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 t
he 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.
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