Horror Sci-Fi Box Set: Three Novels

by Bryan Dunn

  All eyes cut to the feed hopper’s metal lid. It was bouncing up and down.

  Bang-bang-bang….

  Sam tightened his grip on the machete, slipped between two fence rails, entered the pen, and cautiously approached the feed bin.

  Bang-bang-bang…

  He edged closer until he was standing directly in front of the hopper.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  “Sam,” Laura called out, her voice on edge. “Be careful.”

  Sam raised the machete, slipped the tip of the blade under the hopper lid—and, just as he was about to flip it open—

  Lester Moon’s head shot out and sprang directly towards him, looking like some hideous grinning jack-in-the-box skewered on the end of a bobbing creeper stalk.

  “Jesus Christ!” Sam yelled, pitching back to avoid the springing head. Then, running on pure adrenaline, he regained his footing, raised the machete, lunged forward—and, like an executioner, sliced down and severed the creeper stalk, sending Lester’s head tumbling into the pen.

  “Shit!” Sam yelled, backing away. “This is crazy. This is fucking crazy.”

  Curley inched toward the truck. “I’m scared.”

  They were all scared.

  Sam crossed the pen, slipped through the fence, and was met by Laura. She placed a hand on his arm. Then in a soft voice, she said, “Let’s get out of here, Sam. There’s nothing we can do.”

  He looked at her and nodded, his lips becoming a thin line. He placed an arm over her shoulders, and as they followed Curley to the truck, he said, “We’ve got to get to town. We’ve got to warn the others.”

  * * *

  Frankie Desouza’s Escalade was parked outside a crummy-looking apartment complex in a rundown section of Las Vegas. He had driven himself there.

  Times were tough.

  He punched a number into his cell phone—waited—then left a message.

  “Vinny. Vinny, pick up…” Frankie glanced out the window. “I’m outside your place. Get your ass out here. We got some new business. Oh, and don’t worry—I’ve decided to leave the sheriff out of that other thing—at least for now.”

  Frankie slapped the phone shut, expecting to see Vinny any second. He waited. He checked Vinny’s apartment again. He tapped on the steering wheel. He turned the radio on and off. He was starting to get pissed. Here he was, waiting on Vinny-dipshit-Carpito.

  Dumb fucking wop.

  Frankie pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights, monkey-fucked up a cigarette, plucked the smoke out with his lips, then tried to light it with a gas lighter.

  Flick, flick, flick…

  “Cheap piece of shit.” Frankie said. He tried again, then threw it onto the dash. He reached down to the console, grabbed a book of matches, started to open it, then stopped and cupped them in his hand.

  He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, looked at it—then tossed it out the window thinking, fucking coffin nail.

  At the same time, across the street, the inside of Vinny’s apartment was being redecorated. Couches, tables, chairs, lamps—everything—had been smashed against the walls. And in their place—a writhing, pulsing, throbbing creeper.

  The apartment smelled like rotten eggs, and there was a hissing sound coming from the kitchen. Behind the stove, a creeper stalk had wrapped itself around the gas line, pulled it out of the wall, and ruptured it.

  In the bedroom, Vinny and Amber hadn’t been the only thing that was busy. Their naked bodies lay pinned to the bed like lifeless kewpie dolls as dozens of creeper stalks sucked them dry.

  Frankie stood in front of Vinny’s apartment door. He knocked. Waited. Then knocked again. Frustrated, he yelled, “Vinny! Vinny, wake-the-fuck-up!”

  Nothing, no signs of life.

  Frankie shook his head, pulled out a cigarette, stuck it in his mouth, and was about to light it—when he remembered something.

  He bent, lifted the welcome mat, and saw the key. And as he grabbed it thought, Dumb shit, hiding his key under the front mat.

  Frankie slipped the key in the lock, cracked the door, and struck a match to light his cigarette as he stepped inside.

  The explosion bounced chips on a poker table two blocks away.

  Nothing was left of the apartment.

  Or of Frankie “Nickels” Desouza, for that matter.

