CREEPERS

by Bryan Dunn

  Chapter 36

  Sam killed the engine and looked at Curley. “Okay, we’ve got to get to the main water tank. We’ve got to blow the valves. All of them!”

  “But, Sam…” Curley protested. “That’s exactly what that thing wants!”

  “Just do it, Curley. It’s our only chance to save the ranch.”

  “Yeah, sure Sam. Okay…”

  “On the count of three, we make a run for the tank.”

  Curley gave him a dubious look, then nodded okay.

  “Here we go… One, two—”

  And on three, they slammed open their doors, dropped to the ground, and ran hell for leather towards the storage tank.

  Sam got there first, fell on the primary valve, and began to open it, his hands becoming a blur as he spun the valve. Water flooded around Curley’s boot as he rushed up to Sam.

  “Curley, get the drain at the rear. I’m going up top to open the hatch. It should increase the flow.”

  Curley hustled around the base of the tank and opened the secondary valve.

  Sam leapt onto the ladder, scrambled to the top of the tank, worked his way to the hatch, and then popped it open.

  “Sam!” Laura yelled, not believing what she was seeing. “Are you out of your fucking mind? Get off there!”

  Kristin whipped her head around at Laura, giving her the same disapproving look that Laura had given her earlier.

  Laura stared back, shrugged. So…

  Sam jumped on the ladder, then came down it like a fireman on a pole and grabbed Curley. As water pooled around the base of the tank, they sprinted across the sand, rejoining Laura and Kristin at the side of the compound.

  Chapter 37

  As the last drops of water drained from the tanker truck, a malevolent rasping filled the air. They looked over and watched as the creeper freed itself from the truck, its swollen stalks dropping off the tank like ticks from a dying animal.

  As each arm thudded to the ground, it snapped around, then went skittering across the sand, ready to gorge on the fresh supply of water pooling around the main storage tank.

  “It’s working,” said Sam, as thirsty creeper stalks raced to the tank, preparing to feed.

  “Are you crazy?!” Laura looked at Sam. “That’s exactly what it wants.”

  “No, look…” He pointed to the ground around the tank.

  They all watched as the water pooled, but just as quickly disappeared beneath the sand.

  “The ground is like a sieve around here. By the time that thing repositions itself—most of the water will be history.”

  “Man, look at that mother go,” said Curley, saying what they were all thinking. Creeper stalks encircled the tank like a squid’s tentacles around a clam. And then began to drink.

  “Come on,” Sam said, motioning to everyone. “We don’t have much time.”

  “What about the palms, Sam?” Curley said.

  Sam looked over at the rows of stately palms and frowned. “There’s nothing we can do. There’s no stopping this thing. But at least it doesn’t have access to more water.”

  He waved to the group. “Come on.” With Sam in the lead, they fell into a line and trotted over to the tanker truck. Sam grabbed Laura’s hand, boosted her into the driver’s side, then jumped in after her as Curley and Kristin scrambled around to the passenger’s door.

  A shrill squawk erupted across the compound. Darwin swooped down, landing on a storage rack bolted to the roof of the tanker.

  Curley got his hand on the door and pulled, but it was stuck. He yanked again and again—but it wouldn’t budge.

  And then directly behind them, a whistling sound…

  “Come on! Open it!” Kristin yelled, anxiously hopping up and down.

  There was a thud. Kristin wheeled. Not ten feet away, a creeper stalk raced directly towards her, thorns brisling.

  “Son of a bitch!” Curley yelled, jumping up on the truck’s kick. Then using both hands, he hauled on the door again.

  In the cab, Laura leaned over and banged on the door from the inside.

  One last mighty pull, and the door popped open. Curley swung out and grabbed Kristin’s hand. As he pulled her inside, the creeper shot up, wrapping around his ankle.

  “Jesus!” Curley yelled, feeling thorns bite into his skin through the coveralls. And just before Curley was pulled from the side of the truck and turned into a human Slurpee—

  Kristin yelled, “Fuck me!” Then sliced down with the machete, cleanly severing the stalk and freeing Curley.

  Curley leapt in next to Kristin and slammed the door. Sam cranked up the diesel, the starter motor working perfectly this time.

  There was another high-pitched sound, then a thump, as a creeper stalk dropped across the hood, glanced off the windshield, then made a hideous sound as it scraped along the side of the tanker.

  In perfect unison, they all yelled, “Shit!”

  Sam jammed the truck into gear and dropped the hammer. The truck jumped forward and roared towards the exit…

  A moment later, there was another thump as the truck bumped up and over something and bogged down…

  A massive creeper slid around the rear axel, coiled, and began to slow the truck!

  Sam eased off on the gas. He reached down, slipped the deuce and a half into six wheel drive, dropped it into low, then stood on the gas. Black smoke shot up from the truck’s twin stacks. The turbo charger screamed—and as the powerful diesel wound up, the front rose, straining against the load.

  The creeper coiled tighter, stretched to its limit. There was a tearing sound, then a loud snap! The stalk parted and the tanker rocketed forward, shot out through the entrance gate, and sent Darwin leaping into the air.

  Inside the cab, everyone let out their breath with a sigh of relief, glad to be free of the thing. Darwin settled back on the roof as Sam backed off the gas, letting the truck find a safe track on the road.

