word to his brother. The impulse to tap his horn at the other driver tempted him, yet somehow he resisted.

What's that guy thinking? I would've totaled my truck if I hadn't stopped in time, he thought.

Seeing that the RV refused to move out of the way, he navigated his truck onto the shoulder, barely squeezing his rig past the oversized blockade. Once safely past, he veered back onto the road, keeping a watchful eye on his rearview mirror in case that other driver did anything else foolish.

His foot had no sooner pressed down on the gas pedal when he noticed the RV reeling towards them. It sped up on them like before and rammed into the truck's tailgate, slamming the brothers against the dashboard. In the motion, Dylan's phone flew out of his hand, ricocheted against the dashboard, and went hurtling out the window still rolled down from earlier.

"What the hell?!" Dylan reached out in vain for his phone, the seat belt holding him in place from going after it.

Chase spun the steering wheel sharply to the left, forcing his truck to make a sudden lane change. The exit to the rest area appeared in view, only about 2,000 or so feet away. A second later, the RV joined them in the left lane and struck the back bumper again. Chase jerked his truck back across the right lane and onto the shoulder. Pounding the brake pad again, he allowed the motor home to zoom past, hopefully this time for good.

"Someone's got some nasty road rage going on there," Dylan said, jaw hanging.

"Right." Chase let the RV disappear from view, giving Dylan ample time to jump out and search for his phone. A few minutes later, Dylan climbed back into the truck, his phone long gone.

Chase flicked the turn signal on, got back on the road, and drove the remaining distance to the rest stop before his bladder emptied itself.

CHAPTER 2

DISCOUNT GAS

Chase's fingers followed the pattern of the dents made to his rear bumper, stopping short of where a crevasse formed in the now-jagged chrome. His jaw trembled softly as he fought against the bile rising from his gut. He hadn't spent all those weeks polishing the chrome to near perfection only to have some idiot nearly wreck his truck during the big move.

How could anyone drive so recklessly? Such driving was almost to be expected in the city. Out here where the desert extended for miles in all directions, though, fewer cars should have meant less road rage.

He headed for the truck's cabin. Shards of busted taillight glass crunched beneath his boot as he marched over to the driver's side. Revving his engine up about a minute later, he waited for Dylan to return from smoking yet again, this time near a cluster of trees some fifty feet away.

Dylan came back five minutes later. Along the way he held Chase's phone up to his ear. With how he pressed his lips into a smirk, he appeared to be on the phone with yet another lady friend.

He'd better be talking to Ma or Pa, Chase thought with a grunt.

The instant Dylan climbed aboard, Chase held out his hand for the phone. After the device filled his palm, he slipped it into his pocket.

"There better not be any extra charges on my phone," he muttered, putting the truck in gear.

Dylan didn't look Chase in the eye, a sure sign he'd called someone he wasn't supposed to.

Chase shook his head while backing out of the parking space. The sun starting its downward trek towards the horizon, he pulled out onto the highway once more, scanning the road ahead for the next sign. Half an hour's worth of nothing but mileposts later, a marker indicated a remaining distance of 132 miles to Grains Plains, the towns of Helensview and Thorpe in between. Chase would simply zoom past those places if he didn't need a potty break. He'd gone while filling up on gas in Hedon City and then again at a truck stop over an hour ago. If it became necessary, he could probably hold it in until they got to Grains Plains.

Just after they made it over the next hill, flashing lights greeted the Weaversons. A police car blocked off the right-hand lane using flares about a quarter mile from where the downward slope began. This allowed an ambulance access to a multiple car collision on the shoulder without much trouble. Among the scattered piles of mangled metal lay the motor home on its side, nestled between what used to be two sedans. Traffic came to a crawl as rubberneckers in the left-hand lane took their sweet time surveying the mess.

Chase followed the bus ahead of him into the left lane. He watched as EMTs exited the ambulance, opened the back door to their vehicle, and removed a stretcher that was then put to use right away.

"Wow," Dylan said, straining his neck to gawk at the wreckage and pools of blood. "Guess karma finally caught up with that dumbass driving the motor home."

"Somehow, I doubt it," Chase said, trying to hide the grim satisfaction he felt over someone else's wrecked rig. Ma had always taught them never to take pleasure in another person's suffering, even if that person had wronged them.

He continued following the hand signals the state trooper coordinating traffic made. He glanced over at the ambulance once more as the pick-up crept by. The paramedics put a pudgy man with sunburned skin and blood trailing off his face on the stretcher, then wheeled him back toward the rear of the ambulance.

"Think we should say something about who was probably at fault here? Just in case the cops want our testimony?" Dylan asked, staring right at Chase.

"I'm not getting involved. They've got things under control here," said Chase.

He returned to the other lane the second they cleared the pile-up and continued onward.

"That wreck was a warning, Chase," said Dylan.

"Oh?"

Dylan cleared his throat, the excess phlegm in his cough making it sound as if he just now realized his tobacco habit came with a price.

"Think about it. I've got all these great ladies back home in the city, and they've all practically begged me not to go."

"Get to the point, Dylan."

"Maybe the person driving the RV was trying to get us to turn around."

Chase laughed at this. "Sure, man. That's exactly what happened."

"You think I'm just making it up, don't you?"

How was Chase supposed to respond to that without pissing his pants in a hysterical fit?

The highway curved over another hill, leading into a valley spread out far and wide. The desert landscape reddened with the sun sinking to the left of the Weaversons. A cluster of buildings cropped up to the north and west of the men's present location, their lights already on in anticipation of nightfall. More cars lined both lanes as the Weaversons approached Helensview.

"Are you sure we're going to make it there tonight, bro?" Dylan gave what sounded like an exaggerated yawn.

"It's just another 124 miles, dude," Chase replied with a sigh.

"Oh."

Chase watched Dylan from the corner of his eye, waiting for him to say something else. He caught him at just the right moment, for in that time Dylan pulled out his pack of cigarettes, removed a cig, and lit it. Another plume of tobacco smoke took no time at all in filling the air.

"You know," said Dylan, sucking in a deep puff. "With the way that RV nearly rammed into us earlier, maybe I should call Pa and Ma to let them know we're okay."

"They aren't expecting us in until late," Chase said, keeping his gaze forward. "I'm sure they're not even fretting right now."

"Well, maybe we can find a replacement phone before the stores close in Helensview," Dylan suggested. He cracked the window open, not that half an inch did any good in clearing out the stench of tobacco. "While I'm at it, I should take a good look around at the town. It might make a good halfway point for Yolanda to meet me should she want to stay in contact."

Chase's annoyance with the smoking increased with every breath he took in. Choking lightly, he rolled down his own window to get a flow of fresh air going.

"Such a shame you lost your phone out there on the road. I don't know how you'll ever manage to reach your honeys," he said, staring at Dylan from the corner of his eye.

Dylan blinked. "You're right. All my contacts were in the phone. Think we have enough time to turn around and go back for it?"

"Dude, the phone's lost. You'll just have to rely on that big ol' noodle perched upon your neck to remember their numbers...or in some cases, their names," Chase said with a sly grin.

"What do you mean by that?"

Chase chuckled again. "Nothing. I'm kidding."

Dylan fell back in his seat, unable to sputter an answer. His thoughts were either focused on what Chase had meant, or on how many contacts he could actually recite from memory.

At this, Chase grinned.

"Fine then," Dylan said, appearing to eye a blue service sign they were coming upon. "At least let me take a whiz."

"You didn't do that back at the rest area?"

"Well, no. I didn't need to go then."

Chase grumbled as the first exit bound for Helensview rose on the horizon. Flicking his blinker on, he proceeded to leave the highway, if only to keep Dylan from whining about his allegedly full bladder.

At the end of the off-ramp, a marker directed travelers left toward the city center. Beyond the overpass, many cars could be seen lined up along the shoulder, their brake lights like glowing eyes casting suspicion upon the Weaversons. Something on that side of the highway seemed popular. Nearing the place, Chase noticed the line of cars sitting in the oncoming traffic's left turn lane. Once Highway 613 no longer obstructed his view, he found the place to be a gas station. A quick glimpse of the station's reader board out front revealed the reason for the long wait.

"This guy's selling gas for just 99 cents a gallon?" Dylan gasped.

Sure enough, only two digits confirmed this. Such a low price in this day and age was unheard of. Maybe Pa paid for gas below the dollar mark once, but that was then. Most likely, a wayward gust had smacked the missing number clear off the board. Or perhaps a bunch of young hooligans had run off with it as a prank. Chase never messed with businesses like that back in high school. His idea of juvenile delinquency involved spray-painting the principal's Coupe to make a bold political statement.

"You should fill up while we're here," Dylan suggested, eyeing a woman in a sleeveless, checkered blouse and tattered, tight-looking jean shorts. A thread of drool seeped out of his mouth and rolled right off his face.

"No way," Chase argued while looking for a clearance into the station's parking lot. "Remember what happened to the wagon when I got inexpensive gas?"

Dylan guffawed at that.

"Not what I'd meant by gas, man."

A space became available at the far end of the lot. Chase drove around the line waiting for the pumps and aimed straight for that precious spot. As he did so, an SUV zoomed past him, swerving to where it nearly collided with his truck, stealing the very slot he'd set his sights on.

"Blast it! What the hell's wrong with everyone today?" Chase muttered.

He maneuvered away from the now-taken space, narrowing his eyes at the family of four emerging out of the SUV. The dad, a man with an obvious toupee and bushy moustache, began flailing his arms about with all the grace of a raging lunatic.

At first, Chase wondered what narcotic the guy was on. Then the mother, wrapped up in a mu-mu and curlers, displayed the same behavior, her index finger inches away from her husband's nose. Neither parent appeared a likely candidate for drug abuse, though what else could explain their actions?

Their children behaved no better. The son snatched his little sister's hair and banged her head against the bumper of their car several times.

"Is everybody running on rage or something today?" Chase gaped at all the insanity.

"Their folks aren't doing a thing to stop—hey! Wow, looks like that girl's got some chops, too!" Dylan's jaw dropped at the way the kids were fighting.

Chase rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't dreaming this. The daughter grabbed her brother by the arm, drawing him toward her, and sank her teeth into his skin just below the elbow. Blood sprayed right out of the wound. Had it not been for that last gleam of sunlight, Chase might've suspected the girl of being a vampire.

"Why aren't the parents stopping this?" Chase asked, looking at Dylan. "If we'd fought like that..."

"We have fought like that, Chase, or have you forgotten the tractor incident?"

Chase did remember, but that was punk stuff compared to the chomp the pigtailed terror just took out of her brother.

"Should we do something?" Dylan couldn't pry himself away from the children attacking one another.

Chase shook his head. "Not our problem. Let's just leave well enough alone and get out of here."

"I still need to take a whiz."

"You're gonna take your chances out there in this crazy parking lot?" The idea of Dylan being foolish to set foot outside the truck amused him slightly until his stomach snarled at him for food. "Oh, crap."

At this, Dylan beamed a little. "Sure you can go another few hours without eating, bro?"

Another spray of blood whipping through the air quickly put an end to Chase's need to satisfy his hunger.

"I'm sure. Think you can hold your piss in until we get to Grains Plains?"

Dylan made a face that all but undermined his age. Evidently, maturity didn't come easily for him. Chase took in a breath, trying to work his way past making such a harsh judgment. After all, if he hadn't set the poor example growing up, Dylan might've fallen in line with a better crowd.

"I don't think so." Dylan reluctantly unbuckled the seat belt, waited as police officers contained the blood-drenched children, and opened the door when the coast was clear.

"Be careful, Dylan," Chase said, watching his brother shut the door behind him.

Hopefully this wouldn't wind up being Dylan's last bathroom break ever.

CHAPTER 3

CHANGE OF PLANS

Nightfall forced a greater strain on Helensview's power grid as the last holdouts finally threw on their lights. The night ate away at what little remained of day, stars filling the increasingly inky sky. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Chase watched the orange in the western sky diminish to light blue, and then to nothing.

What the hell was taking Dylan so long?

Boredom eventually geared his attention further west, where a majority of the lights shone. They seemed a little too far away for walking distance. If Dylan really wanted to locate the town bar, he would have quite the walk ahead of him. The fact that there were no neighborhoods immediately behind the gas station meant that Chase would see Dylan coming back toward the truck eventually.

Unless he's gotten a local gal to give him a ride and decided not to tell me, thought Chase.

Thus, the younger Weaverson had to be screwing around in there, as always. Why did Dylan always have to lollygag like this? Any longer and Chase would have to wait until the morning to finish the drive. Packing everything they owned into the back of the truck earlier in the day had already drained him enough.

He watched the long line at the pumps slowly dwindle. Cars sped out of the lot, kicking up dirt clouds and gravel. Flying debris nicked Chase's pick-up at least three times. A rock cracked his windshield.

"Damn it!" Chase pounded his fist against the horn, its blare his response to all the crap he'd contended with throughout the day.

At that moment, Dylan hopped back into the truck. He held a six-pack of beer in one hand and a grin on his face.

"Geez, dude, you didn't have to honk your horn at me. I was already on my way back," he said.

"I wasn't honking at you," Chase said. "I was...oh, never mind. Couldn't wait to party until after we got to Grains Plains, eh?" He shook his head in disbelief.

Dylan removed a can from the rest of the pack. His finger flirted with the tab, poised to pull it toward him so that he could enjoy the sweet contents within.

"Change of plans. There's a motel up the road from here. We can stay the night and get to Ma and Pa's tomorrow."

Glaring at Dylan's cargo, Chase pursed his lips.

"Don't open that beer in here while I'm driving. Or have you forgotten that the police are still watching me? I don't need to give them any ammunition."

"I know, Chase. That's why we have to change our plans." Dylan's smile held strong.

Chase gnashed his teeth as the urge to deck Dylan oozed from his brain to his knuckles. The night in which Chase had sworn off all alcohol flared in his mind as Dylan snapped the can open.

"Mind rolling up the window? You're letting the mosquitoes in," Chase pointed out. So far, only one had flown into the cabin, buzzing about the passenger's side and steering clear of Chase as if it smartly sensed the fate in store for it on his side.

It wasn't just the bugs that got to Chase. With the window still rolled down from earlier, gas fumes slowly seeped into the cabin air, enough to blast him with a monster headache. The throbbing remained steady at present, but seemed ready to flare up if left untreated.

What I wouldn't give for a good night's rest right about now. Or at least some aspirin to get me through the last leg of this trip, he thought.

"Come on, Chase. It's getting late. Let's just go to that motel I've heard about. Well, it's really more of a motor inn than a motel, I guess, but it'll beat having to drive any more tonight," Dylan rambled on, bringing his lips to the rim of the can.

"I'm the last person you should be drinking in front of," Chase said.

He waited as the mosquito finally came within reach of him. A second later, he drew his hand back and let it come crashing down on top of the insect, its hum deadened by the might of Chase's palm.

"Take that, you son of a bitch!" he said, his voice louder than what he'd intended.

"Uh, dude, it's just a bug," Dylan whispered, his beer still perched near his mouth.

Chase cast an annoyed look his brother's way. "Would you rather I deck you for drinking in my truck?"

The younger Weaverson reeled the beer away from his mouth, spilling a few drops on the seat and floor of Chase's truck, the tang of beer almost enough to drown out the gasoline smell.

"I'm just looking to have some fun, Chase."

"Well, stop it. We've got a few hours still ahead of us, and I'm not in the mood for your shenanigans."

"Dude, when did you become such a prude? You never used to act this way seven years ago."

"I changed, Dylan."

"I understand that, and I get that you've had a rough patch after you went away. But come on, man. Live a little. You're just barely thirty years old. You still have a lot of life in you, I'm sure."

Chase heaved a sigh, clenching his teeth to keep from saying the absolute wrong thing to Dylan. An insult would've have been so easy to cast out into the open air, the perfect means of sticking it to the younger Weaverson for still embracing a lifestyle Chase himself had been forced to give up back in the day. He glanced at the lights leading into the center of Helensview and the lessening flow of traffic along the highway. People were already getting to their destinations for the evening. The Weaversons probably wouldn't reach the family farm before midnight.

"What's that sigh about, Chase? Did you really expect me not to party after you went away?" Dylan grumbled. "I can't believe I ever thought of you as my hero."

Chase strangled the keys to the right, firing up the engines in a roar of disgust.

"I've found more important things to concern my life with than she-devils, Dylan."

A big slurp filled the cabin air. Chase didn't even have to glance over to his right to know that Dylan was deliberately sticking it to him by way of indulgence. As much as the older Weaverson wanted to reach Grains Plains tonight, Dylan was making it damn near impossible. Just opening the beer can itself served as Dylan's method of challenging Chase. A drive further along Highway 613 might rouse the curiosity of a state trooper, especially if no other cars were on the road at that point.

But by staying in Helensview, and thereby giving in to Dylan's request, at least Chase would run less risk of a cop pulling him over, asking questions, and smelling the beer fumes in the cabin.

"That's not cool, Dylan."

Dylan took another sip before answering. Chase listened to that last swig of beer, the gulp sounding slightly forced. It was like Dylan didn't take the drink to enjoy it, but to prove a point instead.

"You shouldn't have called them she-devils, Chase. You took it one step too far," Dylan said while wiping his mouth dry with his sleeve.

"But they are she-devils, Dylan. Since high school, you've done nothing but chase them around. I'm surprised you haven't caught anything from them."

"Dude, you introduced me to half of them. You're not exactly a saint yourself, so don't you dare get all judgmental on me. Or have you forgotten all about your own sweet-cheeks-chasing ways?"

Chase squeezed hard on the steering wheel. Just because he'd known the thrill of a lusty encounter or two back in his younger days, it didn't mean he was anything like that today. Despite Dylan's remark, he was a changed man. So what if no one else thought of him as reformed? He knew what he'd been through, the mistakes he'd made. He certainly wouldn't let the same things happen twice in his life.

"You'd better not spill any more beer in my truck," he uttered under his breath.

At that moment, a yawn burst forth from his lungs. Between that and the splitting migraine that dealing with Dylan hadn't helped alleviate, the day was as good as done in Chase's eyes. Maybe the night would help to clear the roads of all those crazy drivers, too.

A minute later, they pulled back onto the main street, veering to the right as that direction led further into town. Chase made a quick mental note to call Pa and Ma himself and let them know the brothers would be staying the night in Helensview. He wasn't about to lend his phone out to someone he couldn't trust with it.

At least Dylan can't prattle with one of those she-devils, Chase thought with a smirk.

Between swigs of beer from a second can, Dylan gave Chase directions to a motel, his speech slurring a little. According to the gas station attendant Dylan had bought the beer from, the Helensview Valley Motor Inn was about three miles away to the west. Heading that way, Chase glanced in the side mirror on the passenger's side while the Mini-Mart disappeared behind the curve of an uphill climb.

As the odometer ticked away the third and final mile, Chase stopped at a red light. Soon after, cars pulled up next to and behind him. Waiting for the signal to turn green, he scanned the immediate area for the motor inn. On the left, a sign with broken neon identified the motel and indicated that vacancies were still available. The turn up ahead from the center two-way lane seemed simple enough.

He started forth to the flicker of a green light and the crack-hiss of Dylan pulling back the tab on a second can. After he slapped on his blinker, the driver behind him laid on the horn.

"What? Is it a crime to signal my turn?" he asked, pulling into the center lane.

Once the oncoming traffic passed, Chase drove in and parked by the manager's office. He opened his door and climbed out, only to have a woman shriek at him through the rolled-down window of her mini-van. The profanity spewing from her mouth did not complement her sleek, dark hair, her smooth, brown skin, or the unwrinkled blouse she was wearing. Chase would've expected such language from friends he'd known some years back, but not from a middle-aged woman.

"Something wrong, ma'am?" He raised his voice just to get a word in over her rapid-mouthed hysteria. The words she used flew at him so fast he couldn't make sense of what she was saying.

She threw her door open and tore out of her car at near lightning speed. Her high heels clacked against the parking lot pavement as she charged at him. Wagging her finger in his face, she brought her razor-sharp fingernail to within striking distance of his nose.

"You're too slow! People like you need to stay off the streets!"

Chase sighed as she ranted about everything ranging from his truck to his choice of cologne.

"Look, ma'am." His tone came out firm. "I'm sorry if I got in your way. It's not worth stressing out over. But couldn't you have simply changed lanes if you were in that much of a hurry?"

She clouted him with the full fury of her palm. He went to apologize and she swiped at him again, this time snagging his face with her nail, tearing off a pea-sized chunk of flesh when she yanked her finger back. Chase howled, and then gripped her arm, his other hand covering his injury.

"What the hell's wrong with you? I said I'm sorry!" Chase ran a hand across where she'd struck him, warm liquid flowing onto his fingers. The folks had taught him never to hit a lady. Though thoughts of this discipline still dominated his mind, instinct pushed him closer toward a darker edge. He clung tightly to the mental image of his parents, and the seething glares of disappointment they'd give him if he struck this woman.

She bared her teeth at him, her eyes sparkling as if with an intent to fill a bloodlust.

"You're a prick," she spat, the spittle from her mouth striking Chase between the eyes.

"That was hardly necessary," he said. He wiped the fluid from where she'd struck him with a sleeve, careful not to close both his eyes and leave himself fully vulnerable to her next assault. Hopefully if he stayed calm, she might regain some semblance of her senses.

"I should rip out your eyes for being a dick!"

Her eyes continued to study him, as though she was looking to see if he really was worth her time. Then, with a snarl, she ran to her car and got in, slamming the door behind her, the confrontation over just as quickly as it had begun.

Chase watched her mini-van zoom in reverse all the way to the roadway, cutting the corner and nearly mowing down a dog walker with a Labrador retriever in tow. A classic convertible swerved into the other lane to avoid a collision with Chase's parking lot slapper. Twice the mini-van's engine backfired. The tires squealed a final defiance before the vehicle drove off in the eastbound direction, opposite the way her mini-van had started to turn.

Was everyone losing it today?

CHAPTER 4

HELENSVIEW AT NIGHT

Chase kicked off his shoes as soon as he got into the motel room. He'd gotten room 120 on the corner, facing the parking lot where that woman in the minivan had confronted him. The memory of her nail clawing him in the face still fresh in his mind, he at once locked the door, secured the deadbolt, shut the shades, and wandered over to the bed by the bathroom.

In all honesty, he almost couldn't care less about who slept where. But knowing his brother, Dylan would probably check out Helensview's nightlife anyhow. It made more sense for Chase to let Dylan sleep by the door, if only so that the younger Weaverson's comings and goings didn't intrude upon Chase's rest.

"If you go bar-hopping tonight, be careful," he told Dylan. The combination of fatigue and paranoia in his voice almost startled him. Something about Helensview gave him the creeps. What it was exactly, he couldn't say.

Meanwhile, Dylan shrugged and sighed as if his plans might not have included scoping out the town after all.

"I doubt this town really has a Friday night scene anyhow. Think I should've asked the person at the gas station or the desk clerk about it?"

Chase flung himself onto his bed, causing a slight, squeaky strain on the springs underneath him. As he moved to grab the TV remote off the end table to his right, the shifting of his body unraveled the decent tuck job the motel staff had done on the bed earlier that day.

"It wouldn't have made a difference. You've always been good at sniffing out the fun on your own," Chase said with a yawn. "Better than I ever was. What's with that, anyway?"

Dylan smiled. "Thanks. That means a lot to me, coming from you."

"Yeah, yeah," Chase said, his eyelids already sinking faster than he could click the on button and throw some random program on. "Like I said, if you go to the bar, be smart about it. You don't have your phone on you anymore, and I might not be able to come bail you out if you run into trouble."

"Don't worry. I've got it covered. I picked up one of those Welcome to Helensview flyers that were sitting around at the front desk," he said, holding up a dark red sheet of paper. "It's got directions to the most popular locations in town. There's a bar three streets over from here. I think I'll hit that one up."

"Do as you wish," Chase said, another yawn forcing itself out of him. "Just don't get your hopes up too much, especially if the bartender is some hot blonde babe you've just got to have."

Dylan scrunched his face as if tasting poison.

"Dude, you know blondes are out of season for me. Right now I'm all about the brunettes."

Chase thumbed the buttons on the TV remote, missing most of Dylan's ramblings about the perfect "flavor" worth seeking out tonight. A second later, the clinking of a lock coming undone carried across the room, straight to Chase's ears.

"So you're really going out, then?" As if he'd needed to ask.

"Of course, I am," Dylan said, frowning. "Seriously, dude. Come have fun with me. For old time's sake. We used to go to bars all the time back in the day."

"Sorry. I'm way too tired from the trip." Chase pressed the button a few more times, decided to just leave the TV on whatever channel it wound up on, and tossed the remote back onto the end table. "Don't be gone too long. I want to leave at the crack of dawn."

"I know you went through that rough patch a while ago, but you've got to put it behind you. You can't let the past make you into a stick in the mud. Come on," said Dylan.

Chase rolled onto his side and faced the bathroom, but not before he caught a quick glimpse of the dejection in Dylan's eyes. Although Dylan could be annoying at times, Chase's party animal instincts, mostly dormant for seven years, still ached for a true Weaverson-style shindig. Some impulses never truly went away.

"No, Dylan. It's not worth the trouble. You know what happened. You know where I've been and the reason behind it. I'm not making the same mistakes again. Thanks for the offer, but I have to pass."

"Whatever," Dylan growled.

Fuming, he flung his back toward Chase and promptly slammed the door behind him on the way out. Bits of plaster fell from the resulting tremble, sprinkling Chase as the older Weaverson lay on the bed.

The pain in his head flaring up again from the discourse between the two of them, Chase answered Dylan's sudden departure with a one-finger salute. Thankfully, Ma and Pa weren't there to witness the disrespect he gave his brother. Grunting, he closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep.

#

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 him and he dove to the ground, skinning his wrists raw upon impact. He flinched but didn't spend another second worrying about scrapes, not when the cop-slashing abomination now thirsted for his blood.

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."

CHAPTER 5

EAT 'N' GREASE

For almost two hours, Chase remained on the floor. He refused to budge in case that old guy demon came crashing through the window to tear out his throat. Achy muscles made him shift his body around, though he stayed between the two beds, well out of sight. During this bodily transition, his phone slipped free from his pocket. As he picked it up, the thought to call the cops entered his mind.

But what exactly would he tell them? Hello, Police? Some old dude turned into a monster and gutted your officer? No, they wouldn't believe him for an instant. If anything, they would question him about what he'd seen and maybe detain him on suspicion of murder and/or drug use.

And then what? He'd go away for a long time, possibly for life. After all, they had the damage to the wall right outside his motel room, not far from where the cop had died. Between his "crazy" story and a thorough background check, a glimpse into his past would ensure he'd never see daylight again.

Then again, I don't have to report the cop's death _,_ he thought as he thumbed his phone. I could just call them to report that Dylan is missing. If they come over to the motel to ask me questions, they'll see the body out by the station wagon on their own _._

The only problem he saw in this logic was that the police might implicate Dylan in the cop's death. He decided not to worry about this until it actually happened however.

Three numbers later, Chase pressed "talk" and got a busy signal almost instantly. After two redials, he still couldn't get through. Not surprising considering that one of those crashes earlier may have taken out a telephone poll. Besides, if the world really was going to hell, every available emergency service would probably be too busy to respond, assuming the network wasn't overloaded by the strain of people trying desperately to call someone.

