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 gallo
n?” 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.