by Bryan Dunn
“See, just like I said.”
There, directly in front of them, a giant logo emblazoned on the side of the tanker read: Round-up —Weed Killer.
Chapter 58
Outside Eller’s Garage, Karl, Tommy, and Curley were fueling vehicles, checking tires—getting ready, just in case they had to make a run for it.
Tommy pulled his Jeep up to the pump. Curley grabbed the hose, flipped the handle, and began to fill the tank. Karl was beneath the deuce and a half working on the balky starter motor, blowing the contacts clean with compressed air.
While Curley filled the tank, Tommy got out of the Cherokee and went to see if Karl needed any help.
“How’s it look?”
“The starter motor is about to take a dump, but I think it will hold for now,” Karl said, sliding out from beneath the tanker. “If we need to run, this baby will plow through anything.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Yeah. You can top off the diesel.” Karl pointed to a 55 gallon drum. “Use that barrel there, it should already have a drum pump attached. Just crank the handle to start the siphon.”
“Got it,” Tommy said, then moved to the barrel and prepared to top off the deuce and half’s fuel tanks.
Inside Nguyen’s, Maya and Donnie sat in a booth, talking. Behind them, a couple of tables away, Kristin was busily sketching on her pad.
“It wasn’t your fault. There was nothing anyone could’ve done,” Maya said, picking at the label on a water bottle. “Lander… he had one of those things inside him.”
“Yeah,” Donnie said, his face shadowed beneath the hood of his sweatshirt. “I should’ve…” Then his voice just trailed off.
“I’m glad you’re alive,” she said, reaching across the table and placing her hand over his.
Donnie lifted his head, looked at her hand, and nodded. “Thanks.”
Maya pulled her hand back and reached inside her purse. She removed a joint, held it up. “We could do this?”
Donnie shook his head. “It won’t help.”
“It won’t hurt,” she said, flashing a quick smile.
“I’m done with that shit,” Donnie said, his eyes on the joint. “I’ve been high since I was fifteen. Every fucking day, yo. I don’t even know who I am.”
Maya nodded, then palmed the joint. “That’s cool. That’s good…”
She bucked out of the booth, looked at him, and said, “I’m going outside. I need to get high.”
Donnie stared up at her, nodded, then looked down at his hands.
A moment later Kristin walked up, tore a sheet off the pad, and placed it on the table in front of Donnie.
Donnie glanced up at her, then reached out, picked up the sketch, and looked at it. It was a simple line drawing of Donnie and Maya holding hands.
Kristin reached down and touched his shoulder.
“Thanks,” Donnie said. Then a tear fell from his eye, causing a section of the sketch to blur and run.
Chapter 59
Sam had repositioned the plane, moving it as close to the tanker as possible while still keeping the wheels on the blacktop.
Using four of the truck’s hoses, they cobbled together enough line to reach from the eighteen-wheeler to the crop duster’s belly tank.
Sam held the end of the hose over a funnel that was positioned in the biplane’s tank, while Laura crouched beneath the tanker, waiting for Sam’s signal that the plane was full and it was time to shut the valve.
“Okay! That’s it. Shut it off.”
Laura leapt into action, spinning a valve beneath the tank, cutting the flow of Round-up. She scrambled out from beneath the tank, stripping off a pair of rubber gloves. As she trudged through the loose sand toward the road, she yelled, “How much do you think we got?”
“Hard to say,” Sam said, removing the funnel and screwing the cap back onto the tank. “I’m guessing we got around three hundred gallons.”
“If we get a good drop—if we can concentrate it—it might work.”
Sam lifted a water bottle off the plane’s wing, took a long pull, and handed it to Laura. She raised it to her lips, and as she drank, Sam reached over without thinking and dusted some sand off her arm.
Laura finished drinking, looked at Sam, smiled at him. Something felt so right about this, about being with him. About being together.