Having reached no one, he got up off the floor, every muscle aching from his poor posturing. With the crap he'd seen, he just wanted to hightail it out of there, sleep deprivation be damned. Until Dylan came back, he couldn't go anywhere.

He crept over to the window, holding down a plastic blind with his thumb. The only illumination out there now came from the street lamp. Both vehicles were gone. There didn't seem to be any sign of the fallen officer, either. Only the twisted metal of the street sign provided any evidence of the horror he'd seen. Rubbing his eyes, he couldn't help feeling that maybe what he saw had been a stress-related hallucination. He was, after all, in the middle of a big move with a truck AC that provided only half its potential output and a brother who didn't know the meaning of the word responsibility.

The doubts suggested a need for rest. Emotional exhaustion weighed down heavily on his shoulders and lungs. What he wouldn't give for a good night's snooze. But with the insanity out there in the world keeping him wide awake, a shower might have to suffice instead. Cold water splattering down upon his face sounded so good right now, especially since he'd been sweating all day long in the truck.

A shower and several hours later, Dylan still hadn't returned. The pit of Chase's stomach remained knotted with hunger, worry, and even some guilt. The latter affected him worse than the other two. He couldn't forget the way he and Dylan got into it hours ago. Now all he wanted was to see Dylan's face again and apologize for his part in their squabble.

Unfortunately, the next time he saw his brother's goofy grin, it might be marred with Dylan's blood, his outfit torn to shreds, his abdomen sliced and diced by the old man demon, or some other crazed Helensviewan. The thought that maybe that woman in the minivan might have grown horns and a tail also occurred to Chase, even if it sounded far-fetched.

He took a breath, refusing to let his imagination run wild with gory images of his brother's potential death. Until proven otherwise, Dylan was still alive. No Weaverson would bend over in utter defeat for any threat, demon or otherwise. The family, both as a whole and as individuals, was far stronger than that.

An unsettling calm spread across the town beyond his motel room. He hadn't heard a peep from anyone or anything since a little after eleven o'clock. Maybe the threat, if there ever was one, had ended. He glanced over to the TV and turned it on, just in case there was a news report recapping the evening's events. Nothing but infomercials. He'd have to wait until the morning news shows ran their top stories.

A thin beam of sunlight seeped in past slits in the blinds, announcing the crack of dawn. Through the glass he could barely hear a couple of caws, an early morning crow rhapsody. His eyelids began to droop, his head bobbing forward slightly. Damn it. He'd need sleep soon, regardless.

No, scratch that. He'd need a triple shot mocha to perk him up for the last stretch of the drive. Once at the family farm, he could sleep all he wanted, especially if Dylan "volunteered" to pick up the slack for once. He'd have to be careful, however. If the mocha wound up being the first thing to fill his belly since early yesterday, it might make him sick.

As more light filtered past the cracks in the blinds, he swiped another glance at the world outside. A murder of crows occupied the streets, perching upon buildings and street signs, surveying the area for scraps of food. One found a scrap of food and the others at once came at him, trying to snatch his morsel of burger wrapper for their own selves. Chase became so entranced by this feathery chaos that a sudden movement of shadow made him gasp. As his heartbeat slowed back to normal an instant later, he saw the crow that had swooped down from above his window, joining the others fighting over the garbage.

At least there aren't any demons out there, he thought.

Needing a distraction, he reached for the remote, turning the TV on a second later. Static danced across the screen as he flipped through the channels, unable to access even the low-budget porn from last night or the infomercials from an hour ago. Damn motel cable must've gone out. Dylan needed to get back now so they could just leave this godforsaken place already.

Then again, maybe Dylan wasn't coming back to the motel for his things, or to even say goodbye. If he had found a lady friend at the bar, informing Chase of what was going on or getting his stuff had probably slipped his mind.

It wouldn't be the first time he's done that, Chase thought, gnashing his teeth.

At that exact moment, a familiar ringtone broke him from his worries. He yanked his phone out again and swung it open, glancing at the caller I.D. The call came from an unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Bro! How are you doing?" Dylan asked with a burp, a slurred, childlike glee in his voice.

Chase shook his head. Thankfully for him, his phone hadn't come with any built-in, smell-capable apps.

"Where are you, Dylan?" No sense trying to engage in small talk with him. The need to hightail it out of town remained top priority.

Dylan chuckled. "I found some good people last night, Chase. You should've hung out with us."

Chase ignored that. "We need to leave town now."

In the background Chase could hear someone else moaning, along with something sifting, possibly blankets being tossed about. Dylan playfully cooed, "Shush, baby. It's my brother."

A groan carried through the connection, followed by a cough and some faint whispering.

"I'm thinking of staying in Helensview actually, Chase," Dylan admitted, and then chuckled. "Hey, don't do that! That's my toe."

"Oh god, Dylan! You're not getting it on right now, are you?"

Dylan's chortle just about drowned out Chase's question.

"I'm fine, Chase. Go see Ma and Pa. I'll find my way back to Hedon City somehow."

Chase punched open air in response to this. "I don't think that's wise."

"What?" The hilarity trickled out of Dylan's voice. "How come you're riding my ass again, Chase? Don't you ever get sick of living up to Pa's standards? It's not like you've always been his number one son."

"This has nothing to do with that, Dylan. Something happened here, something bad."

A moment's pause met Chase's ear, followed by more garbled noise in the backdrop of Dylan's present location.

"Oh, please," Dylan droned with disbelief. "I find a reasonable Helensview lady to spend the night with, and you're making stuff up just to rattle my bones."

"I'm not."

Another guffaw shot through the phone. "Do you really expect me to buy that one?"

The muscles in Chase's face constricted. He couldn't blame his brother for being skeptical. Even he had a hard time believing what he'd seen. But with everything that had happened so far, it made no sense to stick around in an unfamiliar town.

"Will you shut up and listen to me, Dylan? Last night I was almost mauled to death by some...thing."

"I'm still not buying it," Dylan said, his voice rasping with annoyance. "Just how dumb do you think I am?"

"You really want me to answer that?" Chase muttered. He thought of the mangled street sign and possible blood stains on the side of the road. Unfortunately, those things alone wouldn't convince Dylan that they should get a move on.

"Whatever!" Dylan grumbled. "You know what? I'm sticking with Brittany here. We're going to have the time of our lives."

Chase smacked his forehead. "Dude, you've got to listen. There's something seriously wrong with the people of this town. Best thing you can do is just get away from that girl before she changes."

Dylan laughed again, the sound tainted with scorn. "Knock it off, bro. We're fine." The sound of a playful slap crackled through the phone, followed by a woman's giggle. "Ain't that right, babe?"

Was there no getting through to Dyl whatsoever?

"Fine. If you want to live it up in this insane place, then I guess I can't stop you," Chase said through gritted teeth, shutting off his phone an instant later.

As the glow faded from his phone, he considered redialing the number, forgetting for a second that Dylan had called from an unknown number. Realizing his mistake a moment too late, he bit his lip. If convincing Dylan to leave town had been hard before, it now became an impossible task. The only way for both Weaverson brothers to get out of town alive was for Dylan to fully understand what was happening to the world around him.

But that didn't seem likely to happen. With all the road rage and crazy people, Chase might have just signed his brother's death warrant.

What would Ma and Pa say about that?

#

Chase hurled the last of the Weaversons' bags into the back of his pick-up, fitting them in the corner on the passenger's side. Mostly they'd packed clothing, because everything else in their apartment ranging from the tables to the refrigerator was the landlord's. Furniture-wise, the only thing of any particular value was Dylan's lava lamp, even if it had a noticeable crack near its rim. No sleep would be lost on Chase if that particular eyesore found its way to the Helensview dump. Though really, how could he really tell the landfill apart from the rest of this damn place?

After loading up the truck, Chase made a final scan of the motel room. Nothing of note seemed forgotten, so he locked up and marched on over to the front office with his room key. Once inside, he tossed the key to the unattended main desk and went on his way.

He climbed into his cabin a few minutes later, firing up his engine before buckling his seatbelt. The clock on the dashboard displayed 8:21. Not a single moving vehicle could be found in either direction, strange given the way the roads were clogged with cars the night before. Even for a town less than half the size of Hedon City, there should've been at least some traffic by now.

Where was everyone? Had that old guy demon frightened everyone else off? Were the Weaversons and some random girl named Brittany the only ones who hadn't fled this backwards burg yet?

And speaking of that girl, how was it that she and Dylan had managed to remain utterly unconcerned about what was going on in town? Hadn't they heard the chaos last night? If those two had been at the bar, shouldn't they have at least seen something?

Chase flipped the radio on before putting his truck in reverse. He switched the dial to the local traffic station. If there was an alternate route to Grains Plains that fewer people used, he had to take it. No way would he deal with another motor home threatening to plow him down.

"There is nothing to report at this time of day. You're listening to KDMN, Helensview's premiere station for continuous traffic updates as they become available. Good night, everyone."

At once his gut instinct kicked in and he realized that the pre-recorded message must have been left on all night long. Was anyone at the station even alive at this point?

He switched to another station, this one playing nothing but salsa. A few tunes into it, and Chase discovered the same artist was being played without commercial interruption. Obviously, whatever was going on in town had already impacted the on-air personalities of Helensview's radio market.

As he pulled to the end of the parking lot, he glanced at the dried crimson splotches dotting the sidewalk and curb. Maybe the blood had come from a different source, like two crows fighting over a scrap of discarded meat. Yeah, that had to be it. Crows. Pa always did blame those flying vermin for just about everything that ever went wrong.

In any case, Chase wished the best for Dylan. He hoped his brother knew precisely what getting involved with the Helensview locals meant. Chase certainly wouldn't ever come back out this way.

A violent rumbling of his gut reminded him to eat. His appetite had only now returned after everything from the night before. He couldn't concentrate on anything else without providing his body with much needed nourishment.

On the right-hand side of Main Street, he found a diner, the Eat 'N' Grease, a few blocks east of the motor inn. Like the inn, the neon sign out front barely worked at all, the N browning out every few seconds. Underneath the restaurant's name, a reader board said: _In a Hurry? All meals take out!_ He doubted this meant that patrons couldn't dine in, but rather that everything on the menu could be carried out in a Styrofoam box.

He pulled off the main road and parked his truck in the slot by the front door. The building's tinted windows prevented him from scoping out the interior while he sat in his truck. He strode to the main entrance and noticed the sign hanging crooked on the door, indicating that the restaurant was open for business. Making his way inside, he saw a boarded up window and shards of glass not yet swept off the floor.

Nearby, a lone waitress worked the room, squirting the contents from a half-filled bottle of cleanser onto a table. Faint traces of ginger lingered in the woman's graying hair. Her turquoise uniform toted a cigarette burn on the sleeve, while her apron sported a streak of bacon grease down the middle.

Then Chase looked through the slight gap between the serving area and the kitchen to find the cook on duty, a burly man with flies circling about his armpit area. He had a cigar in his mouth and was reading the local newspaper, whose headline spoke something about last night's high school baseball game. At one point, a resounding sniff came from the cook. The man wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt before licking his fingers and turning the paper to the next page.

Maybe stopping in here to eat wasn't such a good idea after all.

The waitress glanced up at Chase. "Wow, looks like I won't have to shut down the place for the day."

"Kinda slow today, huh?" Chase pitied the glimmer of relief in the woman's blue eyes. The only true release for her would be to leave Helensview behind for good and go somewhere safer.

"You're our first customer of the day," she uttered in a throaty voice, her lips struggling to stay above the frown line. "And we've been open since six. I had to send the opener home already. No one wants to eat out anymore."

"So I see."

She went over to the podium straight ahead of Chase and pulled out a menu. "Right this way, please."

Chase followed her lead as she brought him to a table in the corner, offering a distorted view of Main Street. Gazing out a window, he caught a glimpse of two car-shaped shadows zooming on by, possibly locked in a race.

"Where's everyone at?"

"Well," she pulled out her pencil and pad from an apron pocket, "the regulars stopped coming here altogether. We rely on business from the highway, but even that's thinning out now."

"Any reason why?"

She sighed, tapping her pencil against the pad. "It's been going on for about a week or two, give or take, right after that new gas station opened up."

"Gas station?" Chase blinked at her. "You mean that place that's been selling the discount gas?"

"The very same." The waitress rolled her eyes, and then winced. Her nose crinkled upward, seemingly adding even more lines to her face. She leaned against the bench opposite Chase, reaching down to rub her knee while she waited to take his order. "Ever since that place started up, people have been acting really weird."

"Oh?" Chase couldn't trace the connection between the cheap gasoline and people's odd conduct. "Have you stopped by there yet?"

The waitress shook her head. "Don't have a car. Don't have a need for gas. Most of the staff here just walks to work."

Chase peered at the parking lot. Aside from his truck, not a single car sat anywhere near the diner, proving her point. At least the staff here seemed safe from being involved in the accidents littering the highway.

Seeing the eagerness in her eyes for his order, he took the menu she'd been waiting to hand him.

"So what do you recommend from your menu?"

The waitress smiled at him, her blue eyes casting a faded sparkle. "Whatever you'd like."

CHAPTER 6

BRITTANY

The last bit of cherry cobbler rolled down Chase's tongue and sank into his throat as he cast his fork casually upon the plate. His lips slightly sticky with sugary goo, he wiped the crumbs clean off with a napkin. As the waitress brought him his check, she offered him a smile that tried its hardest to steer clear of the frown line. Before he could dig out any money from his wallet, the diner's second and third customers of the day, Dylan and his current squeeze, ambled on in.

You've got to be kidding me, thought Chase. He glanced down at the contents of his wallet in hopes of avoiding eye contact with those other two.

"I'll be back for that in a moment," the waitress said, nodding toward the check. She spun around and stepped over to the podium. A second later, she greeted Dylan and the tanned woman accompanying him. Whether or not Dylan's companion really was Brittany remained to be seen.

Chase muttered to himself, "Take your time."

He watched as Dylan wrapped an arm around the woman, while the waitress escorted them to a table near the kitchen. If the restaurant had been buzzing with activity, Chase might've been able to slip away quietly without notice.

But there Dylan was, in the flesh, about to enjoy a morning-after meal together with a woman he barely knew. Chase thought about heading over there to talk some sense into Dylan. On the other hand, seeing the other Weaverson's face light up with contentment, Chase opted not to do so. Dylan always put the ladies above all else. It wasn't his fault that Chase forgot this.

Besides, Dylan was a grown man. Who was Chase to say that living in Helensview was the worst decision the younger Weaverson could ever make? Sure, things had gotten completely out of control last night, with that cop being gutted and all, but Chase had been the one not to listen to any of Dylan's concerns since they began planning the move.

The waitress returned, collected Chase's tab, went over to ring it up on the register, and brought him his copy of the receipt. He thanked her for her service, and then waited. As Dylan went to caress the woman's cheek, Chase started for the door in the hopes of sneaking past unseen.

"Well look who decided to stick around a while," Dylan murmured impishly, having broken away temporarily from playing tonsil hockey with his lady cohort.

Chase froze in place, unable to pretend he didn't hear his brother. Slowly, he turned around and cast a polite smile at the other two, refraining from letting his annoyance at the mere sight of them show.

"I just grabbed a quick bite before heading out. Ma and Pa are still expecting me, after all."

"Have you told them about me not coming?" asked Dylan.

"Phone service has been crummy since last night. I'll just have to let them know when I get there." Chase drew in some air, keeping his fists at his sides as he faced his brother. "I'm glad to see you've found someone who makes you happy, man."

Dylan laughed. "You'd better believe she does."

"Hi," said the woman extending her palm to Chase. She wore a one-piece black dress that looked about as cheap as her bright-red mascara, the ugliest color of eye make-up he had ever seen applied on a woman. The spaghetti straps of her gown hung loosely and barely kept her bra out of sight from Dylan's lust-filled eyes.

"I'm Brittany," she introduced herself. "You must be Dylan's brother. It's good to meet you."

"Likewise." Chase went over and took her hand without hesitation. He made it a point never to act rude toward a lady, even if she dressed like a lusty whore. Dylan's questionable taste in women demonstrated that he probably wasn't above using pick-up lines at a thrift store.

Luckily, Brittany didn't seem to notice Chase's lack of a smile. She released his hand back to him a second later, then went to pull out a brush from her purse and gussied up her hair. Chase thought nothing of it until the number of strokes she made exceeded thirty.

"I'm sure Brittany could hook you up with one of her friends if you'd like," Dylan said, laughing when she stopped brushing her hair to slather his neck with fluid from her tongue.

Chase rejected the offer with a raised palm. "I'm good, thanks."

"That's my brother for you, Brittany," Dylan countered with a scowl. "He's become such a prude."

Brittany smiled. "I wouldn't worry about it anyhow, Dylan. He wouldn't last five minutes with my crowd."

Chase found a clock hanging on a nearby wall. "I've got to get going. You gonna get your stuff outta my truck? You know, since you're dead set on staying here with your...friend."

Dylan shrugged. "It's all good. Brittany says she's going to buy me a new wardrobe so that I'll have more swag."

"Right." Chase managed a dignified smirk. "I'm sure she'll take good care of you."

He headed for the door again, but Dylan snatched his wrist.

"Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my gal here?" Dylan growled.

Chase's leer widened. "You're doing a fine job of that all on your own."

Before he could react, Dylan's knuckles connected with his chin. He crashed against the podium before landing on his back an instant later. Dizzying yellow light blurred the diner around him, so much so it kept him from getting up. This gave Dylan the chance to pummel Chase several more times. His jaw throbbed with intensity from each impact, worse than the desert heat he'd dealt with for nearly a day now. Brittany's nasally-charged grunt of disbelief cut even further into his mind, assisting the pain Dylan's assault had already caused.

"Not in my restaurant!" the waitress roared, peeling Dylan off of the older Weaverson brother.

"It's okay, ma'am," Chase remarked, sneering as he stood up. "I'm gone."

He flew towards the door without being served another knuckle sandwich. This time he said nothing to the biggest dumbass he'd known his whole life. He barely reached the door before he heard Brittany say something about never buying Dylan so much as tidy whiteys if this happened again.

"Idiot," he muttered, storming out the front door. Less than a minute later, he pulled back onto the main street from the parking lot and stomped his foot against the pedal. His engine roared as he sped through a red light without stopping.

So much for trying to talk any sense into Dylan.

CHAPTER 7

GUS PEDDLE

The streets remained empty as ever, the dashboard clock now cracking the 10 o'clock hour. Chase didn't bother looking into any of his truck's mirrors. He'd had enough of Helensview as a whole and the diner in particular. He wouldn't waste any time in trying to forget this place, or the people he was about to leave behind for good.

He just wished he didn't have to tell Pa and Ma why Dylan wasn't going to join them on the farm. It wasn't that they were oblivious to Dyl's age and lack of maturity. They just clung firmly to the hope that maybe Dylan might grow out of this childish behavior someday like Chase had.

Then again, Chase had taught Dylan how to shirk any and all responsibility. If only he'd set the better example as the older brother, Dylan wouldn't have thrown away everything that truly mattered for relationships that barely lasted beyond a morning shower.

He'd have to tell the folks something. They'd surely want to know what happened with Dylan. He could probably get away with saying something about Dylan changing his mind, and just leave it at that. Anything else was for Dylan to sort out with the folks, assuming they asked the younger Weaverson about it.

He stroked his forehead, the glint of sunlight in the east trying its hardest to evade his visor. Soon he'd be driving north again. Then it wouldn't be long before the sun came at him from the south. That he could handle, since it'd be one more thing he'd be putting behind himself.

As he closed in on the final stretch of Main Street, he again came upon the gas station with the insanely cheap pricing. The four cars that were actually out and about sat waiting for the pump. At least this time the line didn't stretch all the way out to the road.

Presently, his conversation with the waitress sprang to mind. Although he still had no intention of filling up, he needed to make sure that Dylan would be okay. Even though they'd gotten into fisticuffs, Chase truly wanted nothing but happiness for Dylan.

Parking his truck and getting out, he then made a zigzag through the line of cars, oddly finding every motor shut off. The reason for this became evident soon enough as Chase peered inside each vehicle's cabin, none of which contained any occupants. Outside of this, he uncovered no evidence of foul play. No broken glass, no doors hanging on their hinges, nothing. It was as if everyone had up and abandoned their cars altogether. No one was loitering around the pumps, despite the fact that the nozzle remained inserted into the Humvee's gas tank.

He crept up to the Mini-Mart. Liquid motion in the pit of his stomach swirled about. Maybe the cobbler had been a mistake, especially since he'd gone half the day before without food. The desert's arid heat certainly didn't help things, especially with no end of the sun's reign in sight. In the distance, a vulture cawed, the first sound he heard aside from the shambling of his feet along the concrete. Chase just about jumped out of his skin and had to check that the contents of both his bladder and bowels hadn't spilled.

Fortunately, they hadn't.

Inside the store, he found a man standing at the cash register, attired in a jet-black shirt and a nametag to the left of a crimson tie. He could barely make out the guy's pencil-thin goatee in the dim lighting. Despite the jingle of the bell on the door, the gas station employee appeared too preoccupied to glance up and acknowledge Chase. A rectangular gadget of some sort rested in the man's palm as he mashed his finger down on alternating buttons, his gaze toward something underneath the counter that Chase couldn't see.

"How could I be missing a whole case of cigarettes? She'd better not have walked out with them," the man uttered. He glanced up at the gas pump and sighed. "And what's taking that tow truck so long? I can't have those cars blocking that one side of my pump."

Chase glanced away, pretending to examine the headlines of the local newspaper in the display under the counter.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the man said, finally taking note of Chase's presence, running a hand through his sandy hair. "I'm taking stock of my inventory. Apparently some cigarettes went missing after last night's events."

"Oh?" Still caught up in the shock of watching a cop being gutted so viciously, Chase still couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that this man and several others could carry on like nothing had happened.

"Yeah." The man grabbed a paper towel from off a roll behind him and soaked it with his sweat. "According to my on-duty cashier during the overnight, something weird happened. Everyone got out of their cars, and then they just...changed. Grew horns on their heads and everything. Now, I don't think any of them came inside the store, but just to be safe I need to count my merchandise."

"You've got to be kidding," said Chase, trying to sound surprised as he took in another glance of the place. "Your store doesn't appear to have suffered much damage."

"I came in to find out what went down," the man said with a shrug, looking toward the road. "My employee left me a text message saying that people got out of those cars, changed, and howled like wolves. When I tried to reply to her, I got nothing. So I came in and found the store utterly abandoned. Since then, I've been waiting for someone to remove those blasted cars."

Chase nodded. "And you've seen nothing out of the ordinary since you came in this morning?"

"No. Why?" The owner blinked, genuine confusion marring his features.

"Heard from someone in town that these things didn't happen until after your gas station opened up, Mr....?" Chase checked the nametag he hadn't been able to read from the doorway.

"Peddle," the man announced. "Gus Peddle."

Mr. Peddle offered Chase his hand. Chase paused for a moment before accepting it with a shake.

"Chase Weaverson. You really seemed to be raking it in yesterday." He only paid Peddle the compliment to keep from making it seem like he was accusing the man of anything.

"Yes," Peddle remarked. "I'd tell you exactly how much, but this is a privately-run enterprise, and I don't exactly find it in proper taste to discuss my sales with anyone outside of a tax agency."

Chase didn't shudder under the pressure of Peddle's glare.

"I can appreciate that. My pa's giving me his farm. I wouldn't want anyone talking smack of his lifelong work, or asking about things that don't concern them."

These words seemed to calm Peddle. Sensing this, Chase pressed on, keeping in mind the need to not discuss anything potentially damning to the business.

"How long have you been in the fuel service industry, Mr. Peddle?" Perhaps if he prodded just enough, he might learn what the hell was happening to these poor bastards. With any luck, figuring this stuff out might prevent him from sharing their fate.

"A few years," Peddle said, staring out the window at the cars that now appeared stranded there for good. "I've never seen anything like this before, though. People love their cars. They don't just ditch them on a whim."

"Unless something weird happened," Chase said.

Peddle abandoned watching the road, diverting his full attention back to Chase.

"I hope the tow trucks get here soon. All those neglected vehicles can't be good for business."

"Well, I'll be moving mine out of here soon enough, if that'll help any."

Peddle's eyes gleamed as though the possibility of a sale thrilled him. "Going to fill up before you head on out?"

Chase felt the hairs of his underarms tickling him as he realized Peddle's expectation.

"Nah. I just need a soda for the road," he murmured, and then scoured the refrigerators for liquid refreshment. A moment later, he returned with a bottle of root beer, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

Peddle made no effort to conceal the glee on his lips.

"Thank you." He snatched the bills and coins out of Chase's hand as soon as they were presented to him. "Sure I can't interest you in filling up here? It's only 99 cents for a gallon of gas," Gus said, going in for that all-important suggestive sell.

Chase pointed in the direction of the pumps. "Just how am I supposed to refuel with all those vehicles in the way?"

At that, the smirk on Gus's face broke away as he tucked the money neatly into the register before closing it.

Their transaction complete, Chase turned around and exited the store, twisting the cap off his drink. With a triumphant grin, he swigged a gulp down, wiping his lips clean with his arm.

Something smacked the root beer clear out of his hand, foamy brown liquid spilling out onto the pavement. He looked up to find the same woman who'd yelled at him in the motel's parking lot the night before. Only now she had bony horns protruding beyond the rim of her head, her skin bloodied by the jagged enamel, the coppery threads appearing to have dried hours ago. Her flesh was a fiery beacon of damnation, her fangs sharp and dripping with drool, her breath about as hot as the desert air.

Chase leaped backward from her, toward the gas station entrance. His truck was too far away for him to effectively evade her, given the creatures' apparently enhanced jumping skill.

Making matters worse, a pack of the altered humans emerged from near their cars. Some of them crept about on all fours, while those, like the parking lot woman, stood on two feet. Every single one of them had the same horns, the same tails, and the same shade of reddened skin. Some wore hats or curly hair, while others had lost such features, their skulls looking ready to burst through what little flesh remained on their heads.

He spun toward the gas station and felt something slash him in the back. Roaring in pain, he then glanced briefly over his shoulder. The old man demon who'd slain the cop had struck him.

Chase's Adam's apple jerked up and down as the demons drew closer.

CHAPTER 8

HOODLUM

The demons yowled at Chase, the two closest to him swiping at him with their talons. He did his best to avoid them, but their proximity to him made that tricky. Every third or fourth swipe, they struck their intended target, slicing into his clothing, his skin, or both. Luckily, none of the lacerations he received cut deeper than a centimeter.

He thrust the bottom of his foot into the former woman, barely knocking her against the pump. He then twisted about, caught the old man by the arm, and decked him in the gut with his right fist. As the demon wailed in agony, Chase threw three more punches to the same spot. Then the parking lot woman dug her claws deep into his back. In response, Chase relinquished his hold on the old man, squirming to shake the woman's grip. Fortunately, all she did was rip the back of his shirt and cut him open with a slight scrape.

Such a shame Chase's folks had never come up with an exception clause for demonic gals. Despite everything Ma and Pa had taught him about hitting women, he couldn't stop his fist from connecting with the woman's jaw. She flew backwards once again, right into the arms of a demon in grease monkey overalls.

