CREEPERS

by Bryan Dunn

  He went to the door and pulled it open just as Josh crashed inside. Sam caught him with one hand, steadied him, then gripped his shoulders and spun him around.

  “What? What is it?”

  “Water tower,” Josh managed. His words came in fits and starts. “The thing… the plant. It has my brother.”

  “Stay here.” Sam released him, then bolted out the door with Laura and Curley in hot pursuit.

  Billy’s screams hit Sam full force as he sprinted forward. The creeper was now the size of a bus and had sent stalks swirling up the water tower’s legs.

  Billy’s hands were clamped around a large rock, and he hung on for dear life as the creeper continued to pull, straining his legs like an anchor line.

  “Hang on, kid!” Sam yelled, skidding up to Billy like a runner sliding into home plate, then clamping his hands tightly around Billy’s arms.

  “Gotcha!”

  Sam adjusted his grip, then looked down and saw flayed flesh where the creeper’s thorns had worked their way into Billy’s leg.

  “Don’t let it get me,” Billy pleaded. Then his face crinkled, and he began to cry.

  “Try and stay calm. We’re going to get you free.”

  Curley raced up and put a hand on Sam, just as another creeper—the one that drained the squirt gun—rippled over and latched onto Billy’s other leg!

  “Oh God! No!” Billy screamed, new terror rising in his voice.

  Sam watched as the creeper knotted itself around Billy’s leg—and then both of them were being dragged toward the creeper!

  Shit.

  “Sam!” Laura screamed, seeing that he was being dragged along with Billy.

  Then another creeper snaked over and attacked Sam’s leg, trying to latch on. Sam twisted, kicking it away, but lost his grip on Billy, who was now racing across the sand, the two stalks reeling him in like a billfish.

  “Hang on, boy!” said Rufus. He charged up, ax held high, and chopped down. Then again. As Billy rolled free, the severed creepers recoiled like bungee cords.

  Curley went to help Billy, then suddenly yelled, “It’s Frenching me!”

  Billy jumped to his feet and raced back to the others.

  Rufus whipped around and saw that a creeper had coiled around Curley’s boot and was slipping up the inside of his jeans.

  Rufus spread his feet—and then, in one fluid movement, swung the ax like he was striking a golf ball and cut the creeper in two. Curley hopped free, kicking his leg to shake the end of the creeper out of his pants.

  Curley gave him a grateful look and was about to say thanks—when Rufus was slammed to the ground by three whipping stalks and dragged towards the creeper.

  “Rufus!” Curley yelled, grabbing the ax. But before he could attempt a rescue, Sam clamped a hand on Curley’s arm, hauling him back.

  “No! It’s too late, Curley.”

  Rufus yelled…

  Then they watched helplessly as he was lifted up into the air and attacked front and back by two massive stalks—their sharp tips flashing back and forth like giant knitting needles—lacing up his chest like a football.

  Then his body rose one last time—and he was sucked into the creeper, disappearing for good.

  “Everyone back! Get back!” Tommy yelled, as he raced down the center of town, a plastic jug cradled in his arms. He charged right past the stunned faces of Sam, Laura, and Curley, and shot directly towards the creeper.

  “I got something for you!”

  About five yards out, Tommy stopped and popped the cap on the bottle. Then, using an underhand pitch, he sent the bottle sailing up—and right into the heart of the throbbing creeper.

  “Drink it! Drink that, you devil!”

  And then out of nowhere, quick as a striking snake, a creeper shot up, looped around Tommy’s waist and began to contract.

  Tommy yelled, arms flailing, trying to free himself.

  Sam charged up behind him, ax at the ready—but just as he was about to cut the stalk, it went slack, uncoiled from Tommy’s waist, and fell to the ground.

  Sam grabbed Tommy, pulling him back to safety, both them out of breath and drenched in sweat.

  Then they watched in complete amazement as tendrils shriveled and flashing creeper arms withered and wilted and collapsed to the ground, flaccid and useless.

  The plant was dying right before their eyes!