  Chapter 40

  Through an open window, the Grogan twins watched as Tommy hummed along with an old Eagles tune while polishing the front of his prized possession—an antique Wurlitzer jukebox.

  As Tommy bent to polish the base, one of the twins brought up his Super Soaker, slipped it through the window—and tagged Tommy in the butt with a stream of water.

  “Aaahh!” Tommy yelled, snapping to attention and wheeling around, just in time to see the twins duck away.

  Tommy bolted over, leaned out the window, and yelled, “You little Gila monsters are on notice!”

  The boys turned, stuck their tongues out, laughed, then took off running through the center of town.

  “Run! That’s it, run!” said Tommy, then slammed the window shut.

  The twins cut left, rounded Eller’s Garage, separated, and dove for cover behind two rusted-out cars. Then they took turns popping up, trying to blast each other. Finally Billy decided to make a move. He jumped up, and firing all the while, charged over and ducked behind the outhouse, crouching below the door.

  Josh rushed forward and began to pelt the side of the outhouse with his gun. “Ha! I’ve got you trapped next to the shitter.”

  Billy gripped his gun, poked his head around the corner, and—

  Took a direct hit as Josh fired a stream of water, pasting his brother squarely in the forehead.

  Billy ducked back behind the outhouse, wiped his face, and silently swore to himself. Then he stood, yanked open the outhouse door, started in—then quickly jerked back, letting the door bang shut. He made a face and grabbed his nose. “God! It smells like something died in there.”

  He leaned against the closed door, and still holding his nose, gulped in some fresh air. Directly above him, through a little half-moon cutout over the door, creeper tendrils poured out and sniffed the air.

  Behind the outhouse, Josh was preparing to bomb the hill and charge his brother—when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and spun him around.

  “How many times do I have to tell you kids to stay-the-hell-away from here!”

  “We weren’t doing nothing,” said Josh, trying to pull away.

  “Bull.” Karl Eller pointed Josh toward the street, then gave him a kick in the seat of his pants. “If you two little monkeys aren’t off my property in five seconds—I’m gonna stuff both of you down the shithouse.”

  Josh ran to the street. When he was a safe distance from the garage, he turned and yelled to his brother. “Come on! Old Man Eller is after us!”

  Billy, still plastered against the door, heard his brother, thought about it, then said: “Liar! You’re just trying to trick me.”

  At the top of the door a creeper stalk looped from the cutout, and—just before it reached the top of his head—Billy lunged forward and raced after his brother.

  The creeper flicked left and right, and finding nothing, retreated up the door and back through the cutout.

  Chapter 41

  It was twelve noon and a hundred degrees in the shade when the tanker truck ground into town, rumbled past the water tower, and pulled up to Nguyen’s Place in a cloud of diesel smoke and dust.

  Inside the diner, Karl was sitting at the counter eating a hamburger and shooting the breeze with Tommy.

  Both men turned when the front door banged open and Sam, Laura, Curley, and Kristin entered—all of them looking hot, dusty, and shaken. There was a loud squawk. Then Darwin shot in and swooped up, lighting on a ceiling rafter.

  Squawk, squawk, squawk.

  “What’s wrong?” Tommy said, coming around the counter. “You guys look terrible.”

  “Could I have a glass
of water?” Kristin asked, slumping against a barstool.

  “Yeah. Sure, sure…” Tommy grabbed a pitcher of ice water, filled a glass, and placed it in front of Kristin. He motioned to Laura with the pitcher. She nodded her head, Yes, she’d love some.

  “You guys aren’t going to believe this,” said Sam, stepping up to the counter. “It’s completely crazy.”

  “Man-eating plants,” said Curley. “Huge. Like giant octopuses.”

  “Bull,” said Karl. “Quit talkin’ out your ass, Curley.”

  “It’s true,” said Laura, joining Sam at the counter. “It’s horrible. Unbelievable.”

  “Will someone please start making sense?” Tommy asked, plunking glasses down in front of the others and filling them with ice water. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “We need to call the sheriff,” Sam said. “Doc Fletcher and Lester Moon are dead.”

  “What?” Tommy said, almost dropping the pitcher. “But how?”