The tow truck driver, Chase realized. No wonder no one had come to pick these cars up. Had this blight already spread throughout the town overnight? At least now Chase knew why the waitress had no customers this morning. They'd spent the night before transforming into monsters lusting for slaughter.

Seeing no way past the creatures to his truck, he backtracked toward the Mini-Mart. The howls and snarls behind him grew louder, suggesting that the demons were closing in on him. He shoved the door open, and then slammed it back in place once safely inside.

"Decided to fill up, did you?" Peddle asked, woefully oblivious to the chaos outside his shop's window.

"Lock the door," Chase yelled, lacking the patience to deal with Peddle's ignorance at the moment.

"Why?" A trickle of uncertainty in the gas station owner's tone proved that maybe Peddle was finally starting to wise up to the world around him.

"I've found the drivers!" Chase groaned while straining to pull a metal newspaper display toward the door. "Seems they didn't wander too far away after all."

Peddle gazed out the window, his jaw hanging as realization struck. At once he rushed to the front door with the key in his possession, inserted it into the lock, and twisted it back and forth, his hands trembling. The way he fumbled with the key inspired no confidence whatsoever from Chase. Then, after a few more jolts, the lock clinked.

Once Peddle withdrew, Chase shoved a display case in front of the door, just for good measure.

"That's just in case the demons are actually smart enough to punch through the door," he said. No way would he leave his life in the hands of a potentially incompetent gas station owner. It was sheer luck alone that the man's store suffered no evident damage to either its structure or its merchandise, aside from a carton of cigarettes Peddle hadn't yet accounted for.

"I can't believe this is happening," Peddle muttered. "I didn't start this business just to be cut down in the prime of my life."

Chase didn't have time to answer. The tow truck driver's fist smashed through the door, shattering the window. Glassy shards and droplets of blood sprayed Chase and Peddle, both of whom shielded their faces with their hands.

The tow truck driver nabbed the inside handle, rattling it, trying to get it to unlock. The men retreated from the door as the tow truck driver moved through the broken space in the glass. A large and rather jagged shard snagged the creature in the abdomen, slicing his uniform and belly area open. Blood dripped unhindered from the wound, oozing down upon the glass, the newspaper display, and the floor.

"I don't suppose you've got a gun stashed away somewhere?" Chase looked to Peddle for an answer.

"It's in a padlocked drawer underneath the counter," Peddle remarked, and then scowled, glancing back at the door. "Damn it! Of all the stupid things to do!"

Chase's eyes followed Peddle's stare, soon finding the reason for Peddle's release of profanity. Peddle, in the rush to get away from the tow truck driver, had left his key in the front door lock.

So much for getting the gun.

"Can we get out another way?" Chase asked with distress growing in his voice.

Peddle bit his lip, glancing to the opposite end of the store. As he did so, two more windows on either side of the men shattered, the demons making their own entries into the building.

"Yes, but it'll offset the fire alarm and might activate the sprinklers."

"Who cares?" Chase said, reaching for the first thing he could grab—a glass bottle of apple cider from a refrigerated case—and chucking it at the tow truck driver's head. The impact smashed the container and sliced the demon's head open in several locations, delaying any further advance. A second later, the demon hybrid crumpled to the ground, the attack to his head knocking him out for the moment.

Chase paused to look the guy over, a tinge of remorse filling his heart at the sight of this unfortunate man with the fingernail daggers. Even with demon-like traits and mentality overriding the original humanity within these people, the afflicted were not yet fully invulnerable. If the head remained the most susceptible spot on these creatures, then the beasts could still be stopped.

"We need to go now!" Peddle said as he snatched Chase's arm.

The men retreated to the rear exit, stopping dead in their tracks seconds later. Through the thin pane Chase spotted two more demons swiping madly at the door, spewing puke-mucus fluid from their throats. Behind them in the store came the scuffle of beasts who'd gained access at the front end.

"We're trapped!" Peddle cried.

Disgusted by the way the owner seemed ready to call it quits too soon, Chase snatched Peddle by the collar and jostled him a little.

"Snap out of this. We'll find a way to escape them. One of these creatures just about killed me last night, but didn't. Now I don't know why that was, but maybe we still have a chance."

Peddle drew in a breath, then patted Chase's hand as though grateful for bringing him back to his senses. Upon being released from Chase's grip, he blurted out his next question without hesitation.

"You think you can reason with them?"

"I can give it a shot." Chase clenched his fists tight in a display of bravado.

Peddle grimaced, evidently not believing Chase's claim.

Chase turned away from Peddle, listening for the invaders. Realizing that none of the altered people had chased them to the back of the building, Chase crooked his head around the corner. The creatures were busy using their claws for slashing apart bags at the front display case, the area alive with the dance of potato chips no longer confined inside air-tight sealed sacks.

Peddle whimpered a protest at the way the demons were tearing up his store. "They're not gonna pay for that stuff, are they?"

Chase couldn't believe Peddle's complaint. Was money really far more important than their personal well-being? Provided he lived long enough to see it, he vowed never to run the family farm the same way that Peddle ran this gas station.

"Just be grateful they're filling their bellies with all that junk food instead of us," he remarked, watching the old man demon scour for chocolate candies another creature had dumped onto the tiled floor.

Peddle winced at the loss of profit from the wasted food, burying his head in his shoulder.

At this, Chase gritted his teeth and concentrated on getting the both of them out of there. He spun back to the fire escape exit, discovering no one guarding it now. With a rush of energy he stepped toward the handlebar, rested both hands upon it and pressed inward.

A siren blared throughout the store, alerting the demons to Chase and Peddle's escape. The men darted out of the building, toward Chase's truck. Odd, it seemed to Chase, how Peddle tailed him rather than head straight to his own vehicle. Maybe the gas station owner finally understood the severity of the situation.

That makes one other person besides me, Chase thought, fighting back against the resentment he still carried toward Dylan from back at the diner.

They quickly climbed into the pick-up, each slamming the lock down on his side. For a second or two, it appeared the demons weren't interested in hunting them further.

Then the tow truck driver landed on the hood of Chase's truck with enough momentum to dent the hull. A spray of blood from the creature's untended wound splattered against the windshield.

"Shit!" Peddle shot a look of disbelief at Chase. "You didn't tell me they could fly!"

"They can't," Chase said, firing up the engine once more. "I think they're just really good jumpers."

"You think?! You mean you don't know for sure?" Peddle threw himself back against his seat, keeping as far away from the windshield as was possible.

Chase tore out of the parking lot, swinging across to the other lane and back, praying that he might shake the creature from his truck. Unfortunately, the tow truck driver dug his talons deeper into the hood, clinging tightly to the vehicle.

"Hopefully they're not super-strong, too," Peddle said. He dug his fingers into Chase's seat, unwittingly mimicking the creature's action.

"So far they're not," Chase said, deciding not to follow that thought to its conclusion.

He swerved back and forth across the main street again, still trying to buck the demon right off. Thank god there still were hardly any cars out on the roads, or else he'd have had other motorists to contend with on top of the demon weighing down his hood.

A howl of protest ripped through the wind. Chase couldn't tell whether it belonged to the creature, or the tires, or a combination of both. The beast withdrew one set of claws from the hood and threw them against the windshield, scratching the surface and cracking the glass. A couple more swipes would shatter the already battered barrier and expose the truck's occupants to demonic danger.

Chase floored the accelerator. His tires shrieked another protest, his engine rumbling angrily. He hated harming his pick-up, but what other choice was there?

The tow truck driver, still hanging on by one hand, looked about ready to lose control. He drew his free hand back to the hood, but couldn't regain his grasp on it. A second later, the guy's other set of claws loosened their hold on the hood. He whipped about and went tumbling off the side.

Chase stopped for nothing until he reached the motor inn, ignoring the fact that Peddle gawked at the rearview mirror the whole time.

CHAPTER 9

PILL PEDDLER

While Chase tried calling the police about the demonic attack on the gas station, he watched Peddle sit down on his truck's rear bumper. The entrepreneur ran his hands down his face, appearing to massage every muscle in one delicate stroke. As Chase waited for the authorities to answer, he could see the desert heat getting to Peddle, too. Sweat clung to both men's brows as the sun's descent did nothing to discourage the warmth. They'd both have to get some water soon.

"Blast it all. Busy signal again! Guess the cops have their hands full with other matters." Chase growled and flipped his cell phone closed. A dark thought clouded his mind. What if the demons had already slaughtered the town's entire police force? Worse, what if they'd done the same to Dylan?

"Problems?" Peddle didn't bother to mask his sarcasm.

"You could say that."

"I thought I just did."

Chase ignored this. It wasn't worth getting into it with the guy over a mere technicality. Besides, they had worse things to think about at the moment.

"I wonder what made monsters out of all those people," Peddle spoke as if purposely trying to annoy Chase with idle chitchat.

"Afraid they won't remember how to pay for your products and services?" Chase sneered.

Peddle folded his arms, acting as if Chase's comment had wounded him.

"I'm a business leader in this community. The welfare of its people is a chief concern for me."

Chase shook his head, rejecting the man's claim.

"Don't you mean their money is a chief concern for you?"

Peddle's eyes narrowed. "Don't judge me. You don't know me at all."

"I recognize your type." Chase stepped toward Peddle, his voice reduced to a murmur. "I've known many seamy guys and gals my whole life. Hookers, druggies, and others you'd do well not to know about."

Peddle turned a nasty scarlet at the insinuation.

"I've never committed a crime in my life."

"That doesn't mean you don't swindle people out of their money."

Chase flipped his phone back open again, seeing if he had any numbers for the National Guard on his phone. It'd been about eight years since he'd last served, but anything was worth a shot at this point if it meant the difference between survival and certain death.

"I beg your pardon!" Peddle stood up, grinding his teeth. "How can I be robbing people blind when I have the least expensive gas in all the land?"

"I'd question any guy who fretted over the loss of payment for candy and potato ships while the rest of the world fell to pieces," Chase said, shrugging. "We're lucky to be alive, but you seem more worried about your profit margin."

An angry breath escaped Peddle's nostrils, the sound a whistle sharp, much like the crows and vultures from earlier.

"As a gas station owner I have a right to protect my business," he said, standing up to give Chase a nasty sneer, up close and personal.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't protect your assets. I'm just saying you should just count your losses and move on."

"Then I sincerely hope your old man doesn't have a stroke or something," Peddle snapped at Chase. "Your lack of economic sense may well doom your pa's farm."

Chase's fingers clenched tighter around his phone to the point where he accidentally pressed down hard on a button.

"You're something else, you know that?" he fumed. "I've never known anyone as selfish as you. And my brother's the ultimate pleasure seeker."

Peddle grunted, but objected no further. Unable to tune out most of the mogul's ramblings, Chase eyed the short, stout man pacing back and forth in the parking lot. At least soon he could leave Helensview behind for good and not have to worry about what Peddle did or didn't do.

Having no luck reaching anyone in the military either, Chase shoved his phone into his pocket before pulling out the hotel key he'd managed to get back from the front desk. The fact that he'd found it precisely where he'd left it was another sign that the world might soon end. Unlocking the door to his room again, he then spun back toward Peddle.

"If you really care about your business at all, then you can't ignore what's been happening in town."

"That's not my problem. I didn't come to Helensview looking to befriend the local yahoos."

Chase stroked his chin and smirked.

"But I thought you considered yourself integral to the local community."

"You name one town that hasn't prospered from having a gas station." Peddle held up a finger to demand that Chase actually mention a town by name.

Chase glanced across the street at a pair of motorcyclists taking turns ramming their bikes into a telephone pole, crashing and smashing the metal frames off their vehicles. The two dismounted from their bikes, shoving one another and butting heads without cause or reason. Two more victims lost to Helensview's curse, the thuds of their helmets rhythmic, drum-like beats.

"I bet this town did just fine long before you ever arrived, Peddle."

Peddle growled, his face darkening with rage, perhaps the initial stage of the gas station owner's own transformation into a demon.

"Will you stop judging me already? It's getting old really fast!"

"Is it now?" Chase asked.

Peddle stuttered, spittle shooting straight from his mouth. Instead of gurgling out an actual sentence, he clammed up with a heavy sigh and buried his face in his arms.

Chase got maybe five seconds at most to enjoy this moment. A roar ripped through the air, followed almost at once with a massive jolt that made Peddle lose his balance, fall off the truck, and hit the ground knees first. Chase snatched Peddle by the arm and jerked him into the motel room, nearly dislocating the man's shoulder in the process. He wasted no time at all in securing the door after they were both safely inside. With any luck, this room would again serve as a safe haven, at least until the demons stopped carrying out this new round of mayhem.

Curious as to what just shook the earth, Chase crept towards the window. Glancing outside, he found smoke billowing from a section of buildings three streets north of the motor inn. With the help of a northerly breeze, the plume soon consumed the heart of Helensview, blotting out the sunlight and bringing dusk prematurely to the city center.

"Sounds like the monsters are having fun over there," Peddle said with a grumble. "If they're causing chaos out this way, what the devil are they doing to my precious store?"

Chase grunted a harrumph. This guy made all of Dylan's flaws seem trivial in comparison. Chase would give up almost anything just to hear from his brother once again, to just know that Dylan was alive and well and not a demon. Why'd he have to give Dylan such grief back at the diner? Couldn't he have just let things go and been a more supportive brother?

"I wouldn't even think of going back to your store just yet. There's no way to know whether the demons have even abandoned your lot. Hell, they might be setting up a nest right at your station." Doubting that Peddle even cared about any of this, he added, "You saw the way the motorcyclists went after one another. It's just not safe anywhere in town."

"Then why don't you just get in your truck and take off?" Peddle challenged him.

Chase turned on Peddle, saying, "I will once I know what happened to my brother."

Peddle mumbled. "Good luck with that. It seems to me your family doesn't fire on all cylinders."

Fury surged throughout Chase, every fiber of his body aching to beat Peddle senseless. Chase cracked his knuckles in the anticipation of blood splattering. Maybe he could spill Peddle's. After all, the town was becoming more demonized by the minute. Who'd really notice, or even care, if a certain gas station owner's innards were smeared up and down the motor inn walls like a fresh coat of coppery paint?

Peddle's lips parted, his gaze directed toward Chase's fists. The station owner's nervous tics and glances toward the door made him appear likely to bolt without warning. Instead, he reached inside his pants pocket for something, perhaps a gun.

Chase charged at the man, ready to strike either Peddle's gut or chin. Peddle held up a palm in apparent surrender, his other hand holding a bottle of prescription drugs in front of Chase.

"Stop!" Peddle commanded, his voice quivering as if he worried about his own sorry behind. "I can help you, but you've got to listen to me."

"What now?" Chase barely noticed the feral manner in which the words flew from his mouth, or the voices inside his mind beckoning for him to strangle Peddle. Just the right amount of pressure would do the trick, and it wouldn't cost much effort.

"I want you to try one of these pills," Peddle suggested, standing still on shaky legs.

Chase eyed the bottle and snarled. "What's this? Poison?"

"No!" Peddle gasped before catching himself. "I swear they're a form of tranquilizer. They've kept me sane these last few days."

"You're lying!" Chase lunged for Peddle, snatching him by the arm. "You intend to kill me with them!"

Peddle shook his head. "These will help you!"

Chase pursed his lips. What a fool Peddle was, working such a deceptive angle. Only one course of action would make this right.

Fire flared underneath Chase's fingertips. He winced at the wave of energy coursing through his head, every pulse and beat of his heart whispering to him. His eyesight became compromised for a moment or two. White light inside his own skull flared up to where it nearly seared his optics. Then the darkness he felt welling up deep within him feasted upon this energy. When he was able to, he looked down and saw his nails growing into talons. Chills danced up and down his spine, his airways constricting as panic bled into his heart. His lips parted, and he thought he had released some sort of profanity into the air. With a monstrous buzz clamoring between his ears, he found himself suddenly unsure of anything other than the imminence of his own transformation.

Then as the terror grew ready to suffocate him in his motel room, it abruptly fell into calmness, unsettling, unnatural. Dark laughter pierced the air, but from where it came Chase couldn't pinpoint at first. By the time he realized it had come from him, it was too late. Evil ecstasy aroused every fiber of his being, making him chuckle uncontrollably even as he pinned his palm to his belly.

Not that this bothered him in the least now. Dryness ran the sum of his tongue. Only Peddle's blood seemed capable of moistening it. What a treat that would be for Chase, licking Peddle's juices clean off his fingers. Almost like eating fried chicken...

"Take one, Weaverson, or else you'll die!"

Peddle unscrewed the bottle cap, dumped a pill into his hand, and held it out in front of Chase.

Primal instinct kicking in, Chase swiped at Peddle. Peddle blocked the attack with his free arm, while at the same time tugging at his captive limb. Chase, unsurprised by the sudden rise in his bodily power, found that his grip made escape near impossible for Peddle. His lips shifted upward, exposing his teeth to the gas station owner.

In response to this, Peddle hurled his foot into Chase's shin. Chase yowled and relinquished control of Peddle's arm. Peddle shoved the capsule in Chase's mouth before jumping safely out of harm's way.

Swallowing the pill, Chase then started rocking back and forth in spastic motion. He could no longer hear the buzzing tormenting him from beneath his own skin, its silence somehow worse than their presence. All the temptation, all the devilish nuances that had given him a pleasurable rise, died. He fell toward Peddle, tears dripping of their own volition from his eye sockets. The fact that Peddle actually caught him in mid-fall almost startled Chase worse than the vertigo that had landed him in the other man's grasp to begin with.

"Fight it, Weaverson!"

Peddle's words summoned Chase back from the brink. A second later, the talon tips broke off, leaving behind the main part of every slightly deformed fingernail. Chase gasped for air as his humanity clawed its way back to the surface, the pill having worked some sort of magic to prevent him from going the way of the parking lot woman or the old man.

"You did it." Peddle clasped Chase on the shoulder. "Nicely done. Another few seconds, and you'd have been lost."

Still slightly wheezy, Chase glowered at Peddle. "I don't get you. You've declared your business your topmost priority. Why show concern for me?"

Peddle refitted the lid upon the bottle before addressing Chase's question.

"I do care about my business, but until I watched you start to transform, I didn't realize just how awful this whole demon mess was."

"I'm glad you came to your senses finally." Chase moaned, his stomach still churning from the partial shift to demon.

Peddle nodded. "I'll help you look for your brother. There's no telling what condition those monsters left my store in, and right now I'm not interested in being gutted some twenty feet from the pumps."

Chase smirked slightly. "Smart man."

"Thanks." Peddle stared out the window as the haze outside began to let up a little.

Recovering from his close call, Chase left Peddle alone for a while. If not for the man's caplets, Pa and Ma's eldest boy surely would've given in to the darkness. Where had the gas station owner gotten them, and how had he known their exact effect?

CHAPTER 10

HELPERS

Hours seemed to pass inside the motel room, though with the way Chase dozed in and out waiting for Dylan to call, he wasn't exactly sure if they really did. Every minute that came and went since he stormed out on Dylan seemed to drag on forever. It hadn't helped that on the way back to the motor inn, he'd seen the parking lot at the Eat'N'Grease had completely emptied and the lights shut off. Not knowing where Dylan was or if the younger Weaverson was even alive made Chase unable to think straight.

Who'd have thought that he would wind up feeling this way, worrying about Dylan despite the fact that Dylan was an adult who could take care of himself for the most part? Peddle's presence and indiscreet greed made Chase appreciate his brother more, the only blessing he could find in all this demon mess.

With a little luck, maybe he could still make a fresh start with Dylan. He didn't know where to begin, but there had to be some way for him to mend fences. An apology might be in order. Sure, it might not have been the thing he really wanted to do, but stubbornness was a trait built equally into all Weaversons. Sometimes the pride just had to be swallowed. Expecting Dylan to admit how right Chase had been all along wasn't prudent. He reminded himself of how he had turned his back on Dylan, not the other way around.

For a while, no one had made a peep since Peddle stopped Chase's transformation. Now, the sudden, bluegrass-vibe jolt of the older Weaverson's ringtone, usually a soothing sound, made Chase shoot straight up in his bed. Peddle grumbled something about how that choice of ringtone made Chase just as redneck as most of the people in Helensview, a comment Chase immediately dismissed without response.

He yanked his phone out and flipped it open without glancing at the caller I.D. Even though the call again came from an unknown number, Chase just knew it had to be his brother. Or maybe Ma and Pa had gotten a new phone and were calling to say that they'd spoken to Dylan. Hopefully, Dylan was on the way to Grains Plains before the demons completely drove the world to utter ruin.

"Who's there? Dylan, is it you? For the love of it all, man, say something!"

A second later, a dial tone reached his ear. Angrily, he shook the phone back and forth, every shake more violent than the last. Through his side vision he could see Peddle eyeing him, the mogul's hand holding up the bottle of pills again, hinting that maybe Chase needed more medicine.

"This stupid town can't even carry a decent signal. I've just about had it," Chase roared, pressing down hard on the off button, nearly breaking his cell phone in the process.

"Sure I can't interest you in another one of these?" Peddle asked, reaching to uncap the container. "Maybe one wasn't strong enough of a dose for you."

Chase shook his head, glaring at the bottle in Peddle's hand.

"I'm fine."

"Suit yourself."

Looking not the least bit dejected by Chase's refusal, Peddle pocketed the medication once more. He then took to perching upon the side of Dylan's bed, swinging his legs and tapping the bed with his heels.

Wondering what was going on outside at present, Chase went over to the window. Despite the glass being in the way, he caught the muffled cries of animals, some of which may've actually been dogs barking in protest against the other commotion. Because of the continual ringing in his head, it became terribly difficult for Chase to tell the different noises apart. Weren't Peddle's pills supposed to have squelched this mental disturbance?

Deciding that the motel room window got in the way of his ability to hear, he reached over and slowly unfastened it. Even just a crack helped him some. His ears picked up a faint shriek in the distance, nothing like the demon chatter he was already growing accustomed to. In fact, he almost swore he could've heard someone screaming for help from off in the distance. Another yowl, immediately following the first one, made him fly toward the door.

"What's going on?" Peddle asked with slim hesitation in his voice.

"Someone out there needs help," Chase said. His whole body flared with heroic instinct. If someone else was still out there, he had to step in before the demons killed them.

And how was it that he had caught wind of the scream, but Peddle remained oblivious to it? Had his hearing had somehow improved after he'd taken Peddle's medicine? Were heightened senses somehow a side effect of those capsules?

He threw open the motel room door and dashed out into the parking lot. Craning his neck every which direction except immediately behind him, he deduced that the noise had come from somewhere close by. Unrelenting, the cries beckoned Chase their way. Footsteps behind him proved that Peddle remained invested in this matter, at least for now. Running until he spotted something, he then stopped abruptly, making the other man crash into him.

"What are you doing, Weaverson?" Peddle asked with an indignant tone while peeling himself off Chase.

"Look!" Chase said, pointing toward the thing that had caught his eye.

Under the light of a familiar lamppost, a trio of police officer demons surrounded a boy with jet-black hair, brown skin, and thin-rimmed glasses, bound to a wheelchair. One of the officers still seemed capable of hoisting his gun at the boy, but the other two crouched down like some of the other demons from earlier. The crouching duo took warning swipes at the boy, casting the appearance of toying with their prey in cat-like fashion.

"Oh, god. Even the cops have turned!" said Peddle. The way his eyes bulged open removed any lingering doubt of how seriously the gas station owner took this matter.

Chase watched the glock wielder pistol-whip the boy in the head. Adrenaline rushing through his body, he charged at the creatures, fists first. The power he'd felt just before his near-transformation returned in full force, like it'd never left at all. Concern for his own safety fell by the wayside as the compulsion to save that boy drove him wild with intent.

He drew a right hook at the one with the gun, his fist striking the back of the demon's head before the creature had a chance to swing around and blow his brains out. The demon crashed to the ground, his weapon slipping out of his hand and sliding along the pavement to a distance of several inches away.

Chase next tackled the one directly behind the boy, thrusting his knuckles repeatedly in the officer demon's face, the crackle of shattering jawbone piercing the air. As he moved, his actions grew increasingly faster, his newfound speed making the world around him a complete blur as he channeled the intensity of this moment into raw energy to keep himself going. Blood wetted the back of his hand, though whether it belonged to him or the cop, he didn't know.

He came around with the heel of his boot, throwing it into the side of the second officer's leg. Then he seized the .9mm out of the officer's holster and aimed its barrel at the former cop, point blank range. A single shot of gunfire boomed. Chunks of skull flew this way and that, brain matter splattering everywhere, the officer's glasses fogging up with red. Moments later, the cop-demon keeled over, dead.

The remaining fiend, who up until that moment had continued terrorizing the boy, took note of this and scampered away. A few high bounds put more space between her and a bullet from Chase's firearm. As this one escaped, Chase finished off the one he'd knocked out a second ago with the gun's last bullet before focusing on the boy.

"You're all right now, son." Chase pocketed the gun while Peddle straightened out the boy's chair. He then checked the boy for any physical injuries before Peddle helped him lift the kid back into his chair.

"What happened?" the boy cried. "Why's everyone turning into monsters?"

Chase and Peddle shared a glance.

"We don't know. Where are your parents?" Peddle asked.

The boy lifted a quivering finger. Chase's gaze followed the direction indicated. Peddle let out an involuntary gasp as the boy gestured at the demonic woman officer lying before them in a pond of blood.

"That's my mom."

Dry air rushed in to fill the open space of Chase's mouth as the news of who he'd just shot to death choked his mind.

CHAPTER 11

SIMON ON WHEELS

The moon peeked out from behind a wayward cloud, its light assisting the streetlamps. From a distance Chase watched Peddle make a genuine effort to console the boy by offering the kid a handkerchief. He could still hear snot being blown right into Peddle's cloth. The illumination around them showed Peddle's face in response to all the mucus

At least maybe now Peddle would take the possible end of the world more seriously. If anything, he might see how much more value life had instead of his profit margin. Most people would've fled town first chance they got, money be damned. People like the restaurant staff, however, had no means of escape, which effectively screwed them out of any chance for survival.

But Peddle wasn't a native of the town in any sense of the word. He probably didn't care what eventually became of Helensview. His customer base was probably the only reason he stuck around. Once that was gone, the gas station owner would probably hit the road himself.

For the time being, Peddle treated the boy with some decency by tending to his tears. Perhaps the only reason why Peddle did this was because Chase couldn't. After all, the gas station owner hadn't shot and killed the kid's mother, even though she'd become a demon herself. Chase had squeezed the trigger without considering that maybe Peddle's pills could've changed her back, too. It wasn't exactly a cut-and-dry case of once a demon, always a demon.

No, Chase had done the right thing. He couldn't start second-guessing himself now. Those demons would've sliced the boy's intestines open with their claws if he hadn't acted in time. The mom had been lost completely; Chase was sure of it. At least the boy was still here among the sane and living. That had to count for something.

When did things get so complicated? Life had been so simple seven years ago. You went out, you hung out with friends, you had a beer, you might get into a fight at the bar, and you slept the hangover away, sometimes with a lady friend nuzzling up to you around breakfast time. Everything that Dylan still did today was what Chase used to love to do.