  Chapter 55

  By 10 A. M., hundred-degree heat descended on Furnace Valley, driving everyone back inside Nguyen’s Place to cool off, mourn the loss of Rufus, and regroup. It had been one hell of a morning. With the sun up, that thing was growing again—and they still had no plan or way to get out.

  The Grogan twins, contrite, were huddled with their mother in a booth. Billy’s leg had been expertly cleaned and dressed by Carla.

  In another part of the diner, Kristin approached Donnie, walking heel to toe with Darwin balanced on her head.

  “Check it out. I’m Carmen Miranda,” said Kristin, smiling at Donnie through a mask of colored feathers.

  He looked up, grunted something unintelligible, then let his head fall, staring down at nothing.

  Kristin shrugged and then continued across the diner like she was walking on a tightrope, heading towards Maya, hoping to get a rise out of her.

  Carla could be heard in the kitchen, banging around with her pots—and Tommy was behind the counter topping up glasses of ice water for Sam, Laura, Curley, and Karl.

  Sam lifted his glass, drained half of it, and looked at Tommy.

  “What exactly was that you threw on it?”

  “Weed killer,” Tommy said, a triumphant look on his face. “Half a bottle of Weed-B-Gone.”

  “Nice,” said Curley. “Way to go, Tommy.”

  “My God!” Laura said, jumping to her feet. “That’s it!”

  “What?” said Sam, taking the words out of everybody’s mouth.

  “Poison. A systemic poison. It’s how we can stop it. Kill it.” She pointed at Tommy. “Tommy found its Achilles heel.”

  “Commonly referred to by my colleagues as— the short hairs,” Sam said.

  Laura cocked her head and gave him a flat look.

  “Jeez, will someone please explain to me what she just said?” Curley asked.

  “This plant… this thing…” Laura said, pausing to look at each of their faces, “has an incredibly efficient fluid transfer mechanism. I’m not sure how it works, but it’s something to do with an almost supernatural metabolic rate.”

  “Um, right…” said Tommy, nodding his head. “I kind of figured that. Its meta, metabolic rate—”

  “Apply the right kind of poison to this thing,” Laura said, cutting him off, “and it will travel through the entire organism in a matter of seconds.”

  “Great. Sounds great. A grand theory,” Sam said, holding his hands up in a hallelujah gesture. “But that little bush outside was the minor leagues. It was just a little whippersnapper compared to what’s headed our way.” Sam shook his head, adding, “Hell, it would take a whole truckload of that stuff to kill it.”

  “Exactly,” said Laura, grinning like a cat.

  * * *

  The mustard yellow biplane stood in front of Eller’s Garage, the sun glinting off wings and struts. The name Daisyhad been lovingly painted on the fuselage just behind the engine cowling.

  “You sure about this?” Karl asked, watching Sam as he climbed into the crop duster’s cockpit. “I just got it running. It needs more work, testing. By all standards, it’s not flight-worthy.”

  “Yes, Karl, I’m sure.” Sam dropped into the captain’s seat. “It’s our best chance. We’ve got to risk it.”

  Karl frowned and nodded. He knew Sam was right. But it didn’t make him like it any better.

  Sam began to familiarize himself with the cockpit, scanning the instrument panel, checking the stick and rudder pedals.

  Karl went to the front of the plane, mounted a ladder positioned next to the engine, leaned into the c
owling, and began checking and rechecking plug wires, seals, oil lines—anything he might have overlooked.

  He shut and locked an access panel, climbed down, and pulled the ladder back. Then he called up to Sam and said, “Okay. See if she’ll crank.”

  Sam flashed a thumbs up, placed his fingers on a button, and yelled, “Clear.” Then he pushed the starter. The engine began to turn over. The propeller wheeled through the air. There was a loud pop and a series of backfires.

  Soot and smoke poured out of the exhaust port. Sam kept his finger on the starter. The motor sputtered, then caught—and the powerful radial engine roared to life—shaking windows and kicking up a cloud of dust.

  Yeah!

  Grinning like a schoolboy, Sam released the starter, pushed in the choke, and began working the throttle, running the engine up and down, letting it warm up, the taste of exhaust and sand coating his mouth.