Sam coiled the hose, clearing it from beneath the plane and dragging it a good distance off the road, just to be sure. He made a quick circle, checking tires, flight surfaces, wing struts. Then he joined Laura, who was standing in the shade beneath one of the wings.
“Well… you ready?”
Laura stared at him, then reached up and straightened his collar. “Bombs away.”
Sam reached out, pulled her to him, and kissed her. “That’s for good luck.”
Chapter 60
Fifteen minutes later, the biplane lifted off the desert floor, labored into the sky, banked, and headed for the mountain pass.
At 4,500 feet, Sam eased the stick forward, leveled the plane, and he and Laura looked down as they slipped over the top of the mountain and back into Furnace Valley.
Sam glanced at the oil gauge. The needle was canted over and lifeless, still pointing to zero. He reached out. Tap, tap. The needle didn’t move. He shrugged, then thought to himself, The engine is running perfectly. There’s nothing you can do. Don’t sweat it.
“Okay, I’m heading for the mineral spring.” Sam banked the plane, nosed over, and reduced air speed, putting them on a gentle descent into the valley.
Laura had her camera out and was taking pictures. This was one for the book, she thought. Then: Ha, that didn’t begin to do justice to what she was seeing in the viewfinder.
As the plane settled in at two thousand feet, Sam pointed and yelled, “There. The spring’s on the other side of that tower.”
“What tower?” Laura leaned out, straining to see. Then she saw it, protruding out of a sea of green. “You mean that?”
The high-voltage tower was at their 3 o’clock. It had been completely overgrown by waving tendrils and flashing creeper arms—its legs and metal framework acting as an armature for the unholy piece of topiary.
Thick stalks, knitted together, rose up the tower’s sides and came together in a pulsing topknot, spilling off the crown and dangling like giant dreadlocks.
“Sam… Sam… Look!” Laura pointed at a bright green circle that used to be Big Caliente Hot Springs.
“Got it!” he nodded.
“It’s the ganglion, the thing’s nerve center.”
Sam moved the stick and pressed on the rudder pedal, sending them in a slow circle that would bring them directly over the top of the spring.
As the plane completed its turn, the spring came into view. It was dead ahead now.
“Okay, this is it. Final approach. Wish us luck…”
And with that, he nosed the plane over and dove toward the spring.
The airspeed jumped. The engine screamed. They shot past the high-voltage tower, leaving it on their right, just as—
One of the creeper stalks hanging off the tower whipsawed out and shot into the air. Seconds later, an ear-piercing whistle filled their ears—and then they saw it, a giant creeper stalk floating in the sky—directly in their path!
“Holy shit!” Sam said, shocked by the sight of the airborne creeper.
“Sam!” Laura yelled. She grabbed onto her seat as he hauled the stick over, putting the biplane on its ear in a desperate attempt to slip past.
But the geometry was all wrong…
The creeper flew onward, swinging up and out and slamming point blank into the plane’s propeller.
The fuselage shuddered and shook, and one of the struts parted from the wing. As the propeller shredded the stalk into creeper mulch, the engine bogged and choked. Smoke and flames poured out. A man-sized chunk of creeper flew off the tip of the prop and tumbled back, tearing off a section of tail and most of the left stabilizer.
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The plane nosed over and plummeted towards the ground, spiraling down in a death roll. Flames shot from the engine and rolled along the fuselage, licking the windshield inches from Sam’s face.
“Sam! Do something!” Laura screamed, holding on for dear life.
“Hold on…” Sam wrapped both hands around the stick. Then, using his feet, he worked the rudder and elevators, fighting to gain control.
With one last mighty heave, he pulled back on the joystick. The biplane shuddered. The wings bit into the air, the nose lifted and just as they leveled…
The landing gear clipped a dune. The plane jumped up, then nosed over, tearing off a wheel as it struck a boulder—then shuddered, dipped, dropped to the ground, skidded sideways, spun in a 360—and finally ground to a stop, coming to rest on the tip of a lower wing.