Only now, Chase spat on that kind of lifestyle, despite leading such a life himself once. Why did he have to be such a jerk about things? If it hadn't been for Dylan, Ma and Pa would've found out all about where Chase had really been those seven years ago. Dylan had covered for Chase by claiming Chase had found work out of state, and that he was working his butt off to fix things. Fortunately, the folks had taken that to mean that Chase had started his own repair business.

This was the sort of thing the Weaverson brothers always did for one another. Somewhere along the way, Chase had forgotten this. What they used to do for one another lay in the very spirit of brotherhood. And now, with the possibility of Dylan being dead, Chase might never get a chance to actually fix things.

"Hey, kid, don't cry. At least your mom's not a violent, bloodthirsty beast bent on ripping out your guts anymore," said Peddle, his words anything but comforting, despite the effort put forth in his tone.

Catching wind of Peddle's poor phrasing, Chase grew close enough to see the boy looking up at Peddle in between sniffles.

"Sorry, sir," said the boy.

The illumination from the streetlamp gave Chase a better glimpse of the boy's blotchy eyes. Despite the stench of sulfur lingering in the air, Chase took in a deep breath, if only to keep himself from lashing out against Peddle needlessly. He didn't need to transform into a demon himself, especially now that they were starting to find other survivors.

Chase clasped his hand on the gas station owner's shoulder, nudging him away from the boy.

"Give the kid some space. He doesn't need your sort of help right now."

A glimmer of confusion shone on the other man's face.

"What'd I say?"

Chase frowned at Peddle. How could anyone who obviously thrived in the business world be so dense? Then again, it shouldn't have surprised him. What else could he have expected from a clod who went on with his business like normal while all of Helensview danced its demonic ballet?

"I'll be fine, Mister." The kid wiped his sleeve against his face, tossing the handkerchief onto the street. "I know I can't bring her back."

Chase removed his hand from Peddle's shoulder and moved to gently grip the boy's arm.

"Call me Chase."

"Okay."

"Where's your dad, kid?"

"Simon," the boy announced with a smaller quiver in his pitch. "Dad left Mom and me some years ago."

"Figures," muttered Peddle. "Sounds like your dad refused to pay his fair share in bringing you into this world. Typical deadbeat."

"Hey! Dad did the best he could," Simon replied with a scowl. "Not his fault I got hurt a couple of years ago in a car crash."

"Good thing he got out of town before all hell broke loose," Chase said, grumbling to himself.

"Wish I knew if Dad's okay. I hope he doesn't wind up dead like my mom," said Simon.

Chase couldn't fault Simon for saying that. If any of the other Weaversons changed, he probably wouldn't be prepared to deal with them as demons, much less bring himself to blast their heads off.

"We should really get off the streets. There's no telling how many more of these demons might still be out here," Peddle said, looking around in all directions. His fists clenched up, a sign that he was ready for action.

_Or more likely ready to run_ , thought Chase.

For once, however, he couldn't come up with a good enough reason to argue Peddle's point. Instead, his fingers grazed the side of the pocket in which he'd stashed the .9mm. He could still almost smell the residue of gunpowder left behind in the barrel after firing those shots. Hopefully he wouldn't need the gun again for a good long while.

"How far away is your house, Simon?" he asked.

Simon said, "A couple blocks away, sir."

"Mind if we head over there?"

Peddle blinked at Chase. "Really? We're just going to throw Simon in the back of your truck?"

"We're not going to treat Simon like a piece of plywood," Chase replied. Another spark of outrage flowed through him, even though Peddle wasn't really asking for it. This time, the very sound of Peddle's voice alone triggered the response. "I'll leave my truck here for now. If Simon's house is nearby, I think we'll be all right on foot. For some reason, cars seem to really excite the demons, as if the creatures are drawn to them. Maybe that's why that old guy demon spared me the other night. I wasn't in my truck at all at that point."

"But you did use your truck to get away from the gas station," said Peddle, apparently seeing Chase's logic. "That's when they did attack you."

"And they left you alone in your gas station pretty much until I showed up."

"Yes," Peddle said, rubbing his chin. "This does make sense."

Chase nodded. "They haven't even gone after the restaurant staff. And they only attacked Simon because he was in a wheelchair."

"Maybe we should ditch the chair. What if the demons are attracted to motion?" asked Peddle.

"But I need my chair," Simon said, his voice barely a whisper.

At this, Peddle spun away from Chase, facing the boy whose own mother had nearly succeeded in tearing him to shreds just a few minutes ago.

"That reminds me. Why are you out and about on your own if you can't get anywhere without your chair?"

Simon sighed. He looked up at the sky like he was trying to think up an excuse, as though he'd been told not to leave the house, and had knowingly gone against his mother's wishes anyhow.

"I just wanted to visit our neighbor Mr. Sorray. When Mom told me to stay indoors because there might be problems, I got bored. Mr. Sorray always lets me come over. I wanted to go see how he was doing."

"Despite what your mom said about staying put," Peddle blurted out, his lack of tact strong as ever.

"Parents usually don't just spout things off for the heck of it, Simon," Chase said, reflecting on his own moments of teenage rebellion fifteen years ago. How Ma and Pa managed to put up with his own shenanigans, he didn't know.

Simon tried to give Chase something of a smile. "I know that, sir, but I hadn't heard from Mr. Sorray in two days. I missed him. Kind of like how I miss my dad."

Seeing how late it was getting, Chase went behind Simon and grabbed the handlebars to the kid's chair. With a shove he launched the chair and its occupant forward.

"Which way to your house?" he asked.

Simon pointed straight forward. "Two blocks to the west and one street up. It's not far."

Definitely too far for this crazy kid to venture out in the midst of all this demon danger, thought Chase. Something wasn't right about this at all.

"Do you have any other family in the area, Simon? Any friends or neighbors you could stay with until this all blows over?" Peddle asked.

"No," Simon whimpered. He didn't speak again until after they crossed a street. "Are we going to die? Those demons killed Mr. Sorray. I don't want them to kill me, too."

"You saw them kill Mr. Sorray?" Chase asked, cutting in before Peddle could ask his next tactless question.

Simon breathed deeply, the last of the sniffles finally fading. The wheels of his chair crunched gravel as the sidewalk ended on a street consisting of residential yards with chain-linked fencing on either side.

"Yeah."

"I'm so sorry, Simon," Chase said, wishing there was something he could do to take away the boy's pain. Looking out for him until they found a way to contact Simon's dad appeared to be the only option on the table for him.

Suddenly, he had a second reason to hang around Helensview and figure out what was going on with the world at large.

CHAPTER 12

LOCAL FOLKS

Aside from the fact that the building's yellow stucco paint was peeling off underneath the porch light, Simon's home didn't look any worse for wear, considering how the demons thrashed other parts of town, like the inside of Peddle's Mini-Mart. A small, wooden walkway sloped upward from the driveway to the step right outside the front door. The oak used in the platform appeared to have been furbished within the last two years, as it looked newer and slightly out of place with the rest of the house.

"Dad built this ramp for me," Simon said. "I watched him work on it every day. Sometimes he stopped and threw ball with me while I sat in my chair on the porch."

"Good for you," said Chase, thinking of how Simon's dad might respond to Helensview's situation today. At least Simon still had his dad out there somewhere. Hopefully whatever was turning people into demons remained contained to just Helensview, and had not grown into a national or even worldwide pandemic.

Perhaps there was still time to do something. If he could control it, Chase would make damn sure no one else turned. However, not knowing what caused the transformations to begin with put that strategy in jeopardy.

"Door's not locked," Simon said. "We can go right in."

"Hopefully the demons don't know that," Chase said, rolling Simon up the platform to the front door. Finding it unlocked as promised, he had Peddle go in first, just in case something was awaiting them inside the house. It didn't seem likely, given how the door was shut and none of the windows had been busted. A demon would've ripped the door off its hinges or shatter the first window they came upon.

"Your neighbor didn't die in here, did he?" Peddle asked, sniffing the air as though he expected the stench of a rotting body to greet him.

"No," said Simon. "Mr. Sorray didn't die in my house."

"Sorray...Sorray...hmm. That names sounds familiar for some reason," Peddle said, opening the door and setting foot inside the house.

Simon cocked his head at Peddle as Chase wheeled him over the threshold right on the gas station owner's heels.

"It should be. You're the creep that owns the new gas station in town, aren't you?"

Peddle tugged at his shirt collar, making exaggerated noises with his throat as if pretending he needed water.

"Um, yeah, I am," he said, apparently caught off guard.

"Mr. Sorray told me all about you. He said he went to your store the day it opened. He wasn't happy that your lower gas prices threatened to drive our other stations out of business."

"It's not my fault if my rivals can't handle competitive pricing. The problem with this town is that it's been run by dumb-as-brick fossils who wouldn't know entrepreneur savvy if it bit them in the butt."

"It's not your fault?" Chase's words made the color in Peddle's face fade. "According to a waitress who works at the diner down the road, no one from the highway's been coming up past your gas station."

Simon glanced up at Peddle, the light from a ceiling sconce glinting off his lenses.

"Mr. Sorray said you shouldn't have come to town, that people should only do business with those they can trust."

Chase could see how Mr. Sorray would've believed this. Peddle's place notwithstanding, the heart of Helensview belonged to the blue-collar, working class. The experience at the diner proved this. The fatigue, the scruffiness, and the near absence of hope in the waitress's eyes spoke volumes of both the town's suffering and resilience. Although he still wouldn't move here on a whim, he did see what made the town special to the people who called it home.

Even if many of those people were now demons.

"I haven't been here a week, and people already want to condemn me? What a bunch of crock!" Peddle said.

Chase found it easier to ignore Peddle's every snide comment. If the man couldn't handle being criticized, he had no right to own a business. Working in the public sector meant dealing with the public. Not every person who came along would be receptive to the services he offered.

Although a distinctively lower gas price did give Peddle an edge over the competition, Chase grudgingly thought.

He stepped onto the shag carpeting of Simon's living room, instantly getting a 70's vibe from the area's appearance. Orange, circular flowers lined the walls, matching the patterns on the chairs and sofa, as well as the color of the shag carpeting. On the coffee table next to where Simon was turning himself around, a lava lamp lit up the immediate two or three feet of surrounding area in its glow.

On a fireplace mantel, Chase found several photos of various members of Simon's family. Two in particular caught his attention. A man and a woman attired in 70's flair each held up a waving pose, the man sporting a vest and a peace sign on his shirt, the woman in a blue blouse and matching long skirt. Both of them wore their hair down to the shoulders, the man having a lighter shade of brown in his mane as opposed to his lady friend. Chase couldn't tell if the dreamy gaze in their eyes was hope for the future, or something likely related to smoking.

"Those are my grandparents," Simon said, rolling up next to Chase. "They both died a couple years ago, but they were happy right on up until the end. Mom took their deaths pretty hard. She and Dad started to fight a lot after that. Dad left a few months later."

"Do you have a contact number for your father?" Chase asked, hoping that the phone system in town was up and running once again. A phone call right now to Simon's dad might drive the boy's attention away from thinking of losing his mom.

"I just talked to him yesterday, before all of this started. He said he loved me and that he was going out of town for a few days, so I can't reach him."

"Does he still live here, in Helensview?"

Simon shook his head. "He moved to the city to get a new start on life. Mom said something about him going there to drink like a booze hound."

Can't believe she'd say that right in front of her kid. That's just not right, thought Chase, the air in the room growing stuffier by the moment. Unfortunately, the threat of the demons remained too great to keep any way into the house open for attack, the windows included.

"Can't say I blame him for leaving," Peddle said. "If I was born and raised here, I'd be on the first bus out of town in a heartbeat."

"If you hate my town so much, Mr. Peddle, then why'd you set up shop here?"

"Technically, I didn't set up shop in your town. I set up shop right by the highway, at a prime location where people could come and go without the hassle of driving into a town that's as backwards as any I've ever seen," Peddle remarked, grunting as though annoyed at constantly defending himself.

Simon gripped the arms of his wheelchair. The way his knuckles trembled and blanched indicated just how hard his hold was on the armrests.

"Stop talking trash about my town. It's not much, but it's mine and I'm proud of it."

The way Simon laid into Peddle with his words made Chase especially grateful that he'd kept his own opinion of the town to himself.

"Calm down," Peddle said, reaching toward Simon.

Simon jerked away from Peddle. "Oh? So I'm supposed to just accept the bad things you say about my town?"

"Peddle, back off." Sensing the need to intervene, Chase pried Peddle away from the kid. Once he'd separated the two, he decided a change in topic was appropriate. "Simon, do you have any idea what might have made the people turn into demons?"

"No, sir." Simon continued to glare at Peddle, even while speaking to Chase. "No one ever became a demon before his gas station opened up."

"My station opened up days ago," Peddle argued. "If it was responsible for the transformations, how come people only started to transform yesterday?"

Chase caught onto Peddle before the man even realized he'd just blundered big time. He hadn't even brought up the matter of when the first transformation took place, only that the demon had called off its attack against him.

"That's now at least two people who think there's something shady going on with your business. Three if you count Mr. Sorray," Chase said, keeping his gaze fixed on Peddle. "I'm not suggesting anything bad about it. But then again, Ma Weaverson always said that once was a coincidence, twice was a moldy checker-patterned blanket you couldn't wash clean even after you got the manure off it."

Peddle sputtered at the insinuation, his response consisting mainly of choked-upon syllables and utterances. The color faded from his flesh as he appeared caught in a trap of his own making.

"If that's the way you're going to be, maybe I should go back to my store," he said after taking a quick breath.

Chase gripped Peddle by the shoulder. "Yeah, you go do that. Then what? How do you expect to defend yourself alone against these beasts?"

"I can manage."

"No, you can't," Chase barked at the guy. "You weren't even aware that those demons were about to attack your convenience store. Like it or not, you're stuck with us."

"Fine." Peddle folded his arms against his chest. "I just hope you find your brother soon so I can be rid of you."

Chase scowled. The snide way the gas station owner mentioned Dylan drew fire from the shadows of Chase's mind. If not for the pills, Chase would've let his inner demon out to play. And Peddle would've likely have been his first prey.

Fortunately, that hadn't happened. Now if he could find Dylan and get the hell out of town, it might never happen, either.

CHAPTER 13

SIMON'S HOUSE

An hour later, the lights flickered and a roar boomed down on them from up above, the ceiling providing an adequate buffer in drowning out much of the shockwave. Any possible road rage and cop killing seemed less likely with the torrential rain pummeling a landscape not accustomed to it. Chase thought of the luggage he had left in his truck back at the motor inn. Hopefully he'd shut everything up tight enough so that his clothes and personal items wouldn't be ruined.

Despite his desire to get out of Helensview, the storm had likely given him another night's stay there, and with Peddle as company no less.

To be on the safe side, Chase went around the house fastening shut every window and most of the doors. The front door remained the one exception. If the demons got in some other way unexpectedly, he didn't want to waste time trying to jiggle the lock undone. At least if something came in through the main entry, he'd meet it with the barrel of the .9mm staring down at it. Thankfully, he was in Simon's house, which meant that Simon's mom probably had ammo locked away somewhere. Provided he found a key or learned of any safe combination, he'd be able to reload his gun.

With a plan in mind, he waited until the others fell asleep before searching. The thought to arm Peddle occurred to Chase, but Peddle was still too much of a flight risk.

"How many bedrooms does your house have, Simon?" he asked, glancing around near the hallway leaving the living room.

"Two, sir, plus a bathroom, all down that way," Simon replied, pointing toward that same hallway.

Briefly noting what Simon had just confirmed, Chase came around to the living room sofa and sank down into the cushions, fatigue from the day's events catching up with him. His exhaustion should have instead come from milking a cow or plowing the field in Grains Plain. Anything had to be better than waiting around to see if his self-indulgent brother was still alive. But he couldn't leave, not without first learning what happened to Dylan. Not that Chase was particularly concerned for himself. He knew he could deal with his brother's death over time.

Yet Ma and Pa would be beside themselves with heartache if they never had closure in Dylan's disappearance. Such grief might compromise the family's ability to hold onto the farm, especially if Pa's health deteriorated before the paperwork naming Chase as Pa's successor went through. The chance existed that Pa had a living will to be carried out in the event of his death. But until now, Chase hadn't thought to ask.

"I don't like this," Peddle complained from a far corner of the room, his arms crossed, his lower lip slightly protruding, his shoulders slumped as he stood against the wall. "I shouldn't have left my store to the mercy of those demons."

Initially jostled back to alertness by the sound of Peddle's voice, Chase disregarded the man's words. At present, Simon remained the greater concern. With a father they couldn't reach and a demonic mother now dead and rotting in a gulch, the boy had nowhere to go.

His plight certainly kept things in perspective for Chase. Despite recent troubles, things could have been much worse for the Weaversons. Was there really a silver lining in the dark clouds looming over Helensview's fate?

As the rain pounded against the window panes, Chase kept a watchful gaze on the lights. So far they'd flickered only once or twice, but the gusting winds outside threatened an imminent outage if they got any stronger. The three of them would need to gather candles, batteries, flashlights, and lanterns before the power grid fell victim to either the storm or a demon attack.

But even if the power stayed on, things might not return to Helensview's brand of normal. Should the world somehow survived this unscathed and that Simon's dad didn't or couldn't come back, the kid would have no means of paying the bills. The house would be foreclosed upon in no time. If Simon made his food supplies last long enough to reach that point, he'd most certainly wind up in an orphanage or foster care.

The thought of taking Simon in did occur to Chase, but he wasn't ready to become an adoptive father and take on the family farm at the same time. Once he sorted things out first, he might be up for the challenge afterward. Yet Simon needed a parent right away. Reaching his dad remained the best option for everyone involved.

"Nice home you have," Chase said. His fingers brushed against a wicker cabinet nestled in the corner nearest him, the wood polished as if someone went around dusting the place on a frequent basis. "How long have you lived here?"

"All my life," Simon said, rolling his chair around as if to give himself a better view of the men.

Peddle snorted again, his impatience with the situation growing intolerable for Chase. Making things worse, the gas station owner began pacing back and forth, the floorboard creaking with every third step.

"If you're that bored with our situation, Peddle, then you know where the front door is. Go on. Try and survive on your own, if you can." Chase bit his tongue before he swore up a storm in Simon's presence.

"Forgive me," Peddle said, sounding unapologetic. "I haven't had anything to eat in a while."

Chase rubbed his own belly as it too demanded food. He looked toward the kitchen area, and then right at Simon.

"I ought to have something in my pantry still," Simon said. "Let me go look for you."

Simon rolled out of sight a few seconds later. Chase waited until the boy was out of ear's reach before glaring at Peddle.

"Why do I get the feeling there's more to your desire to go check on your store than its condition?" Chase grunted.

Peddle sighed, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He paused for a second, as if thinking twice about doing so, before lighting up. Despite the lack of any ash trays in the room, Peddle taking a deep puff right inside the house further underscored his selfishness. Chase thought quickly and brought a potted fern over to dispose of the ashes properly.

"I'm doing the best I can to get by. Isn't that what we all do?"

"Funny how you're just now starting to think of others beyond yourself," Chase said, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm just looking out for my survival. Same as everyone else."

"Oh, yeah? Well, some of us actually pay attention to how our actions affect others. Putting your business ahead of anything else may work for you, but what about the gas stations you're driving out of business? Or how about the way you've trampled all over this town's dignity?"

"You and I both know this town had no dignity before we showed up," Peddle said, lowering his voice as if actually remembering Simon's presence in the other room. "You and me, we get how screwed up this place is."

"That doesn't mean I wish bad things to befall it. No one should ever live in fear of a demon attack, Peddle. What happened to this town was done by design, not by accident. People just don't become demons without a reason. This all started right after your gas station opened up. How bizarre is it that you just happened to have the pills that can counteract the effects?

"And by the way, just the act of sucking down that cigarette almost guarantees your guilt right there."

Peddle cast an annoyed look Chase's way. "And just how would you know?"

"Because I've smoked before. Granted, I haven't touched a cigarette in a couple of years, but any time I thought I'd get busted for something, I went straight for the smokes. You should have seen it when..."

"Nice life story, buddy, but I don't have time for this. I have to think about what I'm going to do with my store, assuming it's still in one piece," Peddle said, taking another huff.

"You think I've got time to deal with you moping about your precious gas station?" Chase shot back hastily, the buzzing in his head stirring once more. It was faint, but he could hear the clatter of demonic activity going on around town. Nothing exact, mainly an overall sense of restlessness that the storm itself had brought on.

Peddle clenched his teeth. "With that attitude towards business, how do you expect to keep your family farm from going under?"

"Right now the bigger concern is surviving the demons." Chase drew in a breath to work past Peddle's criticism. "We can't hide from this crap by pretending life's still all business as usual. You need to stop being a chickenshit and start acting like a man."

Peddle's face flashed a sizzling red. "You don't know me at all."

Chase busted out with a nasty laugh.

"All I really need to know is that you're a fricking liability."

Peddle shot to his feet, his fists balled shut.

"If that's the way you want to be, then by all means call the cops and have me arrested. I'm sure you'll fail in pressing charges against me just because I give a damn about my business. Oh, right. You can't call the cops. They're demons now, too."

Dang Peddle had a point, the ass. The cops were in no capacity to respond to the crisis at hand. Chase yanked out his phone and tried to dial up a couple of military friends to see if any of them had dealt with all the demon crap. He found no luck as his phone failed yet again in finding a signal. Just to make absolutely sure, he tried his folks' number again. Still nothing.

"Damn it!" said Chase.

At that moment, Simon returned with a jumbo bag of cheesy chips and three cans of soda. At least the group could satisfy their hunger for the time being, even if the shadowy voice inside Chase's skull started to throb again, once more beckoning him to surrender to his most primal desires. Chase smacked his palm against his forehead a few times before accepting Simon's food.

"Diet and caffeine-free?" Peddle scrunched his nose at the choice of soda.

"It's all we had," Simon said, cracking open his own can.

Chase smirked. At least Simon was being proactive about survival, even if the only resources immediately available were chips and soda. There had to be something else in the neighborhood for food, especially if circumstances changed and Chase found himself sticking around much longer.

Their supply of cheesy chips lasted maybe ten minutes, if that. Chase went to the kitchen sink to wash his hands of the orange residue left behind, scrubbing each finger until not a single crumb remained.

When he returned, he found Peddle and Simon arguing over whose fault the present situation was. Ignoring the blame game volley session between the other two, he stepped back over to the window, honing his sight to make out as much as possible in the nightfall. At least the storm seemed to have slowed Helensview's demon problem for now.

A sudden thump against the front door at once dismissed the thought. Chase removed his .9mm and aimed it squarely at the door. The doorknob rattled. Chase could hear Peddle and Simon sifting about behind him to another room in the house. Hopefully they'd lay low and stop bickering until after this was over.

The door flew open and slammed against the wall, the top hinge coming undone. Two figures emerged from the dark, slowly moving toward Chase. Without thinking, he darted to the far side of the room, then turned and squeezed the trigger twice. Screams filled the air as two thuds struck the floor at about the same time. At first it didn't occur to him that the cries lacked a distinct shrillness. Had he just blasted two more survivors away?

His ears caught hysterical shouting and sobbing from one. Chase's eyes drifted from the weeper, Brittany, to the raging eyes of his brother.

"So now you shoot at family, Chase?" Dylan asked, wincing. He clasped his shoulder as blood seeped away from the wound where a bullet had just gotten lodged.

Chase just stood there in stunned silence, unable to wrap his brain around the fact that he'd shot Dylan.

What would Ma and Pa say about that?

CHAPTER 14

MENDING WOUNDS

For a while, Chase remained rooted in place, his brain unable to successfully fire off any commands to his feet. He could only look on as Peddle retrieved a first-aid kit and hunched down over Dylan. Peddle immediately went to work on taking care of Dylan's injury as the younger Weaverson lay perfectly still upon the floor.

"It looks like the bullet just clipped the muscle tissue of your bicep. You're pretty damn lucky your brother has such lousy aim," Peddle said.

"Give me a break," Chase muttered, finally shaking the shock from his system. "I wouldn't have fired if I'd known it was Dylan. By the way, what the hell are you doing here, Dylan? Not that I'm not glad to see you again, but what brought you to this house of all places?"

"I went back to the motel to apologize for fighting with you," Dylan said, snarling. "But it looks like you're not ready to move past it."

Chase watched as Peddle applied some rubbing alcohol to a towel, and then the cloth to Dylan's wound. During this, he quickly pocketed the .9mm before making any attempt to go near his brother. Chase understood that at this rate, they might never set aside their differences.

Awkward silence filled the air as Peddle finished wrapping gauze around Dylan's arm. The gas station owner then grabbed a pair of scissors and cut a healthy section of fabric from the roll. Neither Weaverson spoke while Peddle tossed the old rag down onto the ground, retrieved another cloth from Simon, and applied more rubbing alcohol to Dylan's wound.

While this went on, Chase's gaze drifted toward Brittany. He couldn't help but notice that her bright-red mascara had proven ineffectual against either the rain or her tears, or both. Her makeup had left a trail running all the way down to the edge of her chin. Clearly, she got her money's worth with all the dollar store cosmetics she'd applied on her face.

"You seem to know your way around a first-aid kit, Peddle," Chase said, shifting his focus before Brittany called him out on staring too hard and long at her.

Peddle shrugged while he briefly inspected the woman, finding no injuries.

"It pays to know what to do should my store get robbed." He took the used towel out of the room, most likely looking for a laundry basket or hamper to put it in. He returned a moment later, wiping the sweat from his brow as though this had been the hardest task he'd ever done.

Chase shook his head, a new ache slowly stirring inside his skull during this. If he kept this up, he'd reach a full-on migraine before long or worse, maybe even sprout bony horns from his scalp.

"That's your brother?" Simon asked. He rolled up next to Chase and invited him to take a seat in the bean bag chair sitting in the corner.

Taking Simon up on the offer, Chase pursed his lips and nodded. "Pretty much."

"Who's that with him? His girlfriend?"

"I suppose you could say that," Chase said, trying hard not to think about Dylan's present romantic situation.

"So where'd you get the gun from, Chase? I thought because of what happened years ago, you weren't allowed to possess a firearm," Dylan said, grunting as Brittany helped him stand up. The two made their way to the living room sofa. There, Brittany eased Dylan into a sitting position so as not to exacerbate his pain.

Sensing no need to hide the truth about it, Chase said, "I stole it from a cop."

Dylan laughed. For a second, he seemed to have forgotten about the fact that Chase had just shot him. Maybe pain was just something Dylan didn't care to let anyone else see. It made sense. Pa had taught both of his boys not to cry or demonstrate even the slightest weakness in front of others.

Yet the sound of Dylan's laugh tapped into a gratitude Chase forgot was even possible. For the first time in a matter of days, he actually found himself proud of having Dylan for a brother. Perhaps being in Helensview served as a reminder of just how vital family was, especially to the Weaversons.

"I'm sorry about the fighting, and for shooting at you," he said, hoping that Dylan would accept these words at face value.

Dylan groaned as he leaned back against the sofa.

"Hey, man, I'm just glad you're all right."

This sounded strange coming from Dylan, especially considering how Chase had bolted on him and Brittany back at the diner.

"You were worried about me?"

Dylan nodded. "Big time. See, after you left, Brittany wanted to introduce me to her friends. I surely couldn't refuse an invitation like that, now could I?"