  “Alright!” Karl yelled, a big smile on his face. “Sounds good!” Then he thought to himself, At least for now.

  Chapter 56

  The biplane sat at the edge of town, engine running, nosed out towards the empty desert—and an uncertain fate.

  Sam was in the cockpit dressed in an old leather flight helmet, goofy-looking goggles, earphones, and a headset. A silk scarf around his neck would’ve completed the World War II flying ace look.

  Lining the road for moral support were Carla, Tommy, Curley, and Kristin.

  Sam glanced over and felt a sudden pang of disappointment that Laura wasn’t there. She hadn’t come to see him off.

  Karl stood at the front of the plane, where Sam could see him, and gave a signal. Together, they began the pre-flight check.

  Sam worked the joystick and foot pedals, causing flaps, elevators, stabilizers, and the rudder to flip-flop back and forth. All was in working order.

  “Clear for take off.” Karl yelled, flashing a thumbs-up, then moved clear of the plane.

  Nodding, Sam returned a thumbs-up. Then he ran the engine, gripped the controls—and, just as he was about to release the brakes—

  Laura ran up, hopped onto the wing, and climbed into the passenger’s seat, pulling the ball cap she was wearing tight on her head.

  Sam backed off the throttle, letting the engine coast to an idle. He released the controls, then cranked his head around and looked at her.

  “What are you doing?! Get out!”

  “I’m going with you,” she said, yelling over the engine noise, a defiant flush rising in her cheeks.

  “No, you’re not!”

  “Yes, I am. I want to get a look at this thing from the air.”

  “Forget it. Absolutely not. It’s not safe. The plane’s a flying coffin.”

  “Then why are you going?”

  “Jesus,” Sam said, completely frustrated. It was like trying to reason with a charging grizzly.

  “C’mon… Please, just get out.”

  “I’m going,” she said, buckling her safety harness, signaling that the discussion was over.

  “Fine Then we’re both probably going to die.”

  “Here…” Karl yelled, stepping onto the wing and handing Laura a headset and mic. “So you can talk to each other.”

  Laura nodded, placed earphones over her cap. Karl leaned in, showed her where to plug them into the com system, checked her safety belt, then dropped off the plane and moved back with the others.

  “Sam. Sam. Can you hear me?” Laura said, talking into her mic.

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Copy that.” Then she added, “Is that right? Is that what you’re supposed to say?”

  Behind the goggles, Sam rolled his eyes and said, “Hang on…” Then he jammed the throttle forward. The plane started to roll and quickly gained speed.

  “Tallyho!” Laura yelled, thrusting an arm in the air.

  Karl, Tommy, Carla, Kristin, and Curley all watched as the tail wheel rose. Seconds later, after a couple of tentative bounces, the plane lifted off the road, dipped its wings—causing everyone to momentarily catch their breath—leveled, and then climbed steadily into the desert sky.

  “Woo hoo!” Kristin yelled, jumping up and down.

  Carla clapped. “Way to go, Sam!”

  Curley thrust his cap in the air. “Yeah!”

  Karl smiled, quietly pleased with Daisy’s performance.

  Chapter 57

  High above the desert, endless lines of hills and dunes, all intricately carved by knife-sharp winds, disappeared beneath the biplane’s wings.

  Sam edged the joystick over, sending them in a slow, banking turn towards Furnace Mountain and the pass beyond.

  Laura reached forward and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “This is fantastic. It’s beautiful up here.”

  Sam looked down, nodded. “Incredible.”

  “When did you learn to fly?”

  There was a long pause, then—

  “I didn’t. What I mean is, my dad taught me. We had a little Cessna when I was a boy.”

  “Oh…” Laura said, a horrified look on her face.

  “Aren’t you glad you came along?” Sam asked, enjoying the moment, wishing he could see the look on her face.

  After a quick grimace, Laura replied, “I trust you,” then crossed her fingers.

  “Big mistake,” Sam laughed. Then he said, “Hey, it just struck me, this is kind of like Out of Africa—you know—the biplane scene.”

