After school, Flash and his bandmates headed for Flash's house. "You know grillin's gonna cost a lot of money if we hafta get meat for four rounds of this thing, right?" Skunk Rock asked.
Flash grimaced. "Yeah, but it's for a good cause. Besides, if we get our folks to pool together, we can manage." He pulled over to the curb in front of his house. "We'll get the recipe, then we'll head to the store and look over the meats, kinda get an idea of what we wanna work with and make a budget."
"So this sauce recipe," Beats said as the trio got out of the car. "It's legit?"
"He's won every cook-off he's ever entered," Flash said proudly. "Grandpa's sauce is the best thing you ever put in your mouth." Walking through the house, he found his father in the den. "Hey Dad, do you know where Grandpa keeps his sauce recipe?"
Flash's dad looked up in alarm from his baseball game. "The...the sauce recipe?" He swallowed nervously. "S-son, you...you know better than that, right?" He looked around warily. "I mean, the only thing more important to Dad than that sauce is his balls..."
"I know, Dad, but I kinda need it," Flash said. "We're having this cook-off at CHS, it's this charity fundraiser thing for the Everfree trip. We're gonna enter, but none of us can really cook, so..." He shrugged. "We're gonna see how far we can get grilling. But if we're gonna win against some of the talent CHS has, we're gonna need the sauce."
Flash's dad frowned. "Well..." He sighed. "You absolutely sure about this?"
"Y-yeah," Flash said. "I know what I'm getting into." Behind him, Beats and Skunk exchanged a confused glance and shrugged.
"Okay," Flash's dad said. "Okay. It's in that old trunk in the shed. The key's in the tool chest." He paused. "Be careful, Flash. Dad hasn't had his medicine today."
Flash gulped audibly. "I'll be careful, Dad." He turned to his bandmates and nodded, leading them through the house and out to the back yard.
"Dude...what was all that?" Beats asked.
"Grandpa's..." Flash shook his head. "Nevermind. We'll be in and out. Get the recipe, get back to the car, copy it down, I'll put it back tonight. He'll never know. Come on." He led them into a beat-up old shed in the back yard. Flipping on the overhead track lighting, he rummaged through a shiny steel tool chest until he found an old brass key, which he used to unlock a leather-bound trunk resting in the back corner. "Come on, come on..." He rummaged through piles of yellowed old papers in the trunk, flicking aside old photographs and what looked like birth certificates, death certificates, and other important documents. Finally, he found a small, yellowed, crinkly piece of parchment. "Here it is!" he cried excitedly, standing up. He slammed the lid of the trunk, dropped the key back in the tool chest, and bustled out of the shed. "Let's go! Hurry!"
Shrugging, his bandmates followed. They were halfway to the side gate leading out to the driveway when a very tall, very old man suddenly blocked their path.
Dressed in a mortician's suit at least a century and a half out of date, the man had unhealthy-looking, wrinkled yellow skin, deep creases around his mouth, a hooked nose, and thick eyebrows. Balding on top, his grey hair was full in the back and on the sides, framing his broad, intimidating face in an iron curtain. His right eye was squinted closed; combined with the creases in his face and the downturned sneer of his wide lips, this gave him a fiercely angry expression. In his left hand, he held a cane topped with a gleaming silver ball.
His one good eye glared at Flash. His lips opened, revealing yellowed, uneven teeth.
"Boooooyyyy...!!"
"Shit," Flash spat, eyes wide with terror. "Guys, run! This way!" He broke left, crossing the yard; his friends looked at each other helplessly, looking back at the old man who, by all appearances, was content to just stand in front of the gate looking terrifying. "COME ON!" Flash urged.
The old man took one step toward them.
They ran.
Flash climbed over the fence; Skunk and Beats followed him. They ran for Flash's car.
"Dude, what the hell?" Skunk demanded.
"Was that your grandpa?" Beats asked.