"I suppose not." Chase grunted a chortle. "So what happened?"

Brittany heaved a sigh. "I tried calling my friend, Candice. No answer. Then I called Angelica, because Angelica usually hangs out with Candice. They usually drive all the way to Hedon City to go shopping. They make a day of it or something. But she didn't answer either. So then I tried reaching Julie, and she..."

"I think I get it," Chase said, raising his hand and trying to be as polite as possible in shushing her. "So what did you do after that, Dylan?"

Brittany slumped back in her seat, grumbling as Chase dismissed her.

"Well, then I asked her if I could borrow her phone to try and call you," Dylan continued. "That's what I did before, to let you know not to worry about me. But this time, I couldn't reach you. I got worried and we left the diner. We drove over to each of Brittany's friends' houses to see if they were home. All the driveways on the street were empty. Not a single car to be found anywhere. It was really creepy, man.

"So then we went door to door, pulling up to each house and ringing the doorbell, trying to find someone, anyone, who knew what was going on in town. I guess we've been at it for a while, because the past few hours we just tried opening the door without knocking first. Still nothing!"

"Maybe everyone wised up and left town," Peddle muttered.

"We thought that was the case," said Dylan. "So we went back to the diner to see if they knew why most of the town would up and leave like that. Strange thing was that no one was at the restaurant, either. The door was locked, the lights were off, and there was no sign of the waitress or the cook. Come to think of it, I don't believe we saw hide or hair of anyone since we left the diner the first time.

Dylan scratched his chin, his head slanted downward as he stared at the floor, perhaps waiting for a memory to come to him.

"Wait," he said with a gasp, holding up a finger. "There was an ambulance driving around, but it ignored us when we tried to flag it down. We thought that maybe people had left town because of the statewide emergency that was announced just before the radio signal cut out on us."

"Statewide emergency?" Chase glanced over at Peddle and Simon briefly before spinning back toward Dylan. "We haven't heard of anything like this. What do you know about this?"

Dylan flinched, the strain from talking appearing to get the best of him. Realizing that his brother wasn't really up for continuing this conversation, Chase saw no alternative but to direct his questions Brittany's way.

Pursing her lips, Brittany cast a glare that dared him to try and ask her for anything after he'd basically told her to shut up.

"Well? Do you know something?" he asked in a tolerant tone.

"The governor advised people to stay off the roads in and around Helensview and Thorpe on account of all the road rage and accidents. The highways aren't exactly safe right now," she said, her expression softening a little as her own words drew worry into her features.

That last fact Chase didn't exactly need to learn from her, but he stayed cordial toward her in the hope she'd tell him more of what she knew.

"So then what made you keep on searching for me?"

Brittany pointed at Dylan.

"Yeah, Chase, I had to find you and tell you it might be a while before we get to Grains Plains. They were practically peeling a motorcyclist off the pavement just north of the Helensview exit," said Dylan. He adjusted his posture, despite the duress that this simple effort cost him. "You were so right about this. We'd have probably been better off just driving all the way to the farm last night. Then again, if we hadn't stopped, I'd have never met my darling Brittany here."

Brittany crossed her arms like Dylan hadn't even uttered those last words.

"You said you wanted to spend the rest of your life here, Dylan. Now you're telling me you wished you'd never come into town last night?"

Chase struggled not to laugh as Dylan sputtered for an answer that would soothe Brittany's temper.

"Stop laughing at me, man," Dylan insisted, a glint of mock anger in his eyes.

The older Weaverson grinned. "You know you've brought this upon yourself, right?"

"Excuse me," Simon spoke up, interrupting the playful teasing between the brothers. "Shouldn't we make a plan or something? That's what they do in the movies."

Dylan glanced over at Simon as if now only noticing the boy for the first time.

"I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name?"

"Simon."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Simon," Brittany said, flashing a quick smile at him. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have any tea around here, do you? I could go for some right about now."

"Probably not. The only thing we have on hand is caffeine-free diet soda," Peddle grumbled.

"Watch it, Peddle," Chase groaned, silently wishing for an end to Peddle's sour attitude. Maybe diet soda was the only thing they had to drink in the house at the moment, but at least it was something. Somehow, though, it didn't seem likely that nothing else was available. "Simon, why don't you take Brittany into the kitchen and let her look around?"

Simon rolled his chair in the direction Chase indicated.

"I'll look. We might have some diet soda with the caffeine in it," the boy said, frowning at Peddle on his way out the room with Brittany following right behind.

Chase waited until Simon was gone before busting out with laughter at the disgust plastered on Peddle's face.

CHAPTER 15

THE VOICES WITHIN

Chase later awoke to the sound of dishes clinking together as if someone were retrieving them from a cupboard. Struggling to get up, he found his body had sunk deep into the cushions of the bean bag chair he'd fallen asleep in. The last thing he remembered was laughing at how Simon had put Peddle in his place. Between exhaustion and the headaches, he nearly let the furniture trump him. Fortunately, he pulled himself out and took to a desk chair. If something went down, he needed to be at his sharpest. With Dylan injured, Chase alone remained everyone's best chance at survival.

That's assuming the demons let us survive, he thought.

So far, the plan to get out of town wasn't working at all. Rather than gathering the forces together and high-tailing it for the highway, he was stuck taking turns with Simon baby-sitting Peddle. Brittany was too busy doctoring up Dylan's body aches with awkward massages and applying tender loving care in the form of sloppy kisses, something Chase felt Simon shouldn't have to tolerate in his own living room. But since the lovey-dovey action hadn't yet turned risqué, he let it go for now.

About ten minutes after Chase awoke from his snooze, Dylan sat up and asked Simon, "So where're your folks?"

Simon took a deep breath, his eyes gleaming with the threat of tears.

"Mom's dead, and Dad's not here."

"I'm so sorry, Simon," Brittany said, taking a break from playing nurse with Dylan to sip on a cup of what smelled like peppermint herbal tea.

Not wanting to create a scene, Chase refrained from pinching his nose shut. His nostrils had a particular sensitivity to peppermint and he could barely stand to be in the same room with the stuff. Hopefully she'd finish her drink sooner rather than later.

His annoyance with the odor apparently became an invitation for the throbbing in his head to return. He ran his hand across his scalp, the fire beneath his skull intensifying once more. He tried not to let the smallest things bother him. But even the way Brittany made the cup clink against the saucer on the coffee table made him bleed with rage.

Nothing he thought of could calm him down. Despite the brothers reaching a tentative understanding before the nap, every breath Dylan drew merely fueled the fire for Chase. But why, though? An occasional snort tearing through the air couldn't have produced this level of seething hatred. No, it was the knowledge that Dylan had convinced him to stop in this forsaken town to begin with. And it was the lusty way that Dylan and that five dollar whore made out with one another on the couch right in front of a kid already traumatized by his mother's death. Their lack of class made Chase grip at his hair and yank a few strands out in response.

But then a different thought struck him, different from the ones presently bombarding his mind. Where was all this darkness coming from? It couldn't have belonged to him. With the way the Weaversons had mended things earlier, this newfound hostility just didn't feel right. Chase cared about his brother. Sure, Dylan got annoying at times, but who didn't? And Dylan and Brittany technically hadn't made out in front of Simon. So why did Chase feel as though they had?

He shook his head and shut his eyes, even though the voices whispering evil ideas to him didn't let up at all.

#

Sleep never returned. Now going on a persistent thirty minutes, the monstrous chattering grew louder and deeper, penetrating just about every ounce of available mental bandwidth. The demons wanted his soul no matter what, and they could wait for it. He was weak. They were strong. He could feel their darkest desires beating in his own heart, the demonic murmurs fondling his mind with sweet temptation.

Without thinking, he let his hand slip down by his pocket where the .9mm was still hidden. He would be careful, waiting until Dylan and the others averted their attention long enough for him to fill them all with lead. Since none of the others likely had weapons to protect themselves with, he could just do the deed and be done with it.

Blast a hole through Dylan. He's sitting on the sofa. From this distance, how could you miss? Blow him away, and watch him spill his pretty, pretty crimson gore all over this antique carpeting!

Chase clamped his hands against his head, quietly wishing for the pain, the voices, to go away and leave him be. A single tear escaped from his eye, but he kept his head down so as not to let the others see his face. If they even suspected that something was wrong, they might stop what needed to be done.

_They'll turn against you the first chance they get!_ The mental voices warned in unison, the demons privy to his every last thought.

Meanwhile, in spite of his wound, Dylan leaned over, threw a blanket over Brittany, and began massaging her shoulders, his strokes releasing an almost sexual moan from her.

Watching this, Chase could almost hear the porn groove music from that sleazy movie playing in his mind, images of bumpy, awkward action still fresh in his mental eye. How much more puke could coat his throat before he choked on it?

"Guys, our survival plan? Could we focus on that for a change?" he asked, not bothering to remove the edge from his voice.

Dylan reluctantly peeled his hands off Brittany, but not before glaring at Chase again.

"Thank you," said Chase.

Dylan merely grunted and immediately cupped Brittany's knee in his hand.

"So, Simon," Brittany spoke up a few seconds later as if to break the silence. "How long have you been in a wheelchair?"

Chase smacked his forehead, the sound of the woman's voice far more aggravating to him than the content of her words.

"For two years," Simon answered with a sour look on his face. "Someone crashed into my dad's station wagon. Mom said I was nearly killed by a drunk driver. The doctors told me I slept for days and wouldn't be able to walk anymore."

At Simon's remarks, Chase let out an involuntary shudder which—judging from a quick glance at the others—went unnoticed. He did his best to maintain his composure despite the dread knotting up in his gut. The knowledge of a drunk driver being responsible for Simon's condition drove another wedge of turmoil into Chase's already-fragile psyche.

"I thought we were planning on stopping those demons," said Peddle, sitting in another corner of the room. "Or are we just going to cower until they come for us? If that's the plan, I might as well go back to my gas station right now."

"I'm open to suggestions," Chase said. Maybe the discussion of what to do next could serve as the distraction he was looking for.

"Before I propose anything, I've got to know. Are you two sure the only thing you've seen is the ambulance?" Peddle asked of Dylan and Brittany.

"We're sure," said Dylan. "Why?"

"I just want to know if I could make it to my store without any of those fiends coming after me."

"You mean those demons you told us about?" Brittany said.

Chase rubbed the hair on the back of his head, clearly having missed something while he napped. Had Peddle really explained the demon situation to Dylan and Brittany all on his own?

"The very same. Now just to clarify, I'm not doing this to help any of you. I need to take care of my business first and foremost. Hiding with the lot of you isn't doing my gas station any good."

Well, Peddle's nothing if not honest, thought Chase.

"Funny. I was just thinking your gas station might be safer than here," he said.

"What makes you say that?" Peddle sounded as though the thought of anyone accompanying him back to his store wasn't included in his agenda.

"Well, no one changed until after your business opened up, Chase said, frowning at Peddle. "And you do seem rather eager to get back there. Maybe the smartest thing to do is to return to your gas station. At least that way, we can at least deal with the source of the problem."

Peddle punched the wall next to him.

"I'm getting sick of all these accusations! My station is state-of-the-art with the best gas around. It's not the cause of these demons."

Chase listened half-heartedly to Peddle's complaint. But Peddle mentioning the gas got the older Weaverson to thinking. There had to be a reason why the gas station owner sold it at such a discount. Of course, Peddle's supplier was probably a better person to ask. Maybe the one who produced the fuel could explain how their brand of gasoline was so much more affordable when everyone else in town carried a price tag of around four dollars a gallon.

The more Chase thought of it, the more he really wanted to go with Peddle back to the gas station and figure out what was going on. The way that the human-demon hybrids just so conveniently nested near the pumps drove a dagger-like chill into Chase's soul.

And why did the demons thrash the Mini-Mart but leave the pumps alone altogether? Why not trash the whole town, and leave nothing whatsoever standing? It almost seemed like a strategic rampage rather than a mindless one.

"I'd rather have my mom back than all the money in the world," Simon snapped at the gas station owner, drawing Chase back toward the conversation. The way Simon's nose was scrunched, his eyebrows were slanted, and his jaw was clenched, suggested that Peddle must've ticked the boy off.

Without warning, Peddle charged to the middle of the room, his eyes bulbous and glinting with rage at all the insinuations.

"You're idiots, every last one of you! I have to protect my business. It's not my fault the townspeople can't handle my gasoline any better than they would an allergic reaction."

"Wait a second." Chase raised his hand, shutting everyone up with a single wave. "Is that why your gas is so cheap? Because it's tainted with something which transforms people into demons?"

Peddle's jaw dropped fast. He staggered backwards, tripping over his own self and about to fall right on top of Brittany's lap. She scooted out of the way just as the gas station owner crashed into her former spot on the sofa.

Amused by the man's fumbling about in the loveseat, Chase pressed on against Peddle.

"That's why you have the pills. You knew precisely how they would keep people from becoming those blasted demon things."

Dylan, Brittany, and Simon sat in silence as Chase threw out these accusations. The expressions they wore ranged from confusion on Brittany's face to outright wrath glittering in Simon's eyes.

"What?" Peddle fidgeted, looking past the others toward the front door. "No!"

Simon's cheeks shifted into a brimstone red.

"Is it true? Is my mom dead because of his gasoline?"

Chase nodded. "Peddle has pills which can keep the gasoline from affecting its victims. He even supplied me with some. That's why people started to change soon after his store opened up." Chase faced Peddle again, a couple of his knuckles crackling for some fist-to-face action. "You've got some serious explaining to do, Peddle."

"Hey!" Peddle's cheeks puffed up. "I've done nothing wrong whatsoever. The city of Helensview offered me a legitimate business license after I went through the proper channels."

"Does your supplier even know that there's something wrong with the gas?" Chase asked. From the corner of his eye he spotted Dylan standing next to him, arms folded, ready to teach that son of a gun Peddle a thing or two.

Peddle's face grew pale. "Uh..."

Chase stepped back, trying not to grin in front of Dylan. The fact that the others were wising up to Peddle's antics made Chase's heart spin with a malevolent glee, the dark thoughts from the demon chatter still buzzing about in the midst of this confrontation.

"Answer us, Peddle," Chase insisted, this time throwing more authority behind his voice. "Do you or do you not sell contaminated fuel at your station?"

"Trade secret." Peddle didn't waste a second defying Chase. "Not that I have to explain myself to any of you."

"You don't?" Chase flung his hand toward the window behind him. "And what of those poor souls who aren't people anymore? Don't you at least want a clear conscience on your head? The guilt's got to be bad enough that you'd probably much rather have a demon gut you."

Peddle shrugged. "I've done nothing wrong."

Chase looked out the window. In the distance he spotted no further hint of the storm, but instead saw an eerie red glow coming from the direction of the motor inn. The demons were at it again. Hopefully his truck survived whatever damage those abominations were causing this time.

"Fine, Peddle." Chase tore across the room and caught the station owner by the arm. "Since you won't own up to what's going on, I doubt you'll mind if I toss your sorry ass out on the street."

None of the others screamed a protest when Chase dragged Peddle toward the door. Chase's hand readied to unlatch the door, but as he twisted the knob he caught the sound of something rattling in a plastic container. He looked down and at once spotted the bottle in Peddle's hand.

"Time for your medicine," Peddle remarked, a smirk creeping across the shorter man's lips.

Chase snatched the bottle, and then released his hold on Peddle's shirt. He retrieved a pill from the bottle while Peddle caught his breath.

During this, Dylan gawked at Chase. "Popping pills again, Chase? I'd thought you'd given that up."

Chase's ears caught only the sounds of Simon gasping and Brittany grumbling in reply to Dylan's comment. For the moment, he had more pressing matters to pursue.

"Peddle had me take one of these right before we escaped demons at the gas station. It's possible the fumes from the contaminated gas have affected me as well, which is the only reason why I've let him slip me a capsule at all."

Everyone turned to Peddle.

"You do know something about this, don't you?" Simon pointed a finger at Peddle.

"There's nothing wrong with my gas station," Peddle said with his back to the wall. "People only transform after leaving. I'm sure of it."

"But what about the gas itself, Mr. Peddle?" Simon countered.

A huff of air departed from Peddle's nostrils. "Stop trying to find fault with my business."

Chase grumbled. "For the last time, none of this happened until after your business opened its doors! Are you really that arrogant about how you conduct business here, or are you just stupid?"

"What?" Peddle readjusted his collar, his fingers tripping over one another to get the top button refastened. "You want me to prove to you it's not my gas station? Then how about we go there and I can show you?"

"Fine. Let's go get my truck and drive to your station just so you can prove me right." Chase held his arms together, smiling in triumph. Baiting Peddle hadn't even made him break a sweat.

On the other hand, Peddle was soaking in his own juices, a condition not brought on by the temperature in Simon's house as the AC blew a breeze at them, at least for so long as the electricity held.

At this rate, Peddle would sweat himself straight into dehydration.

CHAPTER 16

PEDESTRIANS

On the way to the station, Peddle defied Chase's every effort to ignore him. The gas station owner grumbled about everyone, Chase in particular, for accusing his business of creating the demons in the first place. Chase kept his gaze forward, despite Peddle.

As far as he could tell, the demons themselves hadn't trashed the town any more than the night before. With his truck still at the motor inn, Chase had no choice but to head that way. Every now and then he checked to make sure Peddle was still following him.

If I can just get my truck, I'll get Dylan and we'll ditch this place first chance we get, Chase thought.

_Now why would you want to leave us, Chase Weaverson? We're your friends, the ones who understand you like none other_. The demon voices came alive inside his mind again, whispering sweet nothings to him. The chill creeping underneath his skin made him shudder and struggle to breathe, his heart racing as the demons' words excited it once again.

Chase gritted his teeth. Why couldn't they leave him alone? Hell, he could barely stand to even think of them. Just a fleeting image in his mind of the old guy demon was enough to constrict certain muscles, make his mouth overflow with saliva. His body filled with a dark lust despite his efforts to shake the thoughts spurring this on. He was a human, not a demon. He didn't belong to them. He was his own person. Wasn't he?

Hopefully, the pill's effects would last a while longer, long enough for him to leave Helensview. It'd be even better if he didn't have to rely on Peddle at all for those pills.

The men reached the motor inn, only to find no sign of Chase's truck. Profanity from Chase filled the air, much to the excitement of the voices humming their chaotic chorus between his ears. The constant stream of noise in his brain made him yowl and throw his fist in the air, narrowly missing the side of Peddle's head by inches. He paused when he saw the terror-stricken gaze in Peddle's eyes and realized that he'd almost decked the jerk with no provocation this time. Without uttering a word, he spun away from the gas station owner.

Blast this whole damn town and everyone in it! Chase thought.

As soon as his mind produced the words, the voices stopped altogether. Why, though, in the middle of his mental tirade? Had something else caught the demons' attention? Or were they winding down again? Those things sure needed to rest an awful lot, it seemed. Could it have been that they were only capable of incredible feats in short spurts?

Or maybe the initial stages of the transformation took too much of a toll on them. Chase recalled the tiredness he'd felt right after Peddle's pill had pulled him back from the brink. Did all the human-demons have this initial period of low activity while their bodies adjusted to their new condition?

The smell of sulfur penetrated Chase's nostrils as he marched toward the gas station, his attempt to recover his truck foiled. He still had his keys on him, so the only way for it to have gone missing was for the demons to have jimmy-rigged it. There was a chance that another town survivor might've broken in and fiddled with the ignition to fire up the engine. But the distinct lack of glass on the asphalt in the spot he'd left the truck made this unlikely.

"Damn it," said Chase. "I must've left my truck unlocked. That's the only way it could've gone missing."

Peddle added, "Either that, or it got towed. The guy driving the tow truck is one of those things, remember?"

All this thinking didn't alleviate Chase's headache. Worse, the buzzing resumed. Back from their momentary distraction, the demons again cooed hungrily for his soul.

Maybe you should do away with that annoying Peddle. He's only going to ditch you first chance he gets. Why not blow off his head? It'd most certainly be an improvement for the guy.

Straining not to listen to their words, Chase shook his head and kept one foot in front of the other. Reaching the gas station remained the goal. He had to be sure that Peddle's gas had caused the transformations, because then he and the others could do something about it.

Needing a diversion, he immediately thought of Grains Plain and the family farm. What he wouldn't give for a whiff of Ma Weaverson's buttery corn on the cob right then, or fluffy mashed potatoes served with gravy, a couple of turkey drumsticks, and a biscuit from a basket sitting in the center of the table. He imagined a stick of butter sitting off to the side, awaiting a knife to carve out a pat and spread it across the top of the biscuit. Hell, he'd gladly put up with another one of Pa's anecdotes from when the boys were still raising Cain out in the middle of the fields. It'd sure beat breathing in the burning stench of concrete and tar now filling the air.

"Slow down," Peddle spoke up, panting as he stood hunched over to the right of Chase. "I can't keep up."

"'Slow down'? Heh. With people being in such a hurry these days, that's a complaint I never thought I'd hear again," said Chase, his stride strong as ever.

Peddle wheezed and clutched his chest. "I said hold up!"

Chase rolled his shoulders to release the tension that had been festering the past few days. He fought to keep from lashing out at Peddle, for the demons expected him to kill the gas station owner. If Chase couldn't control his temper, Peddle and the rest of Helensview's survivors were all goners.

"What is it?" he asked, staring at the frustration flickering in Peddle's eyes.

"Can't a guy catch his breath?" Peddle snapped, his face a pale blue under the glow of moonlight.

Chase heaved a sigh of disgust. That sniveling weasel was becoming such a waste of human flesh. Had the man traded away his self-respect at some point in life?

Demon howls rang out once more from somewhere off in the distance. Another shiver tickled Chase's spine, likely sprouting from these far-off cries. Another explosion boomed a few miles away, coming from somewhere near the western edge of town. A crimson glow rose in the air as Chase watched on, hearing Peddle's gasp come to an abrupt standstill as the other man undoubtedly noticed this too.

More glass shattered nearby. The hours leading up to midnight proved to be a high volume time of demon activity, unless this was what typically happened during a weekend in Helensview. The fact that there were no dogs barking or sirens blaring indicated that the town was mainly an empty shell besides Chase's band of survivors and the demons. Hell had taken over this already suffering community.

Throughout the latest series of explosions, crashes, and howls, Chase pressed on. With none of the demons actually crossing paths with the two men, he didn't exactly worry about them. They wanted him, after all. They wouldn't harm such a potential future demon if they could make him one of them.

He kept these thoughts to himself and didn't look back at Peddle. In a twisted way the entrepreneur was getting exactly what he'd asked for: the chance to survey the damage at his gas station. With any luck, the Mini-Mart and the pumps out front would be completely leveled.

#

They cut through a vacant lot, shaving some time off their journey. Soon they came upon an ambulance tipped over on its side, its back doors wide open. This was probably the same one that Dylan and Brittany had seen and tried to flag down earlier. In the moonlight, Chase couldn't help but note the faded cherry paint of the vehicle, as if it'd served the town for years. The busted headlight and front fender looked more like damage from a past wreck rather than this one. On the side facing the moon, he found the words that identified the ambulance as a unit in the Helensview Fire and Rescue.

Based on what he saw, he reckoned Helensview had combined emergency services to compensate for the city government's probable overspending. Considering that this town lacked in so many ways, it wouldn't have surprised Chase at all to find a deficit on the books. Maybe the demon crisis was a way for the city council to deflect the town's problems elsewhere.

As his gaze remained glued to the ambulance, a demon attired in torn paramedic threads emerged, its breathing heavy and erratic. Unlike the other demons, this beast staggered about as if injured, gripping its rib cage and gasping a much softer howl.

"What's wrong with that thing?" Peddle whispered.

Chase silently shushed Peddle with a flick of his hand, a move the demon half-heartedly mimicked afterward. At first, it appeared that the creature was mocking him, until Chase realized that this wasn't the case at all. It seemed aware of being wounded, perhaps even of its own imminent mortality. The glimmer in its eyes suggested resignation or sadness, like it had lost the energy and conviction that drove other demons to ravage Helensview. Clamping both hands to its forehead, the creature whimpered before tumbling out of the vehicle and onto the sidewalk.

Searing white pain flashed through Chase's mind, his proximity probably triggering this. A groan came from the paramedic, a long and slow sound. Chase's heart wallowed in despair not of his own, but which had probably reached him via the mental link he seemed to have with all demons.

"Why's he doing that?" Peddle asked, seemingly slow on the cue.

Ignoring Peddle, Chase took a step toward the former human. Despite the pill keeping him from becoming a demon for now, a bond developed between Chase and the paramedic, making it impossible for Chase to resist engaging the wounded demon. He could hear the creature's thoughts in his mind. More pain throbbed in nearly every part of his body, a hitchhiker from the psychic highway sharing the two being's minds.

"No one wants to hurt you, my brother," he said to the paramedic without thinking.

Peddle gasped. "Did you just call him your brother?"

Barely hearing the fear in Peddle's voice, Chase suddenly caught himself. He'd regarded the paramedic with more reverence than he'd ever shown Dylan. It had slipped from his lips so casually, too, a reflex of gut instinct, something so natural it almost didn't spook him. The demon chatter grew into mental white noise he could hear without trying. His own internal voice, meanwhile, had to shout to be heard, to warn him that the demons were still a threat to Helensview and its survivors.

He stepped over to the paramedic, grabbed the demon by the arm, and tried to help it get back on its feet. The paramedic went limp in Chase's arms, face down. A weak rasp wheezed from its lungs. Chase rolled it over onto its back, revealing a pair of medical scissors wedged right in its belly, the lower half of which Chase could see soaking in blood. Its eyes staying shut longer with each successive blink, the demon reached down and grabbed the scissors. With a hard yank, the scissors came out, the blades dripping in the beast's blood.

Chase leaned in to retrieve the shears. Before he could snatch them from the creature's grip, the paramedic plunged the scissors right back into the wound. It shrieked in agony while stabbing itself a second and third time in this manner, each stab looking weaker than the last.

Suddenly, Chase realized that the ambulance had likely ended up on its side from the demon crashing it in a suicide attempt. Judging by this behavior, it seemed some people actually sought to reject the transformation. If the paramedic was still aware of what had happened, maybe Chase stood a shot of surviving this.

"Something's not right with this guy," Chase said, now addressing Peddle. "I think he's trying to kill himself!"

"It's a monster. Nothing's ever right with these things."

Chase shook his head, banishing his contempt of Peddle from his mind, and focused on the altered paramedic.

"He must know on some level of what he's become. All of the other demons we've encountered before didn't seem to care, but this one..."

Peddle huffed in wordless annoyance.

"What?" Chase asked.

"Don't tell me you feel sorry for this monstrosity."

"Don't you?" Chase couldn't tell whether the scarlet on Peddle's face was from overexposure to the blistering sun, or because Chase's employ of a quick retort shattered Peddle's whole argument. "I can't tell you the number of whippings Dylan and I got from torturing hapless critters. Ma refused to let us have pets because of how we shot BB gun pellets at woodpeckers or poured salt on snails. She wanted to make sure we understood the sanctity of life all too well before we were entrusted with the responsibility of taking care of it."

"We're not talking about shooting woodpeckers. This is a demon that'll eat our brains or our guts or something," Peddle pointed out.

