Chainsaw

Chapter 1 Hospitality

The rising sun shimmered across the dry Texan dessert. The coolness of the night quickly faded away as the heat from the sun began to set in. The dry landscape came roaring to life. The road infront of me was somewhat hypnotizing if I stared at it long enough. My curly brown hair started to become a nuisance as it continued to blow in my face. My lightly sunburned arm ached as I cranked up the window of my blue Chevy pickup.

Spending nearly three weeks in Cozumel with my sister and her family was not something I had planned on doing, but the second I heard that her husband had gotten into a car crash and that she had hell taking care of him and their two month old baby, I called my boss and told her I'd be gone for a while and I didn't know when I'd be back.
My sister got married to Marco nearly four years ago. Once they were married, he swept her off her feet and took her to Mexico. She had said it was a lovely change of scenery compared to Texas. However, in her defense, she had spent 25 years in Texas and was getting tired of seeing the same old thing. Thankfully, Marco healed from the car wreck fairly quickly. I was now on my way back home. On my way back to Baird.

The paved road turned to dirt and the roads that were once booming with life became deserted. It had been miles since I had seen another car. I knew I should have listened to mom and used the GPS, but no. Being the cocky young woman that I was, I had said "Mom I don't need one of those. I probably know Texas better than the GPS does!" Boy was I wrong.

40 something miles later, a gas tank running on fumes and still no sign of life, I made it to Kingsland. It was a ghost town. There wasn't a person to be seen. The shops on the sides of the road were all shut down and the buildings were slowly rotting away. The stores, the antique shops, even the meat factory had been closed down. It's sad. I'm assuming it had once been a cute little town.

I had made it to the edge of the small town when my truck started to sputter.

"No, you can't die on me now! Just a few more minutes!" I begged, but to no avail. It died in the middle of the road on a 102 degree day. "How freakin' lovely." I muttered.
I got out of my truck and slammed the door shut. The heat, although familiar, was unbearable. My Nike shorts clinged to my inner thighs, and my Green Day shirt became soaked with my sweat.

In the distance, I could see another little store. It wasn't fancy and it had to be more than a few decades old. I put my truck in neutral and began to push it to the store. Once the shop came into better veiw, I could see the gas pumps. I let out a sigh of relief as I saw the motorcycles parked out front. At least that means the store is still running. I pushed the truck up to the first gas pump. The sweat was running down my back and the lack of wind made it worse.

I strolled upto the store and walked through the front door. A cowbell rang right above my head as I entered.
"Charming." I muttered.
The store was old, a little dirty and had a foul odor. Laughter from the table of bikers could be heard throughout the store. I clutched onto my wallet just a little bit tighter, something in my gut telling me that there was going to be trouble with them. I walked to the front desk. A sign that said "ring bell for service" rested on the smooth wooden surface. I tapped the bell and waited.

A woman in her early sixties walked out from a room that I was assuming was the kitchen. Her silver hair was put into a neat bun and her makeup was setting into the creases of her face making her look older than she actually was. Her red lip stick stained her white cigarette as she continued to puff on it.

"What can I do for ya, sweetheart?" She asked. Her voice was somewhat rough.

I placed a 50 dollar bill on the counter. "50 dollars on pump 1 please." I wiped the beads of sweat off my forehead as she eyed me up and down.