Chapter 61
Stunned and dazed, but miraculously unhurt, Sam and Laura crawled out of the plane and quickly scrambled back from the burning wreckage.
They made their way to a large rock, both of them falling against it as they watched the biplane burst into flames.
“That thing swatted us like a fly,” Laura said, dazed.
Sam nodded. “Unbelievable.”
There was a concussive explosion as the plane’s fuel tanks went up. Laura jumped into Sam’s arms, and both of them ducked as engine parts, wing struts, and chunks of fuselage were hurled through the air.
A few minutes later, after the air had cleared, they rose to their feet and stared at the ruined biplane.
“Sorry about that, Daisy,” Sam said. “I doubt Karl will ever forgive me.”
Laura gazed up at him. “That was some landing, ace.” She leaned forward, kissing him. “Thanks for saving our necks.”
Sam looked at Laura. Her face was streaked with grime and engine oil, and her hair was a wind-whipped tangled mane. But her eyes remained determined, filled with hope.
He reached out, pulled her up, and kissed her. Grateful to be alive. Grateful to be with her.
“Thanks for saving my neck too,” Sam said, brushing the hair back from her face.
Then their heads whipped around as the plane settled with a loud crunch. And both of them had the same thought: We’ve blown our one chance of stopping this thing.
* * *
The sun had set, and night was fast approaching. Flames from the wreckage danced against the bank of a shallow arroyo, casting a warm glow on the sand as if someone had stopped for the night and made camp.
Off to one side, Sam and Laura huddled next to a mesquite fire that Sam had built and lit with a piece of burning wreckage. They were taking inventory of what they had been able to salvage from the plane.
It wasn’t much. Laura had found her jacket, and Sam had lucked into a mostly full canteen and his Gerber survival knife. Other than that—the rest was lost, burning, or already burnt.
Sam stared out at a square section of fuselage that lay at the center of the smashed plane. He went over, examined the piece of wreckage, then knocked on the side. It was the plane’s aluminum belly tank—the one filled with Round-up.
Using his knuckles, he tapped down the side of the tank, listening to the dull thud indicating the tank was full. He couldn’t believe it.
“What is it, Sam?” Laura asked.
“The Round-up. All of it survived the crash.”
“Great… perfect…” Laura gave Sam an ironic look and pulled on her jacket. “Any idea how we get out of here?”
“Yeah. The road’s not far. Then it’s five hours on foot back to town.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad, considering the alternative.” She glanced at the burning plane.
“It’ll be a march,” Sam said, shaking the canteen. “But without the sun hammering us, we should be okay.”
He slung the canteen over his shoulder, fastened the knife to his belt, and rolled down his shirtsleeves. “We should get moving. Let’s take advantage of any head start we have on that thing.”
Ten minutes later, Sam and Laura left the crash site and began dead reckoning to the road—meaning up and over every rise, wash, outcrop, or patch of scrub.
They picked their way through a maze of razor-sharp Coachella cactus, pushed through a patch of creosote, scrambled up the loose face of a dune—and, as they crested the top—both of them froze, shocked by what they saw.
Deadly creeper stalks.
Everywhere.
They were completely surrounded. The creeper snaked out in all directions, disappearing into the twilight.
Holy crap!
“Sshhh…” Sam held his arm in front of Laura. “Don’t move.”
There was a rustling sound. An inky shape rushed through the dim light. Dust swirled up…
And then they saw the creeper stalk—skittering across the sand, twenty yards directly in front of them. It snaked up, swirled around the base of the dune, then stopped and raised its tip, like it was trying to sense something.
Then without warning—it shot towards them—racing straight up the face of the dune like it wasn’t there.
Laura screamed.
Sam grabbed her arm. “Run!”
They wheeled around, charged back down the dune, and headed in the direction of the plane. Right behind them—hot on their heels and gaining, the creeper looped over the dune—and cut across the desert like it was on ball bearings.
