Horror Sci-Fi Box Set: Three Novels

by Bryan Dunn

  It was getting late. She thought about turning around and heading back to town when she saw a weathered sign slanting out from one side of the road. It read: Lester Moon’s Goat Farm. Beneath that, a cartoon hand pointed the way.

  She looked at the sign, unsure what to do, then pulled off the road, following the pointing finger into a driveway that was really no more than a beaten path through the scrub. What did she have to lose?

  After a minute or so, she came to a roughhewn wooden house with a corrugated tin roof and a series of animal pens attached to one side. A man stood in one of the pens surrounded by six goats. He looked up and waved as the Honda pulled up alongside the pen and parked next to a section of the split rail fence.

  Laura waved back. Then she stopped the engine, climbed out of the car, stepped up to the fence, and looped her arms over the top rail.

  “Hello,” she said, smiling warmly.

  “Hello back, young lady,” answered the frail-looking man. He was dressed in khaki pants, a soiled work shirt, and a battered Resistol cowboy hat.

  “You must be Lester Moon.”

  “The very same,” said Lester, his weathered face crinkling into a smile. “Say, do you like cheese?” He reached down and gave one of the goats a loving pat.

  “Um, yeah. Sure,” said Laura, thinking, oh-kay.

  Lester picked up a handful of hay, then leaned forward and dropped it into a feed bin. “The thing about goats is—they’ll eat just about anything. Had one chew off my back pocket once.”

  “Really?” said Laura. Here we go.

  “Yep, chewed it right off and swallowed it.” Lester shook his head, thinking about it. “I’m raising these here for goat cheese.”

  “Oh. Great. I love feta cheese. Good stuff.”

  “Me too. I’m a cheese-eatin’ son-of-a-gun. I love all cheeses—gouda, swiss, jack, cheddar—heck, you name it. No processed cheese, though. No, sir.”

  “No, of course not,” Laura agreed, stifling a laugh.

  “Remember the movie Treasure Island?”

  “Sure… Long John Silver.”

  “Right. And Ben Gunn. Remember Ben Gunn? He was the guy in the cave surrounded by all that treasure.” Lester leaned forward, his eyes widening at the thought. “And when they finally discover him—all he wants is cheese.” Lester laughed, then slapped a knee. “So old Ben Gunn trades all those doubloons for a giant wheel of cheese. I believe it was cheddar.”

  “Hard to imagine,” Laura said, playing along.

  “I’m like that. Heck, I’d have done the same thing.” Lester stooped and picked up another handful of hay. Just as he went to drop it in the bin, there was a flash of green, alien and unnatural-looking—a Fletcher Creeper had been mixed in with the feed. It was a clipping given to him by Doc a few days ago.

  “Actually, I’m looking for the Rainsford Ranch,” Laura said, finally getting to why she had wandered by. “I think I may have missed the turn?”

  “Oh, Sam’s place. You’re almost there. Just go back to the main road and keep going for five miles and you’ll run smack into it.”

  “Great,” said Laura, relieved she hadn’t missed the turn. She turned back to her car, then waved and said, “Thanks again.”

  “Come back in about a week, and I’ll have some cheese for you.”

  “That’s a deal,” said Laura, pulling open her door.

  Chapter 29

  Sitting on the house porch, Sam watched as Curley tried to scramble up a sandy bank—two steps forward, one step back. Kristin was inside reading one of her books, a zombie thriller, but had only made it through a couple of paragraphs before drifting off to sleep. The end of civilization as we know it would just have to wait until she woke up from her nap.

  “Stop right there, Curley.” Sam rocked back in his chair, took a sip of beer. “Put it there and we’ll see if it can hold back that marching dune.”

  “What?” said Curley, twisting toward Sam. “What did you say?”

  “Just plant it there, Curley,” Sam said, pointing at Curley’s feet. “That’s the perfect spot.”

  Curley waved and nodded okay. He dropped to a knee, scooped away a handful of sand, making a shallow hole, then placed the creeper clipping—the one Doc had insisted Sam take—in the hole. Using both hands, he carefully pushed sand around the creeper, being sure to tamp it down on all sides.