Waiting until the paramedic stopped grabbing the scissors altogether, Chase let the creature slump to the ground. Nearby, the entrepreneur groaned another protest.

"We should just leave it for dead," said Peddle.

Chase gnashed his teeth at him. "We're not leaving _him_ for dead."

"Are you insane? These creatures will tear us apart if given the chance!" Peddle said, still defiant as ever.

Chase didn't care. The last lingering threads of humanity still clung to the paramedic's soul, which might've explained the repeated self-stabbings. Instinctively, Chase reached out with his mind to find scant traces of compassion in the being's memory.

He saw an image of the paramedic trying to rescue an asthmatic woman with a defibrillator. While being treated, the woman transformed, and then swiped at his throat. The paramedic managed to get away right before she hurled the defibrillator at him, the plastic casing shattering upon contact with the ground. The air whipped by as he sprinted to his ambulance, arriving at the vehicle in almost the time it took to bat an eye.

Throughout all this, Chase saw the paramedic fight the changes. Flashes of pain echoed in the man's memory as the demon chatter attacked the paramedic the same way it did Chase. The paramedic began sprouting talons on his fingertips even as he fumbled with putting his vehicle into gear. The bony horns and spongy tail protruded out of the man as he crashed the ambulance, clinging to what remained of his humanity.

Now, lying on the ground with death imminent, the paramedic's movements slowed, including respiration. Chase leaned down toward his monstrous kin, careful not to startle the beast. In this condition the creature probably wouldn't lash out at him, but taking that extra precaution certainly didn't hurt.

"It's okay," Chase whispered. "Your suffering will end soon."

"It'd end sooner if you plugged that abomination with a bullet or two," Peddle uttered nastily.

Chase shook his head. "I'm sorry this happened to you. I truly wish it hadn't. You're supposed to be out there saving lives, and now yours is coming to an end. But no one has to die alone. I'm staying right here until you go."

"You're flipping insane!" Peddle roared, throwing his hands up in the air. "I can't believe I'm wandering around with a demon sympathizer!"

_He doesn't understand_ , a singular voice rose inside Chase's skull this time. _He sees us as a threat_. _But you understand. You can hear us. We are not so far different from you. We used to be like you. Now, we are better_.

Chase blinked three times, straining his eyes to focus on the world around him. He glanced down at the paramedic bleeding from self-inflicted stomach wounds. It was only then that he understood who the voice referred to. It wasn't Peddle at all, but rather the paramedic.

Why, though? Was it because the paramedic's transformation had been incomplete?

An idea flickered in Chase's mind. "Give me a pill, Peddle."

"Why should I?"

Chase stepped toward Peddle, waving his fist in the air.

"Do it because I told you to."

Chase watched the man's eyes flicker between cowardice and bold determination. Good thing Peddle hadn't armed himself, unless he'd done so while Chase had been napping.

"Fine," Peddle said. He heaved a sigh as he yanked out the medicine bottle, unscrewed the cap, and poured a pill into Chase's expectant palm.

"Thank you." Chase loathed thanking Peddle for anything, but Pa and Ma Weaverson had raised him to mind his manners, a skill now all but lost upon most everyone these days. Thank goodness his folks had instilled some good values in him, or else Peddle wouldn't still be standing.

He went to give the paramedic Peddle's pill. The creature held its gut with one hand while wriggling its other set of fingers as if to warn. Chase held out the capsule for it to see.

"You're an idiot," Peddle grumbled from a distance.

Chase waited for the paramedic to take the pill. Noticing the creature fading fast, Chase put his free hand around the demon's mouth. Next, he tried to pry its lips apart. Physical contact with the man's skin gave Chase the sense of cold fury, a protest almost human. The open wound at the creature's mid-section continued to gush out blood.

Sooner or later, even a demon had to stop bleeding.

Finally Chase crammed the pill down the guy's throat. The demon twitched about uncontrollably, another yowl bursting forth from deep within the former man. The paramedic swatted at Chase, its talons digging well into Chase's bicep. Retracting his arm, Chase sprayed blood from his wound on the demon and sidewalk.

Still, he didn't scream, despite his injury. Willpower alone gave him the strength he needed to hold on, even as blood trickled out of his wound. It wasn't like the paramedic had lopped off a limb.

"This isn't your fault," Chase said, clasping the beast by the shoulder.

A spasm shot through every portion of the medic's body. The convulsion bucked Chase's grip off. He watched as the paramedic's flesh reverted back to its natural dark tone, the enamel horns shrank back into the man's skull and the tail fell off, leaving gaps where those extra appendages had formed.

"Thank you," the man whispered to Chase, and then breathed no more.

"You're welcome," Chase whispered. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, his lips trembling as each word he uttered passed between them. As he spoke, the voices tempting him toward slaughter receded into the back of his mind.

"Please let this gentle soul now departed from his body rest forever in peace, never to again know the horrors inflicted upon him in his final days. I implore you in the heavens above to find this lost spirit and bring him home. Amen."

He opened his eyes once more, glanced at the paramedic one last time, and frowned.

"Farewell," he said before turning away.

CHAPTER 17

U-TURN

Even several hours later after dusk, the night air of Helensview lost none of its heat. Now long gone, the storm left in its wake a lingering residue of moisture in the atmosphere. Chase's hair stuck to his head, the humidity making him sweat profusely. Not even the water from a drinking fountain in a neighborhood park helped much, though he found much relief in the fact that the fountain still worked at all. Carrying his denim shirt all balled up in his hand, he stopped every five minutes or so to peel his wife-beater off his skin.

He looked up at the sky, finding not a single cloud anywhere. Even a few drops of ice-cold rain would be nice right about now. He swayed slightly to the left, his ears slightly ringing, but then regained his balance a second later. Perhaps he'd lost more blood than he first thought.

It didn't help that the paramedic's death still weighed heavily on his mind either. Between this and the loss of his truck, the decision to delay the gas station mission became necessary, his desire to prove Peddle wrong about the tainted gas irrelevant for now. After all, how would it have helped the remaining survivors of Helensview? The deed had already been done. Now they had to contend with the aftermath.

That didn't mean Peddle was off the hook by any means. The gas station owner would pay for his role in Helensview's demise when the time came. Right now, getting back to Simon's with the medical supplies they retrieved from the ambulance took top priority.

_Gathering bandages to tend to everyone's wounds now_ _are you, Chase Weaverson? Your desire to help others is commendable. Come. Help us. You belong here. This is your home now. Embrace us._

Strangely, he found the demons' words reassuring. Maybe he didn't have to leave here. Regardless of the multiple crashes, fires, and deaths, Helensview wasn't all that bad of a place. If things settled down, he could stay here forever. It wasn't as though he'd actually signed the papers to the family farm, or even made it to Grains Plains in the first place. The family could sell the farm. Or maybe Dylan would do the smart thing and take on the responsibility himself.

No, this was the demons talking, he thought. He still wanted to help Ma and Pa out. That much hadn't changed. Yet somehow, his desire to tend the family farm didn't have as much zing to it as it did a few days ago. Were the demons finally wearing him down?

You will be ours soon, Chase Weaverson. If you leave town, death will befall those you care about. We have considered letting them go in exchange for you, but if you abandon your present location, we'll slice open their innards and use the sticky goo to repaint your vehicle. It is a rather rustic truck, after all, and it could use a new coat of paint.

"Are you even listening to me, Weaverson?" Peddle said suddenly, a note of indignation dangling in his tone.

"Huh?" Chase mumbled. He stroked the skin on his forehead, hoping that something would jog his memory.

"It figures. You might want to rethink taking that second pill. You're starting to space out. Not a good sign at all," said Peddle.

He grumbled under the apparent strain of carrying supplies Chase had forced him to carry back to Simon's house from the ambulance. Towels, blankets, bandages, an Ambu bag, a bottle of saline solution, and some alcohol wipes were about all that they could salvage.

"Whatever happened to you proving how at fault my gas station is?" Peddle said, fatigue tarnishing his voice.

"I need time to heal from my wounds," Chase said, pointing at his bandaged bicep. "Besides, we can't just leave Simon. Unlike you or me, the kid has no one."

"What about his dad?"

Blast it. He still had Simon's situation to contend with. Unless by some stroke of luck phone service returned to Helensview, there'd be no way to reach Simon's dad, assuming the man was even alive. Chase wiped the sweat off his brow for the second time in as many minutes. The wretched humidity left behind in the storm's wake was one more nuisance he didn't need.

What he wouldn't give to just be done with it all. He didn't even know how he ended up becoming the group's leader to begin with. Maybe no one else had what it took to deal with this crisis head on.

Chase kept his focus straight ahead. Just a few more houses and they'd be at Simon's again. Then maybe Peddle might stop yapping for the night so Chase could get some rest.

"I've been wondering, Peddle..." The very utterance of Peddle's name coated Chase's tongue in acid. He didn't want to think of what he might do to the guy once the pill's effects wore off.

"Yes?"

"Do you ever think about anything outside of your bottom line?" Chase asked.

Peddle readjusted his grip on the medical tote and pile of blankets burying his left shoulder.

"You have a poor way of showing gratitude for someone who just got done patching up your injury. The same guy who's keeping you human, by the way."

Chase sighed. They couldn't reach Simon's house fast enough.

"I'd thank you for your help if you weren't so stubborn about saving your own ass," he told Peddle.

"I'm not stubborn. I just think there's no point in stirring something up with those demons."

Chase stopped in his tracks and turned to face Peddle. "You don't have much to worry about from them, do you?"

Peddle froze where he stood, swaggering slightly under the weight of his load, his knees shaky and looking ready to buckle.

"You're still on that gas thing after all, aren't you?"

Chase smirked. "I never let the issue drop."

#

Every remaining ounce of vigor went towards putting one foot in front of the other. Chase couldn't wait to be done with Peddle, though the man was not without his uses. Having him carry everything back from the ambulance had been a fricking stroke of genius as far as Chase was concerned.

"I hope the others are still all right," he said, pointing out the driveway belonging to Simon's house. "I'd hate to walk in there and find three more bodies."

Especially Dylan's, he thought.

"I'm sure they're fine." Peddle stepped between Chase and the walkway leading up to the front door. "I need to know you won't ask me about where I got the pills ever again."

"What's wrong, Peddle?" Chase grunted a laugh. "Is your conscience bothering you? Did you not mean to come to town and cripple the local economy?"

"It's not like I had a choice."

Chase muttered something incoherent just to keep from wasting actual words on the man. Why he bothered keeping Peddle around, he didn't know. Hell, now that he didn't really care so much about those pills, any use for Peddle became severely limited. Sooner or later, the gas station owner would prove absolutely worthless. Chase felt his lips curl up with morbid delight at the prospect of ridding the world of Gus Peddle.

Then thoughts of the other Weaversons and Simon popped up in his mind again, and he forced himself to concentrate.

Was this how he'd have to spend the rest of his life, having to constantly keep his sanity from slipping away by taking a pill every few hours? It wasn't right. He hadn't poured any of Peddle's gas into his pick-up's tank. And he hadn't wanted to stop at the gas station. He should've kept going on that night. That way, he'd have never been exposed to the gas fumes.

But why the gas fumes at all? What was it about the smell of gasoline that could drive a person mad, even go so far as to grow demon horns and a tail? Gas was an automotive element, not a biological one. So unless an unknown, foreign additive got accidentally mixed into the fuel, someone had to have known about the effects.

"Your supplier intended for this to happen, didn't they?" Chase asked, even though he knew he wouldn't get an answer out of Peddle.

True to form, Peddle said nothing as he marched past Chase to the front door.

"Whatever," Chase said. The calm of the Helensview night didn't rid him of the disgust he felt for Peddle, or the realization that maybe no one would survive the death of Helensview after all.

#

Inside, Chase found Simon in the den with maps and books strewn across the coffee table. The boy himself was snoozing on top of an open book, all tuckered out from the past several hours.

Amazing how he can find some shuteye at a time like this _,_ thought Chase. Then again, if sleep were the only means of escaping this hell, he certainly couldn't fault the boy for doing so.

Choosing to let Simon be for now, he turned off the nearest overhead light. As he listened to the light rasping of Simon's snores, Chase felt a tinge of guilt over having a hand in everyone else's fate. He was, after all, serving as the eyes and ears for the demons. Why he was so important to them, he didn't know.

However, their desire for him proved stronger than the lust Dylan had for Brittany. This particular notion struck Chase with a nauseating vibe and for a second made him wonder where those two had gotten off to.

Behind him, he heard Peddle slump down into the bean bag chair and fall asleep almost at once. Chase's own body demanded rest, but his mind remained too alert for that to happen. Arching past Simon, he crossed the room and sat down on the sofa on the other side. After tucking the .9mm underneath the couch, he tried shutting his eyes. Bursts of visions flitted through his brain, the sheer quantity of them about to overload his senses. Oddly enough, they all carried the same theme: a human inhaling the gas fumes, driven mad by the stench and condemned to bony horns and superior jumping prowess.

He knew at once what this was about. The demons were trying to show him their past lives; how, like him, they had jobs and families, until they embraced the changes that made them what they were today.

These visions played on for a while. Then a sudden gasp from somewhere close by broke Chase from this, where he came to find himself lying face down on the sofa. He glanced around and found Peddle tossing and turning in the bean bag chair.

"No, no! The demons are in here! Get them out. Get them away from me!" Peddle said. Sweat dripped off of his chin, his face fully saturated.

The man's scream made Simon gasp and shoot up awake in his seat.

"What happened?" the boy asked, sounding utterly drained of energy.

"Wake up, Peddle," Chase said. He mumbled and fumbled about, attempting to cross the room to reach the guy. Sleepiness commandeering more of his body than he'd have preferred, he bumped his knee against the coffee table on his way over to Peddle. Afterward, he hobbled around for a couple of moments, staying tight-lipped until the threat of a yowl passed.

Peddle leaned forward, grabbing the sides of the bean bag chair as though he was preparing to jump out of his seat.

"Are the demons here?"

"Only the erotically charged ones," said Chase, casting a glare down the hall where slight tremors were coming from. He bit his lip to keep from laughing as he gazed upon Peddle's mixed expression of confusion and trepidation.

Simon yawned and said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Weaverson sir. I tried to find something that might help us out, but I fell asleep."

Chase veered away from Peddle and approached the kid.

"You're fine. Go back to sleep. You're going to need your strength soon."

Simon nodded once, which was all that the return trip to dreamland needed for him to do.

"Poor kid," said Peddle. "Good thing he's got you looking out for him."

"I'm not sure I'm helping things, or making them worse."

Peddle eased back into the bean bag chair, but kept his hands clenching the chair's sides just in case.

"Don't underestimate yourself. If it weren't for you, my remains might be sprawled all over the floor by the beer freezers."

Checking for the demonic voices again, Chase clamped his hand to his forehead, listening intently. Currently, not a peep roused from the fiends.

"Sometimes it feels like we're fighting a losing battle," he said, jiggling the knob on the front door to make sure it was locked. Despite the fact that the demons promised to leave the others alone if he complied with them, there was always the chance they could go back on their word.

Once done with the door, he then left the room before Peddle could praise him some more and made his way into the kitchen.

#

A survey of the items in Simon's refrigerator turned up precious little. With only a half-empty box of baking soda, some lunch meat, and a milk jug filled just a quarter of the way from the bottom, he didn't see the lot of them staying in the house much longer. They'd need more food soon, or better yet a vehicle to flee town.

The fact that his truck was gone didn't sit well with him. It should have been there, right where he'd left it. And the way it went missing bothered him, too. Had the demons taken his pick-up as a preemptive strike against him?

He wolfed down a slice of bologna, which was dark red around the edges and kind of hard to chew on, as he reflected more on what was going on. On the surface, it did appear that they had a great need for him. Why else would the old guy demon not kill him back at the motor inn? Plus, the reluctance toward leaving that had all but crippled him didn't seem to come from within his own self, but from an outside source.

Even without the truck, he'd get out of town somehow.

You must not want your brother to live, then.

Making sure not to strike anything that might awaken the others, Chase pounded the air with his fist. They had to leave, all five of them. But if Chase tried to escape, Dylan and the others would die.

He couldn't live with that. Too much blood had already been spilled. Letting the demons slaughter the others was not an option. If he had to play the game their way, then so be it.

But maybe he could still save the others, even if he couldn't save himself. Maybe Brittany had a car or something. He should've thought to ask earlier, but how was he supposed to know that someone would steal his truck?

Unwilling to risk pissing off the demons for now, he inspected the rest of the kitchen for something else to eat besides stale lunchmeat. Some apples in a fruit basket still appeared safe for consumption. He also found a couple of bread loaves stashed away in a drawer, none of the slices showing hints of mold on them. A six pack of diet soda sat on top of a counter. The lack of any condensation running down its signs suggested that the cans had not been refrigerated in a while.

Besides the food, he also came across a radio that, to his surprise and relief, still had working batteries. Fiddling with the volume control beforehand, he turned on the device and was met with a low murmur of news announcements:

"The towns of Thorpe and Helensview have been quarantined indefinitely at this time. The National Guard has set up barricades at all access points leading in and out of these afflicted communities. With the collapse of these cities' governments, the state is considering plans to eradicate these places and purge the area of the demon threat.

"Detour routes are posted for those who must travel in the area, but be advised that the state patrol has set up checkpoints on these other roads. Anyone found to not be obeying the traffic laws, specifically those pertaining to speed, may be considered potentially dangerous. Appropriate action will be taken if necessary."

At this, Chase shut off the radio. Even if he did have a car, getting past the National Guard might prove to be a problem. Despite Peddle's lack of cooperation in spilling what he knew, those demons had to be responsible for some, if not every single one, of those highway accidents. Like the newscaster said, both the state patrol and the National Guard were ready to strike out against anyone they perceived to be a threat.

There had to be a way out of this somehow.

Strange, he thought, how the National Guard hadn't even set foot in Helensview. Had they attempted to make entry, only to have the demons slaughter them en masse? The explosion on the western edge of town might've been a botched operation on the Guard's part. Plus, who knew how many members of the military had succumbed to this demonic infestation, too?

Without being able to reach anyone else in the world on account of the town's lousy phone service, there was just no way to tell, aside from the radio. Unfortunately, if the country's last line of defense was broken, that'd likely be the end of everything.

For that reason, he had to keep the radio off in the meantime. He'd go back to the reports in a little while, but something told him up-to-the-minute updates would only come intermittently, if they ever came again.

As Chase pulled away from the radio, he caught the sound of feet shuffling toward him. He froze, wishing he still had the .9mm in his possession. But it would've done no good for the gun to go off and kill him if he rolled over onto it in his sleep.

"You still up, bro? You really should get some rest," Dylan suggested, standing in the archway between the kitchen and the living room. "Being up all night can't possibly be good for you."

"Being a night owl seems to work for you," Chase said while yawning. "I've only been able to sleep in spurts, it seems."

Dylan crossed the room, standing a couple of feet away from Chase seconds later.

"You okay?"

"Fine." Chase flexed his fingers. A sudden surge of energy shot through his body, stemming from his annoyance with everything in general. The urge to attack Dylan gnawed at his brain again.

He's done nothing wrong, Chase thought. He's your brother. Cut him some slack.

A murmur from the demon voices threatened dissent, but did not form anything specific just then.

Dylan looked Chase up and down, whistling softly as he scrunched his nose.

"Dang, Chase, you could sure use a shower or three, too."

Chase pursed his lips. It wasn't like he actually had time to shower, not since he'd left the motor inn yesterday morning, when the coast was still clear for heading out. Why hadn't he just left then? The answer, he realized, was staring him right in the face just now.

"Did you ever find out whether Peddle's place is causing all this crap?" Dylan asked, taking the other seat at the kitchen table.

Chase shook his head, grateful for a change in topic from the mention of his body odor.

"No, we ended up watching a paramedic die instead."

"Oh." Dylan just about sounded remorseful for once. "Was it a demon?"

"They're not demons, Dylan," Chase said, jumping to the defense of these creatures. "They're suffering from something, sure, but they're not the monsters you make them out to be."

The words flew out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them. In his heart, he really thought of the creatures as being beneath humanity. Because the demons were inside his mind, however, they could just about will him to say anything they wanted.

Or worse, think.

"You're the one who's seen them, not me." Dylan leaned against the archway, arms crossed. "Sometimes I think that what happened to you seven years ago has really mucked up your brain."

"It hasn't," Chase snapped. Feeling the conversation teetering towards a destructive outcome, Chase looked away from Dylan, the weight of his eyelids getting heavier. What he wouldn't give to just forget about all his troubles for one night and get some solid rest.

"Are you sure about that? Dude, you haven't been the same since then, and not just because you don't like to go partying with me anymore. You've acted like you've been on a heightened state of alert for danger. I can't even remember the last time you took a risk."

"Maybe I finally wised up," Chase said, throwing himself back into his seat. The demonic broadcasts running through his brain remained at the same steady pace. But for how much longer that would last, he had no clue.

"More like sobered up," Dylan shot back, tossing up his arms as if he'd finally reached the breaking point, too. "I know what you did back then. But you have to let it go. You paid the price for your crime. You served the time. Now you have to forgive yourself and just move on, dude."

Dylan's words struck a note of truth with Chase. He had already made amends for his misdeeds. And the matter of the fact remained that what he'd done back then had resulted in a tragedy. He hadn't intentionally gone out of his way to hurt someone else, but by taking that last swig of beer back then, he might as well have.

"I should have stopped while I was ahead," Chase muttered, resting the side of his head against the table.

He felt Dylan's hand patting him on the shoulder, and then squeezing him in the same location. He barely heard his brother's footsteps as Dylan stepped away. What little energy he had left slipped away before he knew it.

Sleep finally claimed him.

CHAPTER 18

WRONG WAY

Chase awoke lying in an unfamiliar bed, a single blanket on top of him. A combination of confusion and weakness strapped him to the bed harder than the covering someone had so thoughtfully tucked him in with. With the extra layer wrapped tightly around his neckline, he lacked the strength to peel it off just now.

His exhaustion remained with him despite the time he'd spent sleeping. Through his grogginess, he struggled to recall the events leading up to him passing out. The memory of taking medical supplies from the ambulance sprang to mind right away.

But how'd he get from the kitchen to the bedroom? Had Dylan moved him? He ran his hands up and down his body. Forgetting for a moment that he'd slipped the .9mm underneath the living room sofa, he grazed his fingers over the front of his pocket. The gun was, of course, gone.

Terror set in as Chase ripped his blanket away and at once sprang to his feet. Zipping down the hall, he flew into the living room to the tune of a clock chiming eight times. With his overnight activity he'd probably gotten four hours of sleep, if that. His gaze went straight for the bean bag chair, its essence relieved of a certain gas station owner.

"Peddle!" The force of Chase's voice probably woke up everyone else. Not that it mattered right then. Only one concern festered about in his mind. "Where the devil are you, Peddle?"

He stormed the rest of the house for the man. How dare that weasel snatch Chase's gun and leave them defenseless? As he passed the living room couch on his survey of the room, a spark of memory tickled his brain. He got down on hands and knees and gaped underneath the sofa. His fingers sweeping against cool metal, Chase released the breath he'd been holding onto. He withdrew the weapon from its hiding spot and clutched the handle firmly.

Just as he was about to pocket the gun once more, he happened to turn around and face the hallway. Brittany, standing in the threshold with a mudpack all around her face and her hair wrapped up in a towel, shrieked with all the lung power at her disposal. Clearly sleeping with Dylan had done squat to ease her nerves. The noise she made immediately drew Dylan and Simon from the kitchen into the living room.

"What's going on?" Dylan asked, rushing to Brittany's side before he caught sight of the gun in Chase's hand.

Pocketing the gun before he startled anyone else, Chase asked, "Either one of you seen Peddle this morning?"

"Sorry. Can't say I have, sir," Simon said.

"I haven't seen him in a couple of hours," Dylan offered with a truthful shrug.

"Damn." Chase clenched his teeth.

"I think Mr. Peddle stepped out earlier this morning," Brittany announced, her voice indicating a quick recovery from a few moments ago. The hostile glimmer in her eyes, however, hinted that not all was forgiven.

"Oh?"

Chase stopped himself short of flying towards her. If he'd gotten any closer, she would've flipped out for sure, especially after he'd pointed the gun at her without thinking. The adrenaline coursing through his body all but numbed his common sense. This seemed to rile up the demons monitoring his soul, making them thirst even more for a slaughter.

"No," Brittany shot back, leaning further into Dylan as if declaring the younger Weaverson her property. "But I heard someone go out the front door at the crack of dawn. Do you know how hard it is to get some much needed beauty sleep with the hullabaloo you boys make?"

Chase grumbled. Who cared whether she got her beauty sleep? He had to find Peddle. If the demons learned that the gas station owner had gone missing, they might go back on their promise not to hurt the others.

A rise in the demon babble sounded very much like the demons were confirming this. He had to do something before they did.

"We've got to find him," he said.

Appearing less than convinced of this, Dylan led Brittany to the sofa. She kept her head on Dylan's shoulder the whole time. Chase ignored this and, without raising suspicion, patted the outside of his pocket.

"Where would he have gone, sir?" Simon asked Chase, apparently the only other person who seemed to care about this.

"His gas station. Where else? I don't even know why I bothered to save his sorry ass," Chase said, not bothering to watch his language in front of Simon. "That idiot's really mucked things up, big time."

His insides felt alive with fire, as though his blood pressure had soared to new heights. Perspiration beads skittered down his cheeks, even with the AC blasting. The sun was already two hours into heating up the desert area again. It wouldn't have surprised Chase if someone else had foolishly opened a window to let even more heat into the house.

"If Peddle's out, he's out," Dylan said, gingerly stroking the long strands of Brittany's hair. "There's nothing we can do about it now."

Chase clenched his jaw.

"If that's the case then we might not survive much longer, Dylan."

"Why?" Dylan nuzzled his nose against Brittany's in yet another display of disrespect brought on by a slight hangover.

"Because he has pills that keep me from changing into a demon," Chase blurted out without even thinking. In his head, a roar of protest sent a sharp pain coursing through every nerve, causing him to collapse right where he was. Two minutes later, the sturdy grip of rough fingers and a trace of whiskey on Dylan's breath whipped Chase back to coherency.

"Dude, you might become one of those things yourself?" Dylan whistled, adding another whiff of alcohol to the air.

"Trying hard not to. Peddle gave me a pill to prevent me from becoming one myself. Ever since then, he's been holding them over my head, teasing me with his bottle any time I'm about to come flying off the handle. Last night, he came to me and insisted that I not dig deeper into where he got the pills in the first place, like he was afraid of retaliation or something. If he took the pills with him, I'm doomed."

"Maybe he deals drugs," Simon suggested, retrieving a book from underneath the cushion of his wheelchair.

"They are unusual pills. I'd forced one down the throat of the paramedic demon Peddle and I encountered last night, and the guy changed back to normal before he died." Chase sighed and found his way over to Simon. "I don't suppose your book has anything on how a pill might keep someone from becoming one of those things."

Simon shook his head. "No sir. I can't say it does. Do you wanna look?" He held out the book as if he thought this might help Chase out somehow.

Chase gave the kid a small smile.

"Maybe later. Peddle's the one with all the answers. Unless, of course, he's too busy having the demons rearrange what's left of his internal organs into a scarecrow."

