by Bryan Dunn
Sam stopped what he was doing and watched her, thinking, She’s probably about the same age as my little sister would’ve been if she were still alive. But never in his wildest dreams could he imagine Jenny being into the Night of the Living Dead, Goth look.
Kristin noticed him staring. She stopped, dropped her bag, and then gave him a direct look. “What are you looking at, Perv?”
“I don’t know. Are you a zombie?”
“Very funny, creep.” She picked up her bag, started walking again, then stopped, cast her eyes up and down the street, and looked at Sam. “I don’t suppose there’s a motel in this bumble-fuck town?”
“Nope. Furnace Valley isn’t exactly a tourist destination. You should’ve brought a camper van. Oh, wait—”
Kristin flipped him off just as Maya, Lander, Donnie, and Spider all crashed out of Nguyen’s Place, arms bulging with supplies, and made a beeline for the van.
After they’d loaded up, Donnie jumped in behind the wheel, then noticed Kristin standing on the porch next to her duffle bag. “Hey, Kris… Come on, we’re outta here.”
“I’m not going,” she said, flicking her ash. “I’m staying here.”
“What?” Donnie kicked open the door, dropped out of the van, and went to her. “What are you talking about? Of course you’re coming.”
“I’m not,” said Kristin, in a firm tone.
“But I thought we had a good thing. I thought we had it going on.”
“A good thing?” Kristin laughed and shook her head. “You mean—me letting you fuck me when you’re not too wasted to get it up?”
“What?” Donnie took a step back, not really knowing what to say. He started to speak, then stopped. It was clear he was hurt by her comment and wasn’t able to hide it. He looked at Kristin, shook his head. “You know what… fuck you!”
Donnie spit on the ground. He turned and started back to the van, then stopped and yelled back, “I only fucked you ‘cause no one else was handy. Skank!”
Kristin was about to flip him off and yell back when a couple of arms clamped around her, stopping her from raising her hand.
“Sweetie, no… no baby, what are you saying,” said Maya, who was suddenly hanging on her, tears forming in her eyes. She gave another squeeze. “You can’t leave us. You’ll ruin the chakra, the balance. We’ve got a whole vibe going. A groovy love energy working.”
“Stop! For fuck’s sake stop. Stop with the new age bullshit, Maya.” Kristin twisted, breaking her hold. “The whole Haight-Ashbury, Summer of Love, flower-child thing was pretty much bullshit back in the 60’s—watching two spoiled brats from Sausalito trying to relive it is pathetic. You and Lander make me want to puke.”
“Screw you!” Maya said, her eyes instantly drying.
“Oh, and the free-love, open marriage thing your parents have going on… sick! It’s warped and creepy. They’re both perverts. Your dad need to sober-the-fuck up. And your mother needs to shave her armpits and strap on a bra before she starts tripping over her tits!”
“Fuck you! Fuck you, Kristin! Fuck you, you Goth-bitch-freak!” Maya covered her mouth to keep from crying. She started for the van, then stopped and said, “What about your parents? Look at you. What happened to you, freak?”
“My mom’s an alcoholic. She lives month-to-month waiting tables in Vegas. And my dad’s doing ten years in Pelican Bay on a counterfeiting rap. He’s very artistic.”
“Come on, Maya,” Lander said, stepping around the van. “Forget her.”
“Yeah, let’s go, Maya,” added Donnie. “We’ll leave the freak here.”
Tears welled in Maya’s eyes. She ran to the van and into Lander’s arms.
Kristin cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hey, Donnie, it’s a bad sign—”
“What?” scowled Donnie. “What’s a bad sign?”
“Your eyes—”
“What about my eyes?”
“They’re too close together!”
Donnie started the engine. Then he stuck his hand out of the van, flipped her off, and yelled, “Fuck you!” He jammed it into first gear, hit the gas, and the van disappeared in a cloud of dust.
“Now I guess you really do need a place to stay,” said Sam as he stepped around the truck and approached Kristin. He’d heard everything. He’d watched the whole melodrama unfold. The Summer of Love, indeed.
Kristin looked at him, then smirked. “Let me guess. I could come stay at your place and we could get drunk, and then you could screw the shit out of me?”
Sam laughed and shook his head. The girl had one hell of a mouth on her. Why even bother? He should just get in his truck and leave the little train wreck to sort things out on her own. She could sleep in Nguyen’s storeroom for all he cared.
But what he said was, “Two no’s and a yes. Yes, you could come to my place and stay in the spare bedroom. No, we won’t be getting drunk. And no, I don’t want to sleep with you.”
“I get it now. You like little boys.”
Sam laughed. “Wow, you really do have a way with people.” He moved to the truck, hauled open the door, climbed into the cab, and was just about to start the engine, when—
“Wait. If you really do have a spare room—I’d appreciate it.” Then she added, “Just for the night.”
Sam stared at her, thinking about it. Taking his time. Making her sweat it just a little bit. Beneath all the attitude, Goth makeup, and gutter punk clothes—there was just a young girl trying to find her way in a crazy world. Plus, despite her mouth, he could tell she had potential, that she was bright and probably not some druggie burnout.
Chapter 27
It was late afternoon when Laura’s road-weary Honda pulled into downtown Furnace Valley. A thick coating of desert grit covered the car, and a branch of mesquite hung from the front bumper.
Laura slowed, and as she pulled to a stop in front of Nguyen’s Place, her windshield was suddenly blasted by a stream of water. A moment later, and a second stream joined in.