  “That crazy experiment of Doc’s.”

  “You mean that vine thingy?” Carla asked, stepping out of the kitchen. “The whatchamacallit?”

  “The Fletcher Creeper,” said Sam. He reached over and touched Laura’s arm.

  “That’s it,” Carla nodded.

  “Listen, did Doc give any of you clippings? You know, something for you to plant?”

  Chapter 42

  Rufus climbed into his battered Dodge, started the engine, gave it a rev, nodded. Sounds good. He dropped it into gear, backed out of Eller’s Garage—and as he passed the outhouse, the radiator blew. Pssshhh!

  Rufus stood on the brakes, bringing the car to a stop—then watched as the front of his car morphed into Old Faithful. Geysers of water shot out of the grill and began soaking the outhouse door.

  “Well, don’t that take the rag off the bush,” Rufus said, banging on the steering wheel and putting the car into park.

  He stared through the windshield and blinked to check his eyes. It looked like the outhouse was moving! No, not moving. Swelling up! Planks began to bow. The siding ballooned like the place was being pumped full of air.

  He clicked open his door and was about to get out for a better look—when the outhouse exploded. Siding blew apart. Redwood planks went twisting through the sky. And the outhouse roof was launched straight up, twenty feet in the air.

  And in its place, all that was left was a giant, undulating creeper vine.

  Rufus sat there with his mouth hanging open and his face white as a ghost. “Jesus H,” he whispered, pressing back in his seat. Within seconds, flesh-ripping creeper arms dropped onto the Dart, thump-thump-thump– raced up the hood—and probed the windshield with boney tips the size of a man’s fingers.

  Click, click, click.

  “Jesus Holy Christ!” Rufus yelled, slamming his palm into the horn, calling for help.

  * * *

  Sam was the first out the door, then Karl, with Laura and the others following. They flew off Nguyen’s porch and charged into the street.

  “Over at my place!” Karl yelled, hightailing it towards the garage.

  “It’s Rufus,” Sam said, right behind him.

  They raced up to the Dodge—both of them pulling up short of the car to avoid flashing creeper arms.

  “Get me outta here!” Rufus screamed, staring at them through the window. Suddenly overcome with fright and not willing to wait any longer, he cracked his door just as a creeper crashed into it—slamming it shut and throwing him sideways across the seat.

  One of the creepers dropped off the windshield, ran down the side of the car, and began to coil around the door handle.

  “Don’t open the door! Stay put!” Sam yelled, signaling with his hands. “Hang on Rufus, I’ve got an idea.”

  Sam turned to Karl. “We need gasoline, a jar, and a rag.”

  “Gasoline?” Karl questioned, giving Sam a concerned look. “Wait a minute… you’re not thinking of a Molotov cocktail?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” Sam said, as the creeper continued to smother the Dart. “Come on! There’s no time.”

  “What can I do?” asked Tommy. Behind him, Laura, Kristin, Carla, and Curley all hung back, keeping a safe distance.

  “Wait there.” Sam bolted over to a pile of scrap metal stacked next to the garage, grabbed a four-foot section of pipe, and returned to where Tommy was waiting.

  “Here’s the plan. I’m going to chop that creeper off the door—and when it’s clear, you open it and pull Rufus out of there.” Sam looked at Tommy. “Okay?”

  Tommy flashed a thumbs-up. “Okay.”

  With Tommy in tow, Sam gripped the pipe with both hands and inched toward the car. Just as he raised the pipe, there was a scraping sound as a creeper stalk lifted off the Dart’s roof and swept sideways, narrowly missing both of them.

  “Shit!” Sam yelled. Then he lunged forward, slashed down with the pipe, and cleared the creeper from the door handle, giving Tommy just the opening he needed.

  Tommy kicked a section of ruined creeper out of the way, leapt forward, yanked the door open, and pulled a shaken and speechless Rufus free of the car.

  The three of them scrambled back, putting a safe distance between themselves and the creeper, all of them grateful to be alive.

  “You saved my bacon,” Rufus said, looking at Sam and then Tommy.