  “Not even close,” Laura laughed. But it really kind of was. Except for the monster below them that was racing down the valley. “Just keep it in the air, Redford.”

  Sam rocked the wings, pretending to lose control.

  “Sam!” Laura screamed, gripping the sides of the cockpit.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, as they approached Furnace Mountain, beads of moisture appeared on the windshield and collected along the leading edge of the wings.

  The light shifted, and the air turned dense and humid. It was like they’d just entered the tropics.

  “Sam. Feel that? The air…” Laura said, removing her sunglasses to clean the lenses.

  “Yeah. It’s almost tropical.”

  Then they saw it—at their 4 o’clock—an ocean of bristling creepers.

  It had made amazing progress since Sam had last seen it. It now covered the entire face of Furnace Mountain and was spilling partway down the valley.

  “My God!” Laura said, looking down.

  “Incredible,” he said, leaning out. “It looks like the Amazon down there.”

  “It doesn’t seem real,” Laura said, an awestruck look on her face.

  “Say a prayer. I’m going to see if the old girl can climb over the pass.”

  Sam added max throttle. The airframe began to shake and shimmy. He pointed the nose of the plane at a “V” cut in the mountain, the place where the road dropped over the top. The little yellow plane labored up—three thousand feet, four thousand feet—and, as they passed forty-five hundred feet, Sam nosed the plane forward and they slipped over the mountain, clearing it by a couple hundred feet.

  They both let out a deep breath.

  “That was close,” Laura said, stating the obvious.

  Sam didn’t respond. Something else had his full attention: the oil gauge. The needle was lying flat, indicating they had no oil pressure.

  Shit.

  Sam leaned forward and tapped the gauge. Nothing, the needle didn’t budge—or even jump. Another couple of taps. Still nothing. Great.

  “Great… just great.” Sam let out a frustrated sigh, shook his head.

  “What? What is it, Sam?” Laura said, leaning towards him.

  “Oil pressure.”

  “Oil pressure in regards to—”

  “The engine. The gauge says we have none.”

  Laura thought for a moment, then said, “Tap on it. Maybe it’s broken.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that…” He gave the gauge a couple of sharp taps. Nothing—the needle remained stuck on zero.


  “Yep. That did it,” Sam lied. “Just like in the movies.” The engine seemed to be running fine, so hopefully it was just a faulty gauge.

  Relieved, Laura smiled. Then she was suddenly hanging out the side of the cockpit, excitedly pointing at something.

  “Sam! There. There it is!”

  Sam looked. Fifteen hundred feet below, a tanker truck sat off the side of the road. He banked, sending the plane in an arcing circle over the truck’s position. It was right where she had last seen it—untouched—its axels still mired in sand.

  Sam circled one more time, checking the road, making sure it was straight enough to land on. “Okay, get ready,” he said. “I’m going to set her down.” He reduced their airspeed to 60 knots, lined up with the road, and began his approach.

  A couple of minutes later, the nimble little crop duster’s wheels kissed the ground and ran smoothly along the blacktop. Sam let the plane taxi forward until they were parallel to the spot where the tanker ran off the road.

  He revved the engine and turned the plane around, putting it in takeoff position, cut the power, and peeled off his goggles. Then he climbed out of the cockpit as the propeller made one last rotation and stopped. Stepping off the wing and dropping onto the road, he circled the plane and thought to himself, I can’t believe I just pulled that off.

  As he came around to Laura in the passenger’s seat, he said, “How was that for a landing?” sounding very nonchalant. “Ha, I would’ve made a helluva carrier pilot.”

  Laura popped her safety harness, unglued herself from the seat, climbed onto the wing, and stepped down next to Sam.

  “I wouldn’t know. I had my eyes shut.”

  “I thought it went pretty well,” he said, eyeballing the plane again, checking to see if they’d shed any parts on their way over the mountain.

  Laura went up to Sam, surprising him with a hug and an affectionate peck on the cheek. “Thanks for not killing us, ace.”

  She took his hand.

  “C’mon.” Then she led him across the road until they had a good view of the tanker, and, specifically, the logo painted on the side.