  Satisfied with his work, Curley struggled to his feet and looked at Sam. “I swear, Sam, half the time I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, Curl, I know. It’s why we get along so well.”

  * * *

  The sun was setting when Laura’s car passed beneath the Rainsford Ranch sign, pulled into the compound, and parked next to the water storage tank. The sky had turned amber, bathing everything in soft golden light, and the noonday heat had finally begun to ease.

  Sam came off the porch when he saw the Honda pull up. He didn’t know the car, and was straining to see inside, when—

  Laura flung her door open, and in one graceful movement, slipped out onto her long, elegant legs.

  What happened next caught Sam totally off guard. He stopped in his tracks, unable to move or even speak. Stunned is really the way to describe it—stunned by Laura’s lovely presence. It was like an electric shock. A pulse that overwhelmed his senses.

  Laura felt it too. An adrenaline rush. A spontaneous attraction. An unguarded outpouring of love. Or lust? And right on the back of that, she suddenly wished she had changed and fixed her hair and brushed her teeth.

  “Hello,” said Laura, pulling her hair back and at the same time breaking the spell she had unwittingly cast on Sam.

  Carla was wrong, Sam thought, staring at her. She had said to keep on the lookout for a pretty girl that might be stopping by. This woman wasn’t pretty—she was drop-dead gorgeous.

  “Hey,” said Sam, as he walked over to greet her, relieved to be able to move his legs again.

  Laura held out a hand. “Laura Beecham.” For some reason, she suddenly felt the need to include her last name.

  “Sam Rainsford,” he said, taking her hand. “Welcome to the Rainsford Ranch, home of the seedless date.”

  “Oh right, yes…” Laura pointed to the entrance. “I saw the sign.”

  “Want a date?”

  “I can’t remember the last time I had a date.”

  Sam smiled, took a step back. Then using his hands, he framed her face like a photographer. “Hair. Wardrobe upgrade. Maybe a touch more makeup…”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny,” said Laura, giving him a flat look.

  “I am, of course, kidding,” Sam said, giving her a warm smile. “Actually, you’re incredibly perfect just the way you are. Just a little date humor. We’re big on that around here.” Then he thought to himself, What the hell’s come over me?

  “Date humor?” she said, a skeptical tone in her voice. “How quaint.”

  “Quaint? Oh, we’re very quaint around here. In fact, it’s why I moved here. I was looking for quaint. In my opinion, the world could use more quaint.”

  “Well, it’s working. You’re very quaint.”

  “Thank you.”

  Sam went over to a workbench next to the water tank, grabbed a basket filled with dates, and offered one to Laura. “Here, try one.”

  Laura reached out, took a date, then held it up and examined it. “Deglet Noor, right?”

  “Right,” said Sam, instantly impressed. Beautiful AND smart. What had he done to deserve this?

  Laura was thinking she should mention why she was here, that she was looking for the Fletcher place, but she was having fun—and there was something about this guy… So instead, she said, “I’m familiar with the trees. Actually, I’m a botanist.” She looked over, staring at the rows of palms silhouetted by the fading light. “They’re majestic.”

  “My favorite time of day. Always reminds me of an ancient oasis.”

  Laura held the date up, examined it. “I just never think to eat them.�
�

  “That’s because of the seeds. They’re a real bummer. Hey, who ate grapes before the Thompson Seedless, right?”

  She thought about that. “Maybe you’ve got a point there.”

  Sam held up a date. “Rainsford Seedless Dates. Jewel of the Mojave.”

  Laura popped a date in her mouth—and right before she began to chew, Sam said, “Careful! Watch out for the seed.”

  She gave him a funny look, finished the date, then let the seed slide into her fingers. “Wait a minute, I thought you—”

  “Um, yeah. They’re not exactly seedless yet.”

  “Well, despite the seed, it was very good. Very tasty.”

  “The Deglet Noor is the king of dates,” said Sam, motioning towards the palms. “Doc and I figure by next year we’ll be growing the seedless version.”

  “Doc? Laura questioned, suddenly forgetting the dates. “Dr. Henry Fletcher?”