  Then all three of them watched in silence as Rufus’s car was smothered by writhing creeper arms.

  * * *

  “Here we go, Sam,” Karl said, rejoining the men, a jar of gasoline and a rag in his hands.

  “Perfect.”

  Sam took the jar, removed the lid, soaked the rag in gasoline—then inserted one end in the jar, screwed the lid back on, and left the tail of the rag hanging out.

  “Okay. Something to light it with.”

  Karl held up a Bic lighter. “Say the word.”

  All heads whipped in the direction of shattering glass. The creeper broke a window and poured itself inside the Dart.

  “I’ve owned that car for forty years. Got a slant six—fantastic engine—and now it’s getting eaten by a plant!”

  “Just be glad it’s not you, Rufus.” Karl said.

  Sam held up the Molotov cocktail. “Torch it.”

  Karl stepped up, flicked the lighter, and the rag burst into flames.

  Sam moved forward, planted a foot—and hurled the flaming jar at the center of the seething creeper.

  The jar pinwheeled through the air and shattered on the side of the Dart. The gasoline exploded, instantly engulfing the creeper in a hellish orange fireball. Wispy tendrils were vaporized, and undulating creeper stalks collapsed and crumpled like dead spider legs.

  The air filled with sounds of snap, crackle, pop as flames burned the creeper to a crisp.

  Chapter 43

  Twenty minutes later, everyone had gathered inside Nguyen’s Place, all of them crowded around the lunch counter.

  Sam placed a bowl on the countertop, filling it partway with water. “Okay, watch this.” He held up a paper bag, reached inside, removed the creeper clipping that Carla had given him, and placed it on the counter next to the bowl.

  Everyone stared at the clipping, waiting. At first, nothing happened—the creeper just lay there, dormant, not moving. Then, without warning, it twitched, causing everyone to start with fright and take a step back. Laura gripped Sam’s arm, ready to haul him back. Kristin latched onto Laura and blurted, “Holy shit!”

  And just as everyone began to relax, the creeper twitched again. Then like a compass needle pointing north, it swiveled directly towards the bowl!

  “I’ll be damned,” said Rufus. “That thing dowses better than I do.”

  Karl scoffed. “My hind end dowses better than you do, Rufus.”

  Carla cracked up, laughing out loud—then quickly stopped herself by covering her mouth. Darwin, who seemed to have found a new home in the diner’s rafters, joined in with a loud squawk!

  “That’s the
most amazing example of hydrotropism I’ve ever seen,” said Laura, leaning in for a better look.

  The diner suddenly fell silent. All heads swiveled in Laura’s direction, giving her a What did you just say? look.

  She glanced up, saw their confused expressions, and said, “What?”

  Sam cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence. He picked up the creeper, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, careful to avoid the thorns. “Now, watch this.” He positioned the creeper over the bowl, opened his fingers, and let the clipping drop into the water.

  The results were instantaneous. Astounding. Breathtaking. The moment the vine hit, the bowl began to empty. And as the water was consumed, the creeper exploded with new growth—thick and lush and deadly.

  It was like watching time-lapse photography. Wispy tendrils sprouted up, and baby creeper stalks spilled over the bowl’s sides and snaked around, already thirsty for more.

  “Wow! It’s the chia pet from hell,” said Carla, her eyes bulging.

  Sam continued, “When Doc gave me a clipping, he said the vine was still mutating. From what I can tell, the ability of these things to sense fluids has gone off the chart.”

  “Hey, I threw a clipping like that down Karl’s crapper,” said Rufus, scratching his rump.

  Karl looked at him and shook his head. “Hell, Rufus, there was a brand new roll of toilet paper hanging on the door.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said, “I didn’t… you know… use it,” Rufus added, sounding more and more embarrassed.

  “Without an available source of water,” said Sam, cutting off Rufus and Karl, “the thing is mostly harmless. The creepers at Doc’s, Lester’s, and my place are contained… at least for now.”

  “There is nothing harmless about that thing,” Rufus said, thinking about his car.

  “Excuse me.” All turned in Kristin’s direction. “What if it rains?”

  Holy shit.