"Yeah," Flash said as he unlocked the car, sliding across the hood and skidding on the asphalt before yanking open the driver's side door and jumping in. "Hurry, get in!"
"Dude, it's okay, he's still in the yard," Beats said as he casually opened the door and got in, Skunk following suit.
Flash looked warily into the rear view mirror, then stuck his head out and looked behind the car. "Can't be too sure," he said as he started the engine and went for his seat belt. Sighing with relief, he turned to adjust his mirrors...
The old man was standing right in the middle of the street, four feet in front of the car, glaring evilly at Flash. "WAH!" Skunk yelled. "Dude, what the—?"
"Buckle up and hold on," Flash said, throwing the car into reverse and slamming the gas. The car shot backward; Flash jerked the wheel around hard, throwing the car into a tight circle that nearly took out a neighbor's mailbox. He braked, jarring his passengers, then shifted into neutral. "Okay," he said. "Should be—"
The old man was in front of them again, looking for all the world as though he had never moved.
"Okay no way," Beats said. "He should be behind us, not—"
"It's gonna get rough for a minute, guys," Flash said as he threw the car into gear and jerked the wheel hard to the left as he hit the gas, shooting past the old man, who stood passively on the curb, watching them peel away with squealing tires. At the end of the street, Flash stopped suddenly, taking a deep, panicking breath.
"Dude," Skunk said, "why are you this scared of your grandad?"
"You just have no idea, man," Flash said. "We should be good now. Let's just—"
"BOOOOYYY!!"
The old man was right next to the car, looking right in the driver's side window.
"Shit," Flash muttered.
"OKAY HOW THE HELL?!" Beats yelled.
Flash put the car in reverse and floored it for five seconds, putting some distance between them and the old man, then put it back in neutral, unbuckled his seat belt, and reached underneath his seat. He pulled out a short-barreled shotgun, into which he slotted two shells.
His friends stared at him. "Dude," Beats said, "what the actual fuck?!"
"Just trust me," Flash said as he levered his body halfway out the window and aimed.
"Dude you are NOT gonna SHOOT YOUR GRANDPA WITH A SHOTGUN!" Skunk cried in alarm.
And then Flash did exactly that.
With a thunderous boom, Flash's shot exploded from the barrel, slamming into the old man. He staggered back, stunned, then took two steps to his left, his cane shaking in his grasp. With his free hand, he clutched his chest. Flash dropped back into his seat, tossed the shotgun in the back where it nearly hit Beats in the face, and floored it, taking the corner without bothering to check for oncoming traffic. Luckily, the cross street was clear, and Flash put three blocks between them before stopping and pulling over to the curb.
His friends' hearts were hammering so hard he could practically hear it. Beats reached forward and grabbed Flash by the jacket, jerking him back against his seat. "WHAT. THE. HELL. MAN?!"
Flash wrenched himself free of his drummer's grip. "It's just rock salt," he said. "Medicated rock salt." He grimaced as he checked his mirrors and buckled his seat belt.
"Medicated rock salt?" Skunk asked.
"Grandpa won't take pills or liquids," Flash explained. "And nobody's brave enough to try to give him injections. The only way we can give him his medicine is by tranquilizer darts or with a shotgun." He grimaced. "If he's having one of his spells, you're better off with the shotgun. The darts don't have any stopping power."
Skunk shook his head, scrubbing his hands down his face. "Dude," he tried to explain slowly, "you just shot. Your grandfather. With a sawed off shotgun. That...that doesn't seem wrong to you? At all?"
"You haven't lived with him for most of your life," Flash said. "You get used to it."
"Uhh..." Skunk started, then trailed off. "Damn."
Beats wasn't quite ready to let it go yet. "Okay, the old guy's kinda creepy and I still don't know how he could move that fast, but you didn't have to shoot him with a goddamn shotgun! What if you'd killed him?!"
Flash's mouth set into a hard line. "Nothing kills him," he said grimly as he put the car in gear again and drove back into town at a more sedate pace.