  “Right, I should’ve mentioned that…”

  “That’s why I’m here. I’m on my way to see him.”

  “Yeah, I know. Carla called, said you might be stopping by.”

  “Oh,” Laura nodded.

  “So how do you know, Doc? Dr. Fletcher?”

  “We met once, years ago…” she said, letting her voice trial off. “He’s not expecting me.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Oh…?”

  “Doc doesn’t get any visitors. Especially good-looking women.”

  “Hmm,” she nodded, saying to herself, glad he thinks so. “Well, won’t he be surprised.”

  “Very.”

  “I understand it’s not far from here… do I just follow the road?”

  “Basically, yeah. But not in that,” said Sam, pointing at her car. “That Honda will never make it. The road up to Fletcher’s is like the back of a camel. Four-wheel-drive only.”

  Laura frowned. “How far is it?”

  “Two hours… on foot.”

  “By four-wheel-drive, I mean,” she said flatly, stopping just short of rolling her eyes.

  “I seen Sam make the run to Doc’s in twenty-five minutes,” said Curley, stepping out of the shadows and giving Laura a wide-eyed look. He’d never seen such a good-looking woman.

  “Yeah, but not at night,” said Sam, putting a hand on Curley’s back. “Curley, say hello to Laura.”

  Curley raised his cap. “Hey,” he said. You could see the blush on his cheeks clear through his beard.

  “Nice to meet you, Curley,” she said, warmly. “Quaint name,” she added, giving Sam a little smile.

  “Quaint?” said Curley, giving her a confused look.

  “Just say thank you, Curley,” Sam laughed. “Trust me on this.”

  Curley threw up his hands and shook his head. “I don’t understand you any better than Sam.” He turned to go, then looked back and said, “I swear, Sam, one of these days I’m just gonna up and walk off this place.”

  “Fine, Curley. You do that,” challenged Sam. “But just remember, your bunk will always be here waiting for you.”

  “Aww… how am I ever gonna get out of here…”

  A loud snorting sound erupted next to the barn. They all turned and watched as Blossom trotted over to a bag of chicken feed and tried to open it with her hoof.

  “Curley! Didn’t I tell you to keep that pig penned up?” said Sam, a little anger edging into his voice.

  “Shoot! Sorry, Sam…” Curley hitched up his coveralls and ran toward the pig. “Blossom! Blossom, no! Get away from there!”

  Sam looked at Laura, shrugged, and gave her a What am I gonna do look.

  Laura just smiled. She could see that Sam was really fond of Curley and had taken him under his wing. “So, how about running me up to the Fletcher place?”

  “Love to.”

  “Great,” said Laura. She moved toward her car. “I just have to—”

  “First thing tomorrow morning,” he said, cutting her off.

  “What’s wrong with right now?”

  “It’s too late. That road is bad in the daytime. At night, it’s suicide.”

  What’s this guy playing at? She suddenly thought to herself. Is he working the situation, trying to come onto her? And then, Would that be so bad?

  “You’re kidding… are you sure?”

  “Cross my seedless heart.”

  Laura frowned. “Great.”

  “You’re welcome to stay here tonight.”

  There it was… Mr. Suave. Mister Smooth Operator makes his move. She mashed her lips together, glanced at the house, then issued an equivocal, “Hmm…”

  “Or, I’m sure Tommy and Carla would put you up for the night.”

  Laura sighed. There was no way she was getting back in that car. “I couldn’t face the drive,” she said, dropping her defenses. “Not after today.”

  “Good. Then it’s settled. You can stay here.” Sam plucked a date out of the basket and flipped it to Laura. “Besides, you don’t want to miss the Rainsford Ranch house special.”

  “What would that be?” she asked, flashing a skeptical look.

  “Date loaf,” Sam said, a dead serious look on his face.

  Laura’s face dropped. “Date loaf?”

  “Just kidding!” he laughed. “Tonight it’s roast chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and grilled asparagus.”

  “Thank God,” Laura said, genuinely relieved.

  Chapter 30

  Kristin was still crashed out on the couch when Sam and Laura entered, and neither of them noticed her lying there.