  “My God,” said Laura. “What has my father done?”

  Chapter 38

  “Come on, baby,” Amber said, pulling on Vinny’s arm, trying to get him to join her in the bedroom. “Let’s get busy. I have to be back at the casino in less than an hour.”

  “Am I gonna see you later?”

  “You know I can’t.”

  Vinny looked at her for a moment, then jerked his arm free and went to the kitchen.

  Amber threw her hands up and said, “Your loss.” Then she disappeared into the bedroom.

  Vinny stood at the kitchen sink, poured himself a shot of Jack Daniels, gulped it, and was about to have another when he noticed the little pot containing the clipping he’d taken from Fletcher’s place.

  He reached out, turned on the water so there was a steady drip coming out of the faucet, lifted the clipping, and placed it in the sink. Then he stripped off his T-shirt, grabbed the bottle of JD, and went to the bedroom.

  * * *

  Rufus Smoot stepped out of the ancient-looking outhouse located behind Eller’s Garage, let the door slam shut, then stared at the old structure with a look of pure satisfaction.

  As he went to hitch up his pants, something fell out of his pocket and dropped to the ground. Rufus bent and picked it up. It was the clipping that Doc had given him earlier in the week. He’d forgotten all about it. Rufus was about to slip it back in his pocket, then changed his mind. He turned, opened the outhouse door—and, grinning ear-to-ear, leaned inside and pitched it down the hole.

  “If you can make it down there, you can make it anywhere.”

  * * *

  At the front of the garage, Karl was leaning over the fender of Rufus’s old Dodge, fixing something in the engine compartment.

  “Nice crapper, Karl,” Rufus said, rounding the building and joining Karl beside his car.

  “I didn’t know you were a connoisseur, Rufus,” said Karl, backing out from beneath the hood with a laugh.

  “A nice crapper is a nice crapper.”

  “Okay… if you say so,” he said, wipin
g his hands on an oil-stained shop rag.

  Rufus put a hand on the fender, leaned into the engine compartment. “What about my radiator?”

  “Needs a new hose.”

  “I know it needs a new hose, Karl. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Yeah, well… I don’t exactly have the right one.”

  Rufus straightened, gave Karl a direct look. “Well, shit… fake it, Karl.”

  “That’s what I’m doing now.” Karl leaned back under the hood and tightened a hose clamp. “This is off an old Impala. Can’t guarantee it, though.”

  “Karl, look at this car. The thing’s got more spare parts than Frankenstein’s monster. A used Chevy hose is perfect.”

  Chapter 39

  Lester Moon’s goat farm was completely quiet except for the sound of buzzing flies. Thousands of them. They crisscrossed back and forth through the hot desert air—all of them headed for the same place—the feed trough.

  The pens were empty. There was no sign of Lester—or any goats, for that matter.

  But they were there, just the same…

  You just couldn’t see them. Because all six goats had been transformed into creeper pincushions. Their backs were exploded open, and hide and hair had been replaced by writhing creeper stalks—some of them waving goat entrails through the air like flags.

  The loud buzzing was momentarily drowned out by the sound of the tanker truck as it rumbled into Moon’s farm and pulled up next to the house.

  Sam killed the engine and everyone climbed out, with the exception of Kristin and Darwin—both of them happy to wait with the truck.

  “Lester!” Sam yelled. Then he turned to the house and yelled again. “Hey, Lester!”

  “Maybe we should look for a cave filled with gold,” said Laura looking around.

  Sam gave her a funny look. “What?” Then he reached in the truck and grabbed the machete.

  “Nothing,” she laughed. “It has something to do with cheese. Lester loves cheese.”

  “I like cheese,” Curley said, then looked at Laura as if she might suddenly produce a block out her back pocket.

  “Jesus.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Curley, go check the barn.”

  “By myself?” Curley asked, a genuine look of concern on his face.

  “Yes. Think you can handle it? We’ll go check the main house.”

  Curley took a step in the direction of the barn, stopped, then wheeled around. “Hey, maybe she’d like to go check the barn with me?”

  “She’s going with me,” Sam fired back, his voice louder than he had intended. Laura looked at Sam, a curious smile forming on her face.

  “Curley. Please. Go check the barn, see if Lester’s there.”

  Defeated, Curley started for the barn, then said, “It’s just not fair. You’ve got the machete and the girl.”

  Sam looked over and saw Laura staring at him, her eyes boring right in. He suddenly felt embarrassed.

  “I had no idea I was so popular.”

  “I just figured you’d rather see the house,” said Sam, sounding more and more flustered. “That’s all I meant.”

  “Yes, well, I’m flattered,” said Laura, letting him twist in the wind.

  “It’s no big deal. What’s the big deal?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “What’s the big deal?”

  “Right,” he said, as they started towards the house…

  “Oh, Jesus! Oh, lord…” Curley stood at the edge of the goat pen, staring in at the six eviscerated goats. “Oh, Christ.” Then he slumped against the fence.

  Sam and Laura raced over, joining Curley at the pen.

  “My God,” said Sam, looking at the goats.

  “Lester must’ve had a clipping,” added Laura.

  They all jumped as the air exploded with a loud metallic bang-bang-bang…

  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.

  T
he 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.”