"He's also just trying to stay alive, sir," Simon countered.

Chase grappled with his response for a second so as not to yell at the kid. "He's not going to survive at all if he doesn't work with us."

Dylan asked, "And how do we stand up against those demon things?"

"I don't know." Chase glanced out at the world just beyond the living room window. "The local police are gone and the National Guard's set up blockades to prevent anyone who might be a demon from escaping. The four of us might be all that's left of this community."

"If we can find the cause of all this, we might stop it from continuing," Dylan said.

"The gas is the cause," Chase said, crossing his arms. The urge to grab his gun remained steady, the bodiless voices humming at him. "More exactly, the fumes from the gas trigger this strange demonic reaction in its victims. Anyone who's exposed to it for a while eventually grows horns and a tail."

"Gas does this?" Simon asked, looking up from his book.

"Just the brand that's served at Peddle's station. Why else do you think it was so cheap to begin with?"

"I knew such low prices were too good to be true," Brittany said, sounding a bit more receptive to what Chase had to say. "That's why I only fill up my Jaguar XJ with the best premium fuel money can buy."

"You have a Jaguar?" Chase gaped at her, a breadth of air between his lips. "What the hell is a well-off miss like you doing in a town like Helensview? You should be living it up in Hedon City or something."

Dylan flashed a sheepish grin at his brother. "I was meaning to tell you about that back at the diner. Brittany was on her way back to the big city, and I was going with her. I still might, if we can ever get out of here."

"That still doesn't explain how she wound up in town Friday night."

"I was planning on spending the night at the Helensview Motor Inn, you moron. Some people can't make it all the way driving into Hedon City in one day, after all."

Realizing that this chatter wasn't getting him anywhere, Chase started for the front door. "I'm going after that bastard."

"Maybe we should wait until he returns," Brittany suggested in a tone of low hostility. "He might've just stepped out for a breath of fresh air, after all."

Chase swung toward her slowly, making damn sure he stayed respectful even toward a lady of the night.

"Someone's got to take charge here," he said, finally knowing in full why he'd had to step up. "Peddle's a flight risk, my brother can't seem to act responsibly for all of five seconds, and Simon's just a kid."

"I'm more than just a kid," said Simon. The kid's face flashed white-hot rage Chase's way.

Chase didn't let the regret of his words shake him from explaining his position to the others. Even the demons murmuring in the background of his psyche seemed just as surprised by his words as his housemates were.

"And as for you, Brittany, I'm not exactly sure I can trust the judgment of a woman who thrusts herself into the arms of Dylhole over there."

"Way to go, Chase," Dylan mumbled. "Gotta annoy the hell outta everyone, don't ya?"

Chase glowered at Dylan. "Just gunning for you, bro."

Waiting until the others left the room out of disgust, Chase seized his .9mm from his pocket. He then rushed through the front door, slamming it behind him.

Peddle wasn't going to worm his way out of this one.

CHAPTER 19

PEDDLE TO THE METAL

With a steady gait, Chase made good time heading to the gas station. It wasn't until he got halfway between Simon's house and the gas station that his throat's demand for liquid of some sort had him rasping. The sunlight bore down on him without mercy, its heat placing a special emphasis on the back of his neck.

The empty road of Helensview's Main Street went on for what seemed like forever. He'd been in such a rush to find Peddle that he hadn't thought to borrow Brittany's Jaguar XJ. Not that she'd have lent it out to him, given their shared hostility. It didn't matter. He'd already gone this far without a car. It wouldn't be long before he reached his destination.

Along the way, he saw nothing different from before. The same wrecks, bodies, and stains of blood splattered against everything from street signs to the sidewalk. Was there no one left to clean up after the demons?

A Charlie horse struck as he wandered through a crosswalk across from the Eat 'N' Grease. He limped over to the other side and leaned against the traffic light, breathing deeply in order to draw strength for finishing his journey.

The gas station came into view right as a bank clock off to the right flashed the time of 11:30. Gushing with sweat, he felt the first tingles of heat exhaustion buzzing throughout his body. He kept one foot in front of the other, the fire of determination within him more powerful than his body's desire to let the heat win. His ears welcomed the sound of pebbles crunching underneath his boot as he marched onto the property once more. What he wouldn't give to make a similar noise grinding Peddle's boots under the weight of his foot. A few seconds later, he reached the Mini-Mart side of the property. Finding the front door unlocked, he went in.

Peddle was nowhere to be found.

The store appeared untouched from before. Merchandise still lay strewn about the aisles, processed food packages torn to shreds, trails of spilt soda winding their way across the refrigeration section. Chase's nose even detected the stench of a half-eaten egg salad sandwich fouling the air.

Thirst now becoming the more urgent matter, Chase helped himself to a bottle of water from a cooler that had survived yesterday's melee. He then slipped some money on the counter so that Peddle couldn't accuse him of stealing product. Emptying the bottle in five or six large gulps, he then went looking around for the man's office. He was about to call out Peddle's name when something crashed outside.

He bolted in that direction, listening for further commotion from anywhere in the vicinity of the Mini-Mart. So far, he only caught the sound of his own feet clomping on the arid ground. He backed against the store, inching closer to the corner, ready to be ambushed. Drawing his gun from his pocket, he stepped beyond the wall's safety.

Something made a loud boom right before hot metal ripped apart the flesh in his left shoulder. He fell backwards and collided against the ground, sending a plume of dust up into the air.

As darkness clouded his vision, Chase saw recognizable loafers approaching him. His eyes shut, and in that last second before he fell unconscious, he heard the voice of his prey.

"Crap," breathed Peddle.

#

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 .9mm, aimed squarely at Dylan.

"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.

CHAPTER 20

RIGHT OF WAY

Chase watched as Brittany shooed Dylan off to the side with a wave of her hand, the woman's hold on the .9mm steady. If the effort didn't strain his injury, he would've leapt out of bed and tried to wrestle the gun from her grip. With his body still on the brink of physical damnation, he wasn't sure he could pry the weapon from her fingers.

"Get out of bed, Chase. We've got to stay on schedule. Peddle's pill may have delayed your transformation by a day or two, but we can make up for lost time," Brittany said, still keeping the gun's barrel directed toward Dylan. "When you've got the rest of your life to spend as a demon, you'll learn we can be a most patient species."

"Species?" Dylan parroted her word. "Don't tell me, Brittany. You're one of those creatures?"

Brittany nodded. Then, with a tug on her hair, she removed it altogether, showing off her bony-horned scalp.

"Naturally born, no less. Not that I imagine that makes you feel better," she said.

Chase winced as he twisted his arm the wrong way while balancing to stand. He crept toward Brittany, slowing his stride as much as he could without further endangering Dylan's life.

"Why isn't your skin red like the others?" he muttered to her as she snatched him by his good arm.

Brittany laughed. "We have a pill for almost every occasion. Just as we can prevent a human's transformation to demon, we can also masquerade our skin tone to prevent anyone from noticing. Although to be fair, we don't always need to do that because it often looks like we have terrible sunburns. Now enough of this! Get into the living room. You first, Dylan."

Chase tried to mouth a signal to his brother, but a rise in the demon voices prevented him from producing anything Dylan might've understood. He suddenly found himself at the receiving end of Brittany's left hook. The force of impact made his jaw crack and loosened a couple of his teeth, the taste of blood alive on his tongue.

"You're with us now, Chase. Do try to remember that," she said.

She seized him by the wrist of his good arm and jerked him toward the door.

Chase rubbed his chin with his free hand as the three of them stepped into the living room. There, he found another horror he couldn't believe. Peddle stood guard by Simon, a revolver to the boy's head.

_No wonder neither one of them responded to the commotion in the bedroom_ , thought Chase. Plus, it also proved beyond a doubt that Peddle was in league with the demons.

"Figures," Chase uttered under his breath.

"I had no choice. She's the one calling the shots right now," Peddle said. Unlike Brittany, there was no steadiness to his grip, as indicated by the way his weapon trembled in his hand.

"Simon!" Chase's gut wrenched with the guilt of letting this happen. Watching the tears streak down the boy's face made Chase want to break free from Brittany's clutches and sucker-punch both her and Peddle. But if he tried anything right at that moment, either Brittany or Peddle would've gotten a bullet into Dylan, Simon, or Chase himself.

Simon glanced up at Chase without a flicker of hope in his watery eyes.

"I'm sorry, sir. I was asleep in my chair when Mr. Peddle woke me up and put the gun to my head," the boy said.

"Peddle, control your hostage," Brittany commanded with a growl. "Or else I'll blast both of you without a second thought. And as for you, sugar daddy, over there!"

She booted Dylan in the back of his leg, shoving him face first into the living room sofa.

At this, Chase spun toward her.

"I've paid my dues already," he said. "I went to jail for leaving that woman to die."

"You think that matters to me?" Brittany flashed her gun at Chase briefly, leaving Dylan out of the line of fire. "You may have paid for your crimes through the legal system, but there's still a debt to be repaid. Tell me something, Chase Weaverson. Have you spent much time in church?"

Her question drew upon the essence of Chase's damnation. It didn't matter how many times Chase had tried to clear his conscience. The memory of seeing the woman flip through the air, crash against his windshield, roll off his truck, and come to rest along the side of the road haunted him to this day.

"I may have gone once or twice," he admitted.

"I'm assuming that was before you introduced that woman to your front fender," Brittany said with a smirk.

"What happened that day was an unfortunate accident," said Dylan. "It's not like he meant to go out of his way to kill that woman."

"Is that so?" Brittany spun back toward him, readjusting her aim with the .9mm again. "Once a killer, always a killer. You can call it an accident all you want. What matters is that Chase has snuffed out a life, and for that, the demons of Helensview praise him. Now no more talk! He must join us now."

"He's not a monster!" Simon said, clenching his jaw.

Brittany shot Peddle a warning glare. Then she approached Simon, leaned down toward him, and cast a sinister sneer his way.

"How easily you forget that Mr. Weaverson is the one who shot and killed your mother," she said with seething rage in her tone.

Chase started toward Simon, but Brittany whipped about behind him at lightning speed. A sudden jab in the center of Chase's back indicated that Brittany wasn't above using the .9mm on him as well as the others. He refrained from rushing up to comfort the boy. Somehow, he'd find a way to end this all.

"You can't help any of them. As you've probably guessed, Peddle has been working for us for some time. To keep him safe from the effects of the gas fumes, we did supply him with anti-transformation pills. In exchange, we expect him to fulfill his every obligation to the end."

"This is insane. Why even bother to transform people at all?" Dylan asked.

"Because we can," said Brittany. "I admit that some members of your species are almost worth preserving as is. You in particular, Dylan, have shown great agility despite your slightly bulky frame."

Chase mouthed the word "agility" at Dylan out of utter confusion. Something in the back of his mind told him he didn't want to know what Brittany had meant by that. For once, the thought was his own and not demonic buzzing.

His pause allowed for Brittany's heel to meet his jaw. After crashing against the ground, Chase swallowed a tooth and some blood. Ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder, he scrambled to his feet before Brittany could strike again.

"Do you take me for a fool? Stop mouthing things to your brother. He can't help you anymore than you can help him. You belong to us, Chase. It's over."

"Do you really think you'll gain anything by turning me into a demon?"

Brittany stepped around him again, blocking his view of Dylan.

"It's not like you were doing anything useful with your life."

"I was about to take on the family farm again."

The lines on her face conveyed an expression of amused bafflement. The glee lighting up her face drove Chase to fight that much harder for his soul. He couldn't imagine such sick joy defiling his face.

"Your family would entrust their greatest asset to a killer?"

"They don't know what I did. I never got around to telling them."

Brittany lowered her gun so that it pointed to the floor.

"So you're a liar as well as a killer. And you wonder why we've chosen to bring you into our fold?" she asked him.

"My brother was at the gas station the night the gas started to make demons out of everybody. Why didn't the fumes affect him as well?"

Brittany shrugged. "I'm guessing he has nothing to hide from in his past. No major demons to wrestle with compared to his big brother."

"And the people of Helensview; did they have something to hide from?"

"I'm surprised you haven't figured that part out yet," said Peddle, his gun still close by Simon's ear.

Brittany chortled at this. "Don't give him too much credit, Peddle. He's clearly not seeing the bigger picture in all of this."

"What bigger picture?" Dylan asked.

"We didn't exactly select Helensview for its prime location," said Peddle. "There's a reason why the demons targeted Helensview. It's a town out in the middle of nowhere that the world wouldn't miss at all. Look at how easily the gas stations in town lost business when I moved in. This place wouldn't stand a chance of surviving if not for my gas station."

"Your gas station, Peddle?" asked Brittany. A second later, she spun around and faced him, aiming the .9mm his way, her trigger finger inching toward action.

"I didn't mean..." he stammered, yanking at his necktie again.

"Hush. I'll give the Weaversons this. Your arrogance bleeds into everything you do, despite the fact that you can't do much of anything right at all. And as much fun as it's been having you help transform the town into a breeding ground for my kind, we find ourselves tiring of your continual bungling. You've outlived your usefulness, Peddle."

In the last split second before her finger pulled back on the trigger, Peddle fired at Brittany before she showed him the courtesy first. The metal pierced the flesh right between her eyes, his perfect shot earning him a sliver of redemption in that instant.

Brittany unleashed a final scream into the air before gurgling on her own blood. The woman's eyes rolled backward in her head. Her body swayed back and forth for a moment as the hostile life force it contained departed from its anorexic casing. She crashed to the floor and moved no more.

Chase looked at Dylan. The shock of Dylan's Helensview honey being a now-dead demon registered clearly in the younger Weaverson's vacant stare. Once Dylan blinked and snapped back to attention, Chase joined him to check on Simon.

Without saying anything, Simon shook his head before burying his face in his hands. Soft whimpers escaped from him, the events of the last few days clearly taking their toll on him.

"What about you, Bro?" Dylan asked.

"I'll be fine." Chase scowled, averting his attention elsewhere. "So, Peddle, is there anything we still don't know?"

CHAPTER 21

ONE WAY

The reddish orange light seeping in through the western window indicated the sun's losing battle with twilight. With any luck, Dylan and Peddle would finish burying Brittany and make it back inside before the sky grew completely pitch black. Chase rested his head against the throw cushion on the sofa. Lack of energy nudged him toward sleep, despite his best effort to stay alert for the others to return. At least he had the .9mm in his possession again, which was probably why he almost gave in to the appeal of stealing some shut-eye.

He rolled his head to the side. There he caught a glimpse of Simon sitting by a window in the corner. The need to reassure the boy weighed heavily on him, but Chase couldn't think of what to say. The events of the past forty-eight hours had run them all through the gamut. Nothing he'd say would bring much comfort to either of them.

"Simon?" he finally said.

No response.

Chase blinked. No kid deserved this kind of suffering. If only he could turn back the clock and keep himself from killing Simon's mom, maybe even slip her an anti-transformation pill. She may've still been too far gone for the pill to have any true effect, but at least then Chase would have done more to save her instead of gunning her down.

Yet the ability to fix this was beyond his reach. The one thing he could do was be there for the boy until Simon's dad came around again. With any luck, phone service would either be restored, or the National Guard would finally mobilize and scour the town for survivors. The fact that they hadn't arrived in Helensview after eighteen hours still didn't sit well with him, but then again Helensview wasn't the only town suffering from this.

"Do you know where your dad moved to?" he asked, hopefully not in vain.

"I don't remember," cried Simon.

The boy remained by the window, staring out into the night as if he found something comforting about the dark. After seeing the Helensview skyline erupt with an assortment of fiery colors the past few days, Chase couldn't blame Simon for preferring the tranquility of the night.

"Simon, if we can't find your dad, do you want to come live with me? Ma and Pa would like your company, and you already seem to get along with Dylan," Chase said.

Simon shrugged. "How will we even get there? Your truck is gone."

The answer sprang to mind quickly.

"Brittany's Jaguar, of course," Chase said.

He could just imagine what Dylan would think of that. The younger Weaverson would more than likely try to lay claim to it, considering he'd been in that forty-eight hour romance with Brittany.

"What if she bought tainted gas and it infects us all?" Simon asked.

So much for that idea, thought Chase. With the Jaguar not being an option for the lot of them anymore, he had to think of something else.

"Is there any way we could contact the outside world? At the moment, that seems to be our biggest problem."

Actually, for Chase the problems ran deeper, given the dual pockets of pain near the top of his skull where bony horns still threatened to protrude.

Just as he was about to suggest another way of getting everybody out of town, Dylan and Peddle entered the room, both men covered in grime. A few more patches of fabric in Peddle's uniform went missing, his ivory shirt reduced to an ashen gray rag. Meanwhile, Dylan's fingers were wrapped loosely around a shovel. The tool slipped from his grip and clanged against the side of the coffee table on its way to the floor.

"Never thought I'd ever bury a woman in my life," Dylan complained, wiping a sleeve against his forehead.

"Same here," Peddle agreed.

Chase sat up and moved his legs to give Dylan somewhere to rest. Peddle sank into the bean bag chair, deeper than what he'd probably intended. The heavy groan from the gas station owner hinted at how unlikely he'd budge from there for hours, if not the night in full.

"I imagine a lot of folks are saying that sort of thing right about now," said Chase. "So many lives lost over the weekend, and for what. Demon reproduction?"

Peddle looked at no one, further compounding the guilt surrounding his involvement with the demons.

"Well, Peddle?" barked Chase. "Care to elaborate on why Brittany and others like her were so intent on changing people?"

Peddle sighed but gave away nothing. The way he kept staring down at the floor proved that he was not ready to divulge anything to anyone.

"Forget it, Chase. This guy's weak." Dylan flung his hand in disgust at Peddle. "He'll never tell us what he knows."

Chase began to fume, but then he shifted gears. "Yeah, Dylan, I guess we can just wait until we all become demons, too. Plus, I doubt there's enough ammunition left in Simon's mom's stockpile to keep that .9mm loaded for much longer."

Peddle flew out of his chair. "Go ahead and make your sarcastic remarks while you can. You have no idea what those demons are capable of."

"Uh, we just saw a little bit of what they're capable of with Demon Brittany a few hours ago," Chase was quick to point out. "But by all means, humor us."

Peddle plopped back into his seat faster than he'd left it. He rested his elbows on his kneecaps, his palms upon the sides of his face.

"It's very hard to start your own business. I wish you both the best in that regard with your farm," Peddle said, nodding to both Chase and Dylan. "Working under the tyranny of another in the fueling industry nearly drove me insane. So I did everything I could think of to take on a franchise while paying bills at the same time. I filled out applications for jobs and loans, flyers, resumes, business cards, and such. I looked to bulletin boards and web sites for possible leads, none of which panned out. I read and answered as many newspapers ads as I could possibly find, thinking someone would make me an acceptable offer.

"Fortunately, somebody called me one day. They said they were interested in meeting me at the Eat'N'Grease for lunch and to discuss how to get my dreams of operating a gas station up and running. I was so desperate for a business I didn't think twice about what I was about to sign up for. For crying out loud, I'm not even sure I asked them for their names.

"So I met with these prospective investors. They wore dark suits with matching fedoras and sunglasses. I could tell they were the ones I'd spoken to over the phone because of how well-dressed they were. Their skin carried a slight red hue that I attributed to sunburns. They ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, as they didn't seem particularly interested in actually eating. We talked about an hour before we got down to discussing our expectations for each other."

Peddle stopped to clear his throat. Chase nodded for Dylan to go get the man a drink of water to prevent the gas station owner from using that as an excuse to sneak off again. A moment later, Dylan returned with the glass, handing it to Peddle at once. A few swigs finished the water off in a hurry.

"They told me they'd finance everything," Peddle continued a moment later. "All I had to do was just drive the business. I suggested to them I should sell gas at 99 cents per gallon, you know, to celebrate the grand opening. By all rights they should've denied me, but their supplier's costs were apparently low enough to support my idea."

"Or so they led you to believe," Chase said. He crossed his arms, the droning in his brain steady at a high level.

Peddle shot a sharp glance at Chase.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Chase smirked disbelief to the others.

"Peddle, did you ask anything regarding the arrangement? Or did your greed blind you to the fine print?"

"Of course I looked at the fine print!" Peddle squeaked. "You're saying this is my fault?"

"Yep."

Peddle looked away, earning more contempt from Chase. Hard to believe anyone would willingly and blindly enter into a business relationship with someone like Peddle.

Unless they had nothing to lose and everything to gain in the deal, thought Chase.

"I just wanted to run a gas station," Peddle said, facing the older Weaverson again. "I didn't know the demons conspired to demonize the town when I signed on the dotted line. Rest assured. If I had known, I would have never agreed to it in the first place."

"Easy for you to say in hindsight," Chase grunted. "When did you figure out that your associates weren't exactly human?"

A wordless moan escaping from his throat, Peddle gave an empty stare.

"When did you know, Peddle?" Dylan repeated the question.

The brothers exchanged glances with one another. Chase couldn't help but notice how Dylan's troubled brows reflected the anxiety between them.

"At first, they explained nothing to me. I thought they were on the level," said Peddle.

"So you made a deal with shady people whose purpose was a complete mystery to you originally?" asked Chase.

He caught Peddle staring back at him, as though the man expected him to back off. Chase gritted his teeth, unwilling to show any clemency unless the full truth came out.

"I don't know what else to say." Peddle groaned.

"You're the only one who can get yourself out of this mess."

"How?" Peddle asked. The glint in his eyes betrayed the man's emotional exhaustion.

Chase grimaced. For someone so intent on protecting his business, Peddle didn't sound like an especially cunning man. Perhaps the answers only came to Peddle at the gas station because Peddle knew exactly where to look: down toward his desk.

"Tell us about your supplier."

"Why?"

Chase considered yanking out the .9mm from his pocket and threatening Peddle with it. The demons supported this action, as it would guarantee Peddle's demise before the gas station owner could betray them further. Regardless of how angry the demons got over the questions, Chase didn't give in to them.

"Because if we can stop the next tanker shipment, we might have a chance at stopping the transformation from striking other towns, like Grains Plains or Hedon City."

Peddle scoffed at this.

"You don't seem to understand that the distributor has six trucks in its line-up that are always delivering the tainted gas to other parts of the state. They're also seriously considering going to full-on national distribution."

"Ah, now I get it." Chase snapped his fingers, then spun around and glared at Peddle. "It makes perfect sense why you'll never spill about the pills. So long as there are still people in control of their faculties, there's profit to be had by you and your investors."

"Chase, give it up," Dylan groaned, slumping further into the sofa cushions. "If Peddle doesn't wanna talk, he won't."

Part of Chase heard and agreed with this. Peddle's defiance showed no hint of letting up. If the Weaversons and Simon were going to survive this, they'd have to do so without Peddle.

"I sure hope he doesn't say another word. The feeling I got from the paramedic I'd cured suggests that those humans-turned-demons know precisely what they're doing." Chase lowered his head slightly, making sure Peddle caught sight of his glare. "And if that's the case, I know exactly who I'll be hunting when I turn."

"Enough!" Peddle roared to where his voice nearly shook plaster off the ceiling, his whole body shaking violently.

Chase smirked at Peddle. "Well?"

Initially, Peddle opened his mouth to say something. But then he swallowed hard, his face turning a faint shade of green. A second later, vomit erupted from him, spilling out onto his loafers and fouling the air with a rich stink.

_So much for the water helping him out_ , thought Chase.

He left the room before the stench overwhelmed him. Clearly, he'd have to find another way of getting the full truth. Maybe a little pistol-whipping was in order. He could pummel Peddle until the jerk pleaded for mercy. If that didn't work, a bullet could get the job done.

Realizing the source of these dark thoughts, Chase stepped out of the house. With any luck the desert air would do him some good, helping him to clear his head so he could think straight.

Still sensing them monitoring his thoughts, he heard the demons laughing it up inside his brain. As far as they were concerned, it wouldn't be long until they had Chase Weaverson's mind, body, and soul completely.

CHAPTER 22

YIELD

Chase watched the moon slip between two clouds drifting northward in the western sky, the radio sitting on the patio table in front of him. There'd been no breaking news in several hours. Based on this, it seemed that the world had settled into its new routine, one in which the National Guard, assuming it still existed, didn't give a damn about Helensview.

Not that Chase had ever truly found the town to his liking, either.

The one thing going for him was that at least Dylan had volunteered to help keep an eye on Peddle. With his shoulder still on the mend, Chase thanked his brother for stepping up to help, especially since Dylan had also been wounded, too. Thankfully, the younger Weaverson's injury was nowhere near as severe as Chase's. The family skill of survival remained strong as ever.

He leaned back in the patio chair, listening to the relative peace of the night. Without the usual noise pollution of traffic in the background, every muscle felt looser with less tension and pressure applied to each one. Although his guilt over killing two women would stick with him permanently, at least this moment didn't seem so bad. Maybe the desert heat had gotten to him, or it could've been the demons using their influence to slowly dissolve his resistance.

Or I just might be enjoying a rare quiet moment, he thought.

He reflected on what Peddle had admitted to back inside the house, most of which merely mirrored what he'd already figured out on his own. The rasp of the sliding glass door opening caught Chase's ear, though he didn't bother to cock his head in that direction. After all, it couldn't have been Simon, as the boy had likely gone to bed shortly after Peddle's puking incident.

"Well, I finally cleaned up my mess," said Peddle.

Chase looked around at the neighborhood, exaggerating the way he craned his neck as far as his wound would permit.

"You mean to tell me that everyone who got turned into a demon is alive and well and also back to being a human being?"

A grumble emerged from Peddle's throat. The man found another chair a few feet away, dragged it across the patio's deck, and set it down next to Chase. A few seconds later, Peddle's ass hit the plastic seat hard.

"I meant to say that I got all the vomit off of the throw rug," Peddle said. "Although my loafers will probably never be fully rid of the stains, you know."

Chase gave no comment on the matter of the man's shoes.

"Will you just say something already?" Peddle snapped at Chase, drawing the older Weaverson's focus toward him.

"Drives you crazy, doesn't it?" Chase shrank his eyes into tiny slits as he finally regarded Peddle.

"What?"

A scowl sank the corners of Chase's lips. "That people don't cooperate with you when you really want them to."

"Your point?" Peddle's brow hooked upward.

"Just saying."

"It must be easy for you to look down upon others from high up on your pedestal."

Chase faked a yawn before saying, "We don't have time for this, Peddle. Right now my only concern is what your conniving associates intend to do next."

"You think I keep track of them?"

"It'd be in your best interest to." Chase sat up in his seat. "By your own admission, if you so much as step out of line even an inch, they'll make you into Peddle flambé."

"Well sorry to disappoint you, but aside from when their trucks pump new gas into my store's reserves and I write them a check, I really don't know what they do." A flick of defiance danced in Peddle's eyes. "Nor do I really care what they do, so long as they honor their end of the agreement."

"Dammit, Peddle! I'm not going to die here in this blasted town."

"You're sure about that?"

Chase gnashed his teeth. "You really struggle with this whole thinking about others stuff, don't you, Peddle? It figures. You make me sick."

"You think I'm proud of what I've done?" Peddle roared with all the force of his lungs behind him. "I admit I've made some mistakes. I admit I couldn't say no to their deal.

