Speed Demons

  Copyright © 2012 by Jeff Beesler

  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 be
fore 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.