Sam and Laura rushed forward, boots pounding the ground, Sam in the lead, guiding them through an obstacle course of gullies, rocks, and cactus spikes.
A couple of minutes later, they shredded down a gravel rise and pitched forward into the crash site—racing right up to the smoldering plane—surrounding themselves with the little spot fires that continued to burn.
Sam motioned to Laura, and together they collected twigs and branches, anything that would burn, feeding the fires, closing the circle around them.
The creeper slithered into the crash site, probing the air, searching…
Sam gathered a handful of branches, stripped a length of wire off the plane, and bound them together into a makeshift torch, waiting for the creeper to make its move.
The creeper edged up to the ring of fire, made a few tentative probes—then dropped to the sand and retreated into the desert after easier prey.
Chapter 62
Inside Nguyen’s, the generator roared to life. Light bulbs flickered and blinked on, canceling out the waning light.
Karl and Curley were at the counter, Karl sipping coffee, Curley having a soda. Kristin was sketching Darwin who was perched at the end of the bar.
“What do you think?” Tommy said, stepping behind the counter.
“I think they’re deader than yesterday,” Karl said, staring into his mug.
“Don’t say that, Karl,” Curley said, frowning. “You don’t know. You can’t say.”
“What I know is—that biplane’s a deathtrap.” Karl shook his head. “I should’ve never let him do it. I should’ve never let Sam talk me into it.” He frowned, made a fist, and drove it into the top of his leg.
“Maybe they just ran out of gas. Or the engine quit, but maybe Sam was able to set her down,” Tommy said, offering some encouragement.
“That’s a lot of maybes,” Karl shot back. “I’ll tell you what—maybe that thing out there got them”
“No!” Curley stood. “Don’t say that.”
* * *
Back at the crash site, most of the spot fires Sam and Laura had set surrounding the plane had burned out. It was completely dark now, and the sky dazzled horizon to horizon with stars.
A rock loosened in the center of the arroyo’s bank. Rivulets of sand and gravel streamed down the face as the boulder lifted, tilted, and then tumbled free. A moment after that a hand appeared. Then an arm. Then Sam and Laura clambered down the embankment and dropped to the desert floor—dusty, dirty, filthy—but very much alive!
They scanned the area, their heads flashing left and right, checking to see if it was clear. They dus
ted themselves off with slow, quiet movements, careful not to attract the attention of anything lurking beyond their view.
“What do you think?” Sam whispered.
“I’m glad I’m not a gopher.”
Sam smiled at her. He shook his head, glad to see she was maintaining a sense of humor.
“Yeah, me too,” he said, brushing dirt out of his hair. “What I meant was—do you think it’s dark enough to move?”
“I’m not sure,” Laura said, her eyes straining ahead. “It’s not going to get any darker. The creeper should be dormant by now.” She turned to him. “But really, your guess is as good as mine.”
“No…no, it’s not as good as yours. It can’t be. You’re the botanist here. I defer to you on all matters concerning man-eating plants and their nighttime activities.”
“Nocturnal,” Laura said. “Nocturnal activities. Actually, I prefer the term crepuscular. Crepuscular activities.”
“See,” Sam said, motioning with his hands. “Spoken like a true man-eating plant expert.”
“Okay, okay,” she said. “My guess is superior to yours. And, well—it’s not like we really have a choice. We can’t stay here.”
“Right,” Sam agreed. He slipped the canteen off his shoulder, blew off the dust, and held it up to Laura. “Want a drink?”
She nodded. “God, yes.” She unscrewed the lid, took a drink, and then another. She held it out to Sam, who took a swig, wiped his mouth, then looped the canteen over his shoulder. He patted his belt, checking to make sure the knife was still attached.
“Do you think anyone will come for us?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said. “They probably figured the plane crashed and we’re dead.”
Laura looked at the ruined biplane. “How could they possibly come up with an idea like that?”
“Right,” Sam said, staring at a crumpled wing.