As the opaque layer of grime was washed off, Laura found herself staring at two 13-year-old boys. The Grogan twins—Billy and Josh—both of them pointing Super Soaker squirt guns at her car.
The Grogan twins were a plague that descended on Furnace Valley with their mother every spring. They usually stayed through the beginning of May, leaving with the summer heat. It was June, and for some reason they hadn’t left yet.
After they had emptied their guns, one of the twins blurted, “No charge for the car wash, lady!” Then they stuck out their tongues, screamed with laughter, and ran off down the street.
Laura shook her head and killed the engine. Lovely kids, she thought to herself. Then she climbed out of the car, stretched, and took in the town. She looked flushed and hot and bone tired. It had been a long and nerve-wracking trip.
Laura crossed the porch in front of Nguyen’s Place, and as she pushed through the door, she was greeted by Tommy who was standing by the register. “Welcome to Furnace Valley, miss,” Tommy said, flashing one of his famous smiles, wondering if she was a model out on a photo shoot.
“Thank you,” Laura said, smiling as she glanced around the store.
“Can I help you find something?”
“Actually, I was hoping to get some directions. I’m looking for the Fletcher place.”
“Doc Fletcher?” asked Tommy, a hint of surprise in his voice.
“Yes, that’s right. Dr. Henry Fletcher.”
“Really? I don’t think Doc’s ever had a visitor before. Heck, he hardly even comes to town.”
Carla, who’d seen Laura come in, walked over and held out an ice-cold glass of lemonade. “Here darlin’, this will knock the dust out of your throat.”
It was like Carla had read her mind. Laura took the drink, and before she realized it, she’d gulped half the glass. “Oh God, that was fantastic! Thanks so much,” Laura said, genuinely grateful.
Carla smiled, a wistful look on her face as she admired Laura’s shorts and her slim fig
ure.
“Lord, I wish I could wear shorts like that.” Carla said, glancing at herself. “But let’s face it—that train left the station about thirty pounds ago.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Laura said politely.
“Oh, stop.” Carla waved a hand through the air. “We both know you’re just being nice.”
Laura, feeling suddenly self-conscious, looked down at her legs and smoothed the back of her shorts.
“So, how do you know Doc?” Carla asked.
“I don’t really… know him. It’s sort of a surprise.”
“You don’t know him?”
“Hey, come on,” said Tommy. “It’s not our business. No more questions.”
“I’m just being friendly,” said Carla, discounting Tommy with a flick of her wrist. “Jeez-Louise.”
“No one likes a busybody,” Tommy insisted.
“I was just curious, that’s all.”
“Right, busybody,” said Tommy, as if to rest his case.
“Dr. Fletcher and I met a long time ago,” Laura said, putting an end to Tommy and Carla’s bickering. “I’m an old acquaintance, that’s all.”
“Well, Tommy’s not interested… But I am,” said Carla, getting a dig in.
“Is the Fletcher place hard to find?” Laura asked.
“No, not really. Just a few more miles down the road.” Carla turned to Tommy. “Hon, get me some paper, I’m going to draw her a map.”
A few minutes later, Laura came out of Nguyen’s, map in hand, crossed the porch, and as she stepped down to her car, noticed the Grogan twins loitering in a wedge of shade at the end of the building.
A thought crossed her mind, then appeared on her face in the form of a sly smile.
She opened the Honda’s door, reached across the windshield, fiddled with something, then slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and pulled forward until she was parallel with the twins.
She stuck her hand out and waved a dollar bill at the boys. “Hey… Here. It’s for the car wash.”
The twins looked at each other, exchanged confused looks, then figured what the heck—and, laughing at their good luck, hustled over to get their reward.
Just as they stepped up to her window, Laura hauled back on the windshield washer lever—and a stream of water shot out sideways, blasting one of the boys right between the eyes. He screamed out in shock, grabbed his face, and dropped to the ground.
“Free bath. No charge.” Laura laughed. Then she stuck her tongue out at the little monsters and sped off, leaving them choking in a cloud of dust.
* * *
Fletcher’s body lay right where Frankie and Vinny had left it. The air was still and breathless. A cloud of blowflies covered Fletcher’s face. Their angry buzzing filling the air.
Across the way, the drip-drip-drip sound of water echoed from the base of the reservoir as the last of its contents pooled on the ground, then quickly disappeared beneath the sand.
Something moved. The flies started, all of them moving in unison like some unholy school of fish, causing them to swarm up and away from Fletcher’s body.
A moment later, Doc’s body contracted, jerking off the ground. Then his legs began to dance on the sand like they were attached to strings manipulated by some invisible puppeteer. A creeper rose up between his legs and snaked across his chest. It continued until it reached his head, weaving back and forth through the air. A second after that, it struck down, plunging into his neck, the force causing Fletcher’s head to cant to the side and release a knot of boiling maggots that spilled out of his mouth and rolled onto the sand.
Another creeper appeared. It raced toward Fletcher’s body, raising a trail of dust as it rippled across the desert floor like an eel sliding through water.
Chapter 28
Laura gripped the wheel as one of the Honda’s tires banged into, then shot out of yet another pothole. The road seemed to be one giant divot. The good news was, all the bumping and banging had jolted the air conditioner back to life.
She grabbed Carla’s map, rotated it in her hand, tried to make sense of it, then dropped it in her lap and shook her head. “I think I’ve driven off the map,” she said to herself in a frustrated voice.
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 ro
cked 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.