"But what the hell makes you think you're any better than me? For crying out loud, you ran down a woman after a night of drinking, and you killed Simon's mom. Do you really believe you're an upstanding person yourself?"

For a second, silence lingered in the air. Chase let his brain absorb the full weight of Peddle's words, along with the image of Peddle's face flushing with rage. It became apparent to him that trading insults wouldn't get them anywhere. Perhaps the time had come to forget what happened and figure out what to do next.

"Well, now you've gotten yourself way over your head," Chase said. He hoped these words would yank Peddle back into a state of rational thinking.

Peddle grumbled. "So now what?"

"Well," Chase said, stroking his chin in deep thought. "You could tell me about the moment you finally realized what your investors were actually up to."

Peddle sighed and plopped down into the seat on the other side of the patio table.

"While I was taking out a bag of trash to the receptacle behind the gas station, I overheard two of them talking about how their gasoline would change people's lives. At first, I thought they were doing something about our carbon footprint.

"But then one of them took off her hat, and I saw her with the same kind of horns all the transformed people have." The very words made Peddle's trembling fingers release their hold on Chase's shirt. "I just didn't believe their fuel had the power to actually change people physically."

"Guess you know better now, huh?" Chase still didn't feel much sympathy toward Peddle.

Peddle nodded. "They would've killed me if they didn't need a human underling to operate the store. They were the ones who gave me the pills to prevent me from becoming a demon and blowing their cover."

"If you hadn't shot Brittany, I never would've accused you of having a spine, Peddle."

The gas station owner balked at that comment.

"Do you know how hard it is to live with the guilt of knowing you've permanently ruined someone else's life?"

Chase opened up his mouth, but only dry air burst forth from it.

"Oh, I forgot," Peddle said, looking up again at Chase. "Of course you know all about that."

"Tell me about the shipments you discussed with them," Chase said, unconcerned with the sharpness of his tone. The demons had to be stopped somehow. Getting Peddle to talk seemed the only surefire way of accomplishing that.

Peddle drew in a breath, still casting a look that practically begged Chase to drop the subject altogether. Unless the gas station owner revealed every facet of the secret to Chase, he wouldn't let the man off the hook.

"That came up a little later. See, I listened closer to what the demons were saying. One of them snickered, which caused the second one to smack the first one in the head. I didn't know what that fuss was about." Peddle swallowed. "When they wandered off, I followed."

"They'd gone around the building to where the pumps were. The slapper laid into her companion again, howling in her own monstrous language at him." Peddle pressed his palm against his forehead as if the act of remembering squeezed a fresh serving of pain into his mind. "They mimicked the act of driving, of people getting out of their cars and filling up gas tanks. When one of the demons grabbed their snout while pointing to the pump, I realized I might've witnessed the dawn of our end days."

"And you didn't think to stop them?" Chase blurted out, even more disgusted than before.

"I was in shock. I froze up." Peddle chafed his scalp once, and then met Chase's gaze dead on. "They were actual monsters who seemed hell-bent on destroying us. And I wasn't carrying my revolver on me at that point.

"So I did the one thing I could think of, the one thing I do best. I ran, or tried to. I tripped over my own feet trying to get away. Sure enough, I crashed to the ground and groaned loud enough for them to come running. If they hadn't needed me, I'm sure they would've killed me right there and then."

"But they let you live." Chase scrunched his nose, sickened by the thought of Peddle's wormy survival.

Peddle nodded, taking in a quick breath. "Their first instinct was to gut me. Before they could get their talons on me, I choked out a vow of silence. They must've seen my desperation to live since they supplied me with the pills."

Chase rolled his head and shoulders, loosening every tight muscle in the top third of his body.

Peddle must've noticed this, for a second later he hastily added, "The demons muttered something about the pills erasing the effect of the demonized hydrocarbons in the gasoline. I didn't quite catch the whole gist of it as they spewed out some nonsense about 'adverse effects on olfactory sensors'."

"I thought you said they spoke in their own language."

Peddle's brow couldn't have grown any moister. "Apparently, they're quite good at being bilingual or trilingual or something. I don't know."

Chase gritted his teeth. All this trouble just because one gas station weaseled his way out of death's clutches, only to do so for the benefit of financial gain.

"When exactly did it strike you that what your buddies were doing was wrong?"

Peddle offered nothing in the form of a response. Chase ignored the urge to connect his fist with Peddle's jaw. For one thing, Peddle wasn't worth the effort. And secondly, thrashing on the guy wouldn't cure the gas fume victims, or spare everyone else their lives.

"You know this leaves us with one course of action."

Peddle trembled in his seat while Chase moved to stand. "What are we going to do?"

Chase smiled. "Firstly, Peddle, when do you expect your next shipment of gasoline?"

"Tomorrow morning, bright and early at 5:30." Suspicion filled Peddle's eyes. "Why?"

Chase cast another glance around the neighborhood, the segment of a town forever in ruins because of Peddle and the demons. Though Helensview and its neighboring town of Thorpe were likely lost causes, Chase could ensure no other place in the world suffered this plight.

"Sleep well, Peddle," Chase said. He narrowed his eyes as he stared at Peddle, "for tomorrow morning is your final delivery."

CHAPTER 23

HEADING OUT

Six hours of sleep didn't seem enough for Chase, probably because his shoulder still ached from the gunshot wound. He didn't know whether the bullet was lodged in there or not, nor was he really interested in finding out.

It didn't seem likely that his injury was severe, however. From his time in prison, he'd heard all sorts of stories about bullets being lodged in people's various body parts. What he felt right now wasn't severe. Provided it gave him no further problems in the short term, he'd have a doctor in Grains Plains check him out at the first opportunity.

He stirred from the living room sofa and looked around for a clock. 4:40. Fifty minutes left until the next delivery was made at Peddle's store. Chase very much doubted the demons would let Peddle's absence keep them from showing up with the shipment.

At five minutes to five, Chase grasped the knob on the front door. Though his stomach snarled with hunger pangs, other things took precedence. He'd give Peddle another minute or two, and then he'd head out to the gas station. Provided that Brittany had left the keys in her Jaguar XJ, getting to the gas station would be a piece of cake. Despite Simon's attempt to discourage Chase from using Brittany's set of wheels, Chase did have Peddle close by with those anti-transformation pills.

Of course, there was the chance that Peddle might not even honor his involvement with Chase's plan. Chase hoped Peddle would come through and do the right thing, but this was a shady gas station operator he was dealing with here. The man hadn't shown any integrity before. Why start now?

Perhaps Peddle was in denial that his dream was over. Chase could appreciate what it was like to wake up to the sobering realization, knowing he could never go back to the way things were. Once things changed, they changed forever.

"Hey," a voice called out from behind Chase.

Chase turned away from the door and found Dylan standing in the hallway leading to Simon's bedroom. "Hey," Chase grunted back.

Dylan rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, looking ready to ask what was going on. Despite Dylan's immaturity having led the two Weaverson brothers to this point, Chase didn't harbor any resentment just then. The possibility of death made his brother's shortcomings more tolerable.

"I've got to go take care of something," Chase said. "Peddle, too, if that man actually has a set on him."

"You sure that's wise?" Dylan asked with what sounded like genuine worry. "I mean, you haven't exactly had a doctor take a look at you."

Chase frowned. His eyes stung with a hotness he suspected wasn't part of the ordinary desert climate. It took several short breaths for Chase to recompose himself. In just a matter of seconds, he was about to walk out that door, possibly to never return. He tore his gaze away from Dylan before such thinking jeopardized the task at hand.

"I have to do this, Dylan," Chase muttered ruefully. "For seven years the guilt of having killed someone has gnawed at my gut. I can never take back my worst drunken mistake ever, but I can make damn sure those demons don't hurt anyone else today."

"You're talking crazy, bro," Dylan remarked, stepping further into the living room.

Chase waved his hand, trying to discourage Dylan from coming any closer. This was hard enough already without an awkward moment between the brothers. "Someone's got to stop the demons, Dylan. I can't ask either you or Simon to throw your lives away. You have to explain things to both our folks and Simon's dad. And Simon has his life still ahead of him."

Dylan crossed his arms.

"And you feel you've got nothing left to live for?" he asked.

"Take good care of Simon," Chase said. With a gentle pat on the shoulder, he tried his best to soften the blow of what was about to come. "He's in good hands with you."

"Bro, you can't do this!" The fear in Dylan's voice underscored just how seriously he took this.

"Yes, I do." Chase forced his voice cold. If sentiment distracted him for even another second, they'd lose their best shot of stopping the demons.

Dylan protested with a few more mumblings, but in the end he seemed to realize he couldn't argue with Chase.

"What about Peddle?"

"I'm right here," Peddle said, emerging from the kitchen. "Time to go, Weaverson."

Peddle started forth, toward the front door, only to be stopped by Dylan's sudden grip.

"Hold it." Dylan gnashed his teeth at Peddle.

Chase could've sworn he'd heard the faintest hint of a sniffle coming from his brother. Then again, a speck of dust might've just tickled Dylan's nose hairs.

"What do you think you're doing?" said Peddle, his eyes glinting with unease.

Dylan squeezed tighter on Peddle's bicep and pointed toward Chase.

"This is my older brother, Peddle. He's a Weaverson. You don't mess with Weaversons. If he dies and you survive, well, let's just hope he comes back with you," he said before pushing Peddle away. "No matter what happens, Chase, just know that I really am proud of you, and I'm sorry for half the crap I've put you through."

Damn it. Chase needed to get out of that house, and soon. He couldn't waste any time on a group hug.

Unfortunately, Dylan picked that awkward moment to throw his arms around Chase. Seeing no alternative, Chase embraced the moment. The instant Simon's house disappeared from view might possibly be the last time Chase ever saw his brother.

"Don't do this, Bro," Dyl implored, slow to break away from the hug. "We can find another way."

Chase peeled himself free from Dylan's grip, making his way to the door. Peddle joined Chase seconds later.

"Goodbye, Dyl," Chase said, pausing as one final thought struck him. "If you do ever get back to Grains Plains, tell Pa and Ma I...that, is, I..."

Dylan growled and flung his hand at Chase.

"Screw that, Chase. You tell them in person."

Chase opened the door without looking back. An instant later, he heard Peddle close the door behind him. There was no turning back now. Chase popped a pill into his mouth, swallowed, and then handed the bottle over to Peddle.

"Was that alcohol I smelled on Dylan's breath?" Peddle asked when they'd put some distance between themselves and Simon's.

"Yeah."

"And you left him in charge of Simon's safety?"

Chase didn't answer. The first hint of daylight cracked in the northeast. 5:30 was coming upon them fast.

CHAPTER 24

EXIT ONLY

They got to the gas station with four minutes to spare. No sign of any fuel trucks, at least not yet. They sat inside Brittany's Jaguar XJ—she'd left her keys inside the ignition—on the far side of the parking lot. After waiting a few minutes, Peddle stepped out of the car without saying a word, getting into position near the pumps.

It wouldn't be long now.

Chase kept watch, the driver's side window offering a perfect view of the town just up the road. According to Peddle, most deliveries came en route from the highway. But with the National Guard having shut down 613, the tanker truck would have to find another way to get to the gas station.

"What if Peddle's lying?" Chase asked himself. After all, it could've been that the gas station owner was simply looking out for himself. Maybe Peddle had struck yet another deal with the demons, this one offering Chase up as a prize to save his own backside.

Chase shook his head, waiting to see what would come. One way or another, this would end once and for all.

#

Minutes later, Chase spied a single set of headlights coming from town center. At the same time, out of the corner of his eye he saw Peddle motion spotting something heading toward them from 613. The older Weaverson concerned himself more with the vehicle in the town center, especially as it bore a familiar cherry-painted frame. When he saw how that transport bore an uncanny resemblance to his pick-up truck, he squeezed his knuckles tight, almost to the point of bursting.

"That's my fucking truck. I'll get you bastards for this."

In the rearview mirror, the eastbound direction showed a set of headlights underneath the overpass to Highway 613. Chase climbed out of the Jaguar XJ and went to position himself behind the Mini-Mart like before. The memory of being shot by Peddle last time played out in his head again, but he refused to let this paralyze him. After all, that tanker truck was carrying more poison for the thriftier motorists who had yet to take advantage of Peddles 99 cent special. Even though Helensview no longer had any drivers stopping in, there was always the chance that a wayward traveler might inadvertently pump that gas into their fuel tank.

Peddle remained standing near the pumping area as bait. Whether or not the demons delivering the gas were aware of Peddle's betrayal remained to be seen. At the moment, Chase could sense nothing from the mental chatterbox. It was as if the demons had gone into silence in the same manner as those special radio broadcasts.

Would they see right through this? Chase bit his lip, his heart growing sick over that uncertainty.

He heard two doors slam a minute later, followed by voices sounding less than human. As Peddle started in with Chase's approved speech, Chase poked his head around the corner and caught a glimpse of Peddle's benefactors.

"The town has been changed," Peddle announced to the others, lacking any warmth in his voice. "Everyone except me is now a demon."

Chase further strained himself to overhear the conversation between Peddle and the store owner's associates. The rasping from the demons made it nearly impossible for the older Weaverson to hear what they were saying.

"We know you are lying," said one. "We can tap into the mind of the one you call Chase Weaverson. Unless you stop insulting our intelligence with this fabrication, we will resort to that drastic measure. Care to continue?"

"The people of Helensview have been turned. I've done all I can," Peddle said, not a tremble to be found in his voice.

Now the second one chimed in. "You have been fairly consistent in delivering. Do not disappoint us now. We know the Weaversons have not been turned. Even now, we have an agent keeping tabs on the one called Dylan."

Something about that announcement gave Chase cause for alarm, but he couldn't think about that right now. The only thing that mattered was stopping this shipment once and for all.

The brief distraction was enough for Chase to miss what Peddle said next. Apparently it matched Chase's unwritten script, for a second later one of the demons walloped Peddle in the gut. Peddle wheezed, recovering from the blow.

"I've done my part. It's not my fault your gas didn't affect some people."

Chase crept away from the Mini-Mart slowly so as not to draw attention his way. His fingers met the maw of his pocket and descended inside of it to retrieve the .9mm. Peddle's distraction proved effective so far. With some luck and the "radio silence" from the voices, maybe Chase could go unnoticed just a little while longer.

"Does this end our deal, then?" A slight unease clung to Peddle's tone.

Undecipherable chatter was exchanged between the demons, although neither let Peddle disappear from sight. Peddle's arms hung at his sides, his fists balled up in preparation for a potential strike.

Chase motioned toward Peddle's associates, slowly withdrawing the gun from his pocket.

Just keep them focused a little more, Peddle!

"I guess this means you have no further use for me," Peddle said, his voice trailing off with a quiver. He cleared his throat, as though this might've provided him with a sudden burst of courage. "Fine. I'm done with you, too."

One of the demons lunged forth at Peddle, claws first, and shredded Peddle's loosely-hanging tie with a single swipe. Chase opened fire on the creature standing further back from Peddle, striking the beast in the back. The fiend's shrill cry distracted its partner long enough for Peddle to kick it in the shin. Such a blow normally wouldn't have affected the demon much, but the wailing now flowing through Chase's mind told him the shot demon's injury generated a mental backlash that all the demons could feel.

Chase hadn't thought Peddle had it in him to kick the second one. For the second time in as many days, he actually felt his lips curling up into a smile. Peddle still had a great deal to learn about not thinking just for himself, but as far as Chase was concerned the man was well on his way.

The demon Chase had struck staggered about, clenching the center of his back where Chase's bullet had blown a dark crevasse in its body. It couldn't stop the blood gushing out from the hole. Jumping may have been the creatures' forte, but how could they jump out of the way in time if they never saw the bullet coming?

Chase fired more rounds into his enemy. His victim collapsed onto the concrete pad, next to the pump. Chase didn't worry that one of his bullets might strike and ignite one of the pumps. In fact, he counted on it. He'd seen no other way to dispose of the tanker fuel. That gas wouldn't corrupt anyone else in Helensview.

What Chase hadn't expected was the ease in which the remaining demon flung Peddle off, and then charged at Chase. Chase aimed his weapon, but hadn't done so in time, which gave the demon enough time to tackle Chase and beat his head into the ground, face first.

The next few moments blurred together for Chase. Though he couldn't see everything going on at the moment, his body erupted with the shock of multiple strikes coming at it. He could hear Peddle shouting something to the demon, though a ringing in his ears distorted most of the words. A trickle of blood mixed in with his saliva when he coughed, a tooth falling out in the process. His eyes couldn't bring anything into focus as punch after punch struck him.

Then Chase's fingers released their grip on the firearm. Suddenly the explosion of another bullet's discharge tore through the air. For a fraction of a second, unsettling stillness overtook the gas station's lot. Chase almost considered not moving until he knew for sure it was safe.

But not acting at all would only give the demon a chance to kill him. Still on the ground, he ran his fingers up and down his body, inspecting himself quickly for any gunshot wounds. He found only bruises, lacerations, and tiny trickles of blood that weren't bullet-induced. That meant only one thing. Either Peddle or the second demon had been shot.

Chase rolled over onto his back, then propped himself up on his elbow and gave a quick glance around. He found Peddle towering over the second demon, the store owner's fingers wrapped around the .9mm's handle.

"It's over," Peddle said, offering Chase his gun back, and then some assistance in standing up.

"Not quite." Accepting Peddle's assistance, Chase stood up and looked to the tanker still sitting there, intact and full of tainted gasoline. "We've got to dispose of that gas so that this doesn't keep on happening. And eventually we will have to deal with the delivery guy's bosses, too. Someone's got to put an end to the production of this gasoline. Might as well be us."Peddle ran his hand through what little hair he still had on top of his scalp.

"You're right. The demons will be back, I'm sure of it. They're worse than roaches."

Chase thumbed his chin, finding another thin string of blood.

"I hope you're wrong about that," he said, glancing back over at Peddle. "If we're lucky, they'll leave this town alone now that they've laid waste to it."

"My fault, really," Peddle remarked with a hint of sincerity.

"Yes, it is." Chase wasn't about to argue with that.

"So what now?" Peddle asked.

Chase shrugged. "I'll just call Dylan and let him know...hmm...weird."

"Still no service?" Peddle grunted.

Chase pursed his lips. "In all the excitement, I'd forgotten about the crappy reception out here in Helensview. But now my phone's working fine." He held it up for Peddle to see.

"One missed call," Peddle said, reading aloud the text on the screen.

"Yeah, from five minutes ago, no less." Chase turned the cell phone back his way. "I wonder who..."

A horn blared above Chase's words. He turned to face the direction of town and saw a vehicle looking exactly like his pick-up swinging wildly into the parking lot. In all the chaos, Chase had forgotten about his truck. With the way it was making full circles on the other end of the pumping area, it seemed likely he'd regret this mistake.

"Crap," Chase muttered. "The demons have my truck. And I don't think they intend to take it for a leisurely drive."

Peddle gripped Chase's arm. "We should get out of here, then."

The pick-up's tires kicked up a cloud of dust as they squealed, the vehicle facing the pumping area. Chase tore away from Peddle's grasp and handed his phone over to the gas station owner. Then he started toward the far side of the pumps.

"What the hell are you doing now?" Peddle sounded either unable or unwilling to mask the terror in his tone.

"This is the only way," Chase said. "At least now I'll truly have atoned for all the wrongs I've done in my life. Get somewhere safe, Peddle. This isn't going to be pretty."

Peddle cried out, "Are you nuts? This is suicide!"

Chase turned only part-way toward Peddle. "Do me a favor, Peddle. Call my folks, let them know what happened. They're near the top of my contacts list on my phone."

With that, Chase Weaverson went to stand in front of the pumps, making himself a standing target for the creatures that would stop at nothing for his soul. If they truly wanted it, they'd have to get it over his rotting corpse.

"Come and get me," he whispered, listening to his pick-up truck rev its engine for the last time.

CHAPTER 25

DEAD END

Dylan Weaverson couldn't tell if the fire he was feeling was the heat of the early morning desert air, or the result of a hangover. His head throbbed, not that it mattered much to him. Despite his diminished capacity, he had to get to the gas station.

If only Chase had picked up the phone. But with all the recent trouble Chase had been having with his phone, the younger Weaverson knew the chances of a call actually getting through were small.

Still, he kept going. How many more miles did he have to go to get there? He wished he had Brittany's Jag so he could drive down to Peddle's store in a hurry. Remorse sank his heart as the random thought of how much swag he'd be showing off in the XJ occurred to him.

He rushed as quickly as his drunken condition would permit. He knew Chase and Peddle might not believe him, given the stench of booze on his breath. Even so, it still didn't diminish the truth about Simon. Even now, the memory was blurring. He wished he would have gone with Chase and Peddle and left the kid by himself.

Kid. Ha, right! Dylan thought bitterly. The person who had been in the wheelchair may have carried the same height as a child, but the level of duplicity guiding Simon's actions proved he was anything but. There had been a slight chance that Dylan's earlier excess of alcohol had caused him to have a stupor-laced hallucination. Yet his seeing Simon standing upright without the use of the chair had felt so real.

Then again, he just had to go for that fourth beer, hadn't he? Maybe Chase had a right to be concerned about the way Dylan was living it up, partying like there was no tomorrow. He blinked, wiping the sweat from his eyes as they stung something awful. Even early in the morning, the desert heat proved to be far too much for him to contend with. Perhaps the milder climate of Grains Plains would be better suited for him. At least there, he wouldn't be having hallucinations of people transforming into demons.

He worked his way past the pain of his body and the agony of his brain, the price he'd had paid several times before for a night of fun. Was this how it was like the night Chase had run down that one woman? Had it really taken someone's death to force Chase into shutting out the party life?

Just as the gas station came into view, Dylan stumbled over his own feet and went down for a second or two. He polluted the air with foul words while shoving his chest away from the street. Moments later, he started forth again, gasping as he tried desperately to make up for lost time.

A roar of thunder killed Dylan's movement. Down the street, a fireball consumed the gas station. Salty tears lay claim to his eyes as flames spread out across the property. On foot alone, he'd missed being able to do something by several minutes.

"Chase..." Dylan choked on his brother's name. The smoke plume from the explosion quickly lifted into the sky, drowning out the rising sun. His knees struck the road's shoulder hard, his ears catching the blaze's crackles.

#

Dylan wrapped the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder, his tote the only thing he had left, and that was only because he hadn't bothered to check out of the motel room. Not that any staff members were left alive after all this. The demons had achieved what they'd set out to do.

He'd tried calling Simon on the phone, but the kid never answered. He made the walk back to Simon's and tried to get the kid to come out, just in case he was still alive. The house had been abandoned in the aftermath of the gas station explosion. The only thing of any interest at all that Dylan found was Simon's wheelchair, knocked over on its side as if there had been some sort of struggle. The fact that no other furniture lay knocked over made Dylan wonder if his vision had been true, that Simon was also an agent with the demons. The answer to that seemed lost to the ages for the younger Weaverson.

A taxi cab pulled up along the curb. Dylan waited as the driver got out, came around the other end of the cab, and opened the trunk. He handed his baggage to the cabbie before climbing into the back seat, right-hand side.

"Wasn't even sure I'd get out this way, with all the chaos out there on the roads and such," the cabbie grunted, firing up the engine. "You're lucky the Guard reopened 613 to travelers, given what's been going down."

Dylan merely stared out the window, hoping to avoid the cabbie's every attempt at conversation. All he could do was just watch as they passed what remained of Helensview. Several buildings lay in smoldering ruins. Oddly enough, the Eat'N'Grease still stood strong, compared to other venues.

The cabbie whistled. "Looks like something fierce took out that gas station."

Dylan couldn't bring himself to glance over that way. He just wanted to get to the highway and out of town. Only the thrill of returning to Hedon City no longer buzzed around in his brain. How could he ever party again when the very man who first invited Dylan into such a lifestyle was gone?

"Yeah," he agreed, if only to keep the cabbie from glancing at him.

"Don't know if you've been on the highways lately," the cabbie continued unabated, "but there're so many wrecks out there, I'm not laughing. Almost turned right around and headed back to Hedon City. At least the crazies there aren't so bad. Now those I can handle."

Dylan gave a sigh of indifference, his gaze locked on the world beyond the cab. He pulled out his cell phone and tried to call Chase one last time in the hope that the fireball he'd seen was just the leftover illusion of being drunk. No response.

"Wait," he said suddenly, changing his mind. "Can you make a U-turn and take me to the gas station?"

"Sure, buddy," the cabbie grunted. "It's your time and money."

The driver made the turn and brought Dylan back to the charred remains of the gas station. Dylan got out, and then began to look around. His eyes caught the image of the pumping area's charred remains. Next he examined the wall blown out in the main building. Not a chance anyone survived the blast.

"Well?" the cabbie asked, approaching Dylan from behind.

"Well what?"

The cabbie pointed toward his taxi. "Meter's still running, ya know."

"Oh." The concept barely stuck to Dyl's mind. "Well, I'm done here, anyway."

"Ain't seen anyone get sentimental over a gas station anyhow," the cabbie rambled on during the walk back to the cab.

Once inside and on their way down the road again, Dylan muttered, "I was just saying goodbye to my brother."

"At a charred gas station?" The cabbie didn't sound like he understood or cared about what'd gone down.

"Hard to explain," Dylan said, going back to watching the landscape as the cabbie drove. No point trying to explain himself to someone not at all interested in listening.

The cabbie grunted again. "I understand. Anyhow, where to?"

Dylan noticed the sign thanking people for visiting Helensview. The next one after that listed the names of the two control cities for Highway 613, Hedon City and Grains Plains. Dylan gave it a moment's thought. This was, after all, his chance to return to the life he'd left behind not even a week ago. Only he no longer saw the value in that life, not with the death of his brother.

"Grains Plains," Dylan announced to the driver, his decision final.

"Hedon City would've been cheaper," said the cabbie, growling. "But hey, I'm not the one throwing my money away."

Dylan didn't answer the man again. He sat back and closed his eyes. A silent prayer for Chase played out in his mind, a music-free song of weeping angels Ma had taught the boys at an early age. But of all the lines he remembered distinctly from the prayer, only two lines stuck out in his mind:

Sing me to sleep, my brother.

Sing with me like no other.

By no means was this a traditional prayer. However, Ma had always insisted that sometimes God and his angels preferred song over mere words. Dylan smiled at the memory of how Chase clung to Ma's rendition without question, just like the dutiful song the older Weaverson boy had strived to be after getting out of prison. It was the quality Dylan would miss most about his brother.

At least he could take over where Chase left off by running the family farm, just as Chase had wanted. By doing so, Pa's legacy would carry on and Chase could rest in peace forever.

The cab veered left, hitting the onramp of 613, and began the rest of the journey toward Grains Plains, passing several pile-ups and wrecks sitting off on the shoulder. Dylan grumbled at the sight of those mangled cars, something dark inside his heart enticing him toward a lust for revenge. He'd make them pay someday. It didn't matter how many demons in Helensview had already been annihilated by Chase's efforts. What mattered was that Dylan could follow his brother's example one last time, and prove to the world that Weaversons were not to be reckoned with.

Someday, he'd avenge Chase's death by targeting the ones he blamed the most for what went down in Helensview.

"Damn demons," he murmured.

THE END

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About the Author

Jeff Beesler has lived in Washington State all of his life. When he's not busy writing, he's either reading or playing computer games.