  Sam set Laura’s bag down, then waved a hand through the air. “Welcome to my humble abode. Mi casa es su casa.”

  “Nice,” she said. Then she cast her eyes about the room, taking in the fireplace, oriental rugs, tastefully framed landscapes, leather furniture. She was about to say how cozy it was, too, when she saw Kristin sprawled on the couch, a copy of World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War perched on her chest.

  “Mrs. Rainsford, I presume?” Laura said, pointing at the couch.

  Sam glanced over and saw Kristin. His eyes widened and he looked skyward. How could he have forgotten!

  “Ah, I can explain that. That’s Kristin, she—”

  On hearing her name, Kristin’s eyes opened and she sat up, sending the zombie novel tumbling to the floor.

  She stared at Laura. What was she doing here?

  “Kristin, I’d like you to meet, Laura,” Sam said, motioning towards her. “She’s going to be staying here for the night. Oh—and she’s going to need the spare bedroom—so you’ll be bunking on the couch.”

  “What?!” said Kristin, swinging her feet onto the floor. “Someone else is staying the night? She gave Sam a look, then: “What are you, some mac daddy, now? Some Charlie Sheen wannabe collecting strays?”

  “Okay… this is interesting,” said Laura, taking in Kristin’s dead girl makeup and leather outfit.

  “And why do I have to stay on the couch? That’s bullshit!”

  Sam glanced at Laura and gave her an apologetic I can explain look.

  “Because it’s my house, and I say so.”

  “Authoritarian bullshit,” Kristin said, flatly.

  “Yep. My place, my rules.”

  “Oh, gawd…” Kristin stood, squinted at Sam, then stormed off to the bathroom.

  * * *

  Laura and Kristin sat at a table that divided the kitchen from the living room. Plates filled with chicken, mashed potatoes, asparagus and grilled vegetables sat before them. Sam opened a bottle of red wine, stepped up to Laura, and filled her glass.

  “Sea Smoke Pinot. Santa Rita Hills. Great stuff.”

  “Thank you,” she said, lifting the glass and taking a sip. “Mmm… that is great.” Laura looked at an empty place setting. “So, where’s Curley?”

  Sam took a seat, filled his glass. “Curley… Well, Curley pretty much does his own thing. That rarely includes sit-down dinners. Too domesticated for him.”

  “Um, hello.” Kr
istin pointed to her wine glass. “What about me? You forgot to fill my glass.”

  “Oh, I didn’t think you’d want any,” said Sam, giving her a chilling look. “Something about… coming here and getting drunk.”

  Kristin looked at him, frowned. He had her on that one. “I changed my mind. Safety in numbers.”

  “And you’re twenty-one?”

  “No. Twenty-two.”

  “In that case, sure. You can have a glass of wine.”

  Sam filled a glass and handed it to Kristin. Then he stopped and stared. Something was different about the way she looked. And then it struck him.

  “So, what happened to the Transamerica Building?”

  “What?” Kristin said, looking totally confused.

  “Your lip? The stud thingy?”

  Kristin self-consciously raised a hand and covered her mouth. “I don’t always wear it.”

  “These are good,” Laura said, paging through a sketchpad that Kristin had left on the corner of the table, trying to bail her out of an awkward moment. “Really good.”

  “Oh? What is it?” Sam looked at the pad. “What’s really good?”

  “Kristin’s sketches.” Laura continued paging through the pad. “Detailed drawings of various buildings.”

  “Architectural renderings,” Kristin corrected.

  “Really,” Sam looked genuinely surprised. “Let me have a look. I’m a builder. Well, used to be.”

  Laura handed him the sketchpad. Sam flipped through the pages, stopping on certain ones, then nodding. All of the drawings were expertly done and showed a definite style. Trapezoids, ellipses, and sweeping slabs of steel that would have done Frank Gehry proud.

  “Wow. These are good.” Sam flipped through to the last page, then handed the pad to Kristin. “I could’ve used you on a few projects, believe me.”

  “They’re okay,” she said, embarrassed by all the fuss. “I always liked drawing. Designing stuff. I used to think I would be an architect someday. I fantasized about going to CalArts.”