CREEPERS

by Bryan Dunn

  Chapter 63

  Sam and Laura picked their way through the night, trying not to end up like cactus kabobs—or worse, creeper kabobs.

  So far, so good. Their luck seemed to be holding. They had maneuvered around six creeper stalks, and none of them seemed to be moving. Or hunting.

  Sam scrambled up an embankment, crouched, scanned the area.

  “See anything?” Laura asked, moving up behind him.

  “No. All clear.” He straightened. Then, without an ounce of conviction in his voice, he proclaimed, “We own the night.”

  “We own the night?” Laura said, joining Sam at the top of the rise. “Where have I heard that before?”

  “I think it came from Vietnam—referring to the superior ability of our soldiers to conduct night missions.”

  “Oh yeah, Vietnam.” She gave him a look. “Gee, that fills me with confidence.”

  “Right…” Sam said, catching her drift. “Just a saying. But our guys did own the night.”

  “Okay… if you say so.” She stared out into the dark and added, “Tell you what—I’d settle for just owning tonight.”

  “Me too,” he agreed, moving to the edge of the rise. “Come on.”

  The two of them descended the embankment, each footstep causing mini sand avalanches. Halfway to the bottom, Laura lost her balance, pitched forward, and tumbled down the slope—spilling over a creosote bush and ending up face-to-face with the business end of a thirsty creeper stalk!

  When she realized what she was looking at, her eyes went wide with shock. She opened her mouth to scream and then immediately choked it back. Behind her, Sam bounded down the slope and pulled her up—both of them crabbing back, putting a safe distance between themselves and the creeper.

  “God… I thought I was dead,” Laura gasped, finally able to breath again.

  Sam brushed sand off her cheek and pulled a twig of creosote out of her hair. “Couple of scratches, but otherwise you’re fine.”

  “It didn’t move. It didn’t seem to know I was there.”

  “No… you were right. The thing seems to be dormant after dark.”

  Sam pulled the knife off his belt and cautiously approached the creeper.

  “What are you doing?”

  He stood directly in front of the creeper. “I want to make sure this thing is tucked in for the night.”

  He reached down with the blade and touched the top of the creeper, giving it a tentative poke. Nothing, the stalk lay as still as a section of garden hose.

  “Seems okay,” Sam said, turning to Laura.

  He inched closer, raised the knife, then brought it down, stabbing deep into the creeper’s fleshy epidermis.

  The reaction was immediate. Violent. With the knife still sticking out of its tip, the creeper whipped around and knocked Sam off his feet. But instead of attacking further, it retracted, coiling into a tight ball.

  Sam scrambled back and fell to the sand before allowing himself to yell out in shock. “Shit!” Then he yelled again, anger and relief flooding his voice. “Shit!”

  “Sam!” Laura rushed up and knelt next to him.

  “Jesus. Did you see that? What the hell was that?”

  “I’m not sure,” Laura said, helping him sit up. “Probably stored energy. Some residual nastic motion.”

  “Nastic motion?” Sam said, giving her a look. “Nasty motion is more like it. Next time, I’ll just take your word for it.”

  Chapter 64

  Carla stood at the entrance to the kitchen, dialed the phone, and held it up to her ear. It was completely dead—no buzz or hum—just silence.

  She shook her head at Tommy, who was watching from the counter.

  “Dead. The line’s still down.”

  Tommy nodded and frowned. Then he noticed Karl hadn’t touched his meatloaf. He loved Carla’s meatloaf.

  “What’s the matter, Karl, something wrong with the meatloaf?”

  “No,” Karl said, obviously up in his head and only half paying attention. “The food is fine. It’s me.”

  The Grogans were huddled in a booth. Mrs. Grogan paged through a gossip magazine while the twins mowed down their second bowl of ice cream.

  Kristin walked past Donnie, who was curled on the floor sleeping, and went up to Maya, who was sitting in the lotus position, hands in her lap, chanting in a monotone voice. Kristin looked down, rolled her eyes, and said, “Really?” then proceeded over to Tommy at the counter.

  “Do you think Sam and Laura are okay?” Kristin asked, crossing her arms, tucking them tight across her chest.

  “I don’t know, honey,” Tommy said, a kind expression on his face, trying not to upset her any further.

  Carla came over, put an arm around Kristin.

  “Sam knows the valley. I bet that old plane just broke down and they’re on their way back here now.”

  “I can’t take this.” Karl stood. “This waiting around is making my neck itch.” He moved to the door. “I’m gonna get that big-ass truck of Sam’s and take a run up the valley. See what I can see.”

  “Are you crazy?” Tommy said, coming around the counter.

  “Probably,” Karl said, opening the door. “But it beats sitting around here not knowing and watching the goddamn clock.”

  “I’m going, too,” Kristin said, jumping forward to join him.

  “No.” Karl held up a hand, his voice firm. “It’s too dangerous. I’m a damn fool for even trying it.”

  “Aw, hell,” Curley said, clumping over to Karl. “I’m coming, too. And don’t tell me no. Sam’s my friend.”

  Chapter 65

  Low in the valley a hissing sound echoed through the night. Something was different now. Fog—no, steam—filled the air. It rose off the ground in ghostly white columns, the moisture condensing in the cool night air.

  But it wasn’t coming from the ground… it was coming from the creeper stalks themselves. Thousands of them!

  Glistening. Swollen. Bloated. Bursting with mineral-rich water, they crisscrossed the sand in a deadly thatch work.

  * * *

  Sam and Laura picked their way directly through the carpet of creepers, marveling at the sudden change in atmosphere. Dark stains had formed on the front of Sam’s shirt, and both of them were drenched in sweat.

  “This is totally bizarre,” Sam said, pumping his shirt, trying to cool himself. “It’s like a giant hothouse out here.”

  “Amazing,” Laura said, mopping sweat from her forehead. “Must be close to a hundred percent humidity.”

  “Maybe these greedy suckers finally got their fill.”

  “God…” she said, looking around. “What was my father thinking?”

  Sam placed his foot between two creeper stalks before replying, “It was something about wastelands being made fertile. Watershed. Holding back marching dunes. Fooling Mother Nature herself.”

  Laura followed Sam, placing a foot where he had just stepped. “He actually said that?”

  Sam nodded. “Those very words.”

  Directly ahead, they were forced to skirt around a thick patch of Mojave yucca, leaving them no option but to claw up a rocky escarpment.

  Laura pushed ahead and was first to the top, going up the rock face like Spider-Man.

  “Look!” She stared out at the horizon. Sam boosted himself up and over a rock, and as he stepped up next to her, she said, “The moon.”

  They stood there and watched as the moon cleared Furnace Mountain and rose in the night sky—round and full and perfect as a bullet hole.

  “I totally forgot. Tonight’s the full moon,” she said.

  “Great,” Sam said. “Now we’ll be able to see what we’re tripping over.”

  They made their way down the rise, this time assisted by the soft glow of the moon, and continued on to the main road.

  * * *

  Off in the distance, a low rasping issued up from beneath one of the pockets of steam.

  Under the silver haze, a creeper stalk contracted and th
en writhed to life, warping forward through the sand. The creeper had changed. It looked different. It had shed most of its leaves—and in their place, plum-colored pods had formed.

  There was an audible pop as one of the pods burst open, revealing a milky white flower. Another pop, and another pod exploded into a flower.

  Then, across the entire valley, distinctive pop, pop, pop sounds could be heard as the pods matured and blossomed.

  * * *

  “Did you hear that?” Laura asked, freezing in her tracks.

  “Come on,” Sam said, trying to get her moving again. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “No. Listen,” Laura insisted. “That popping sound.”

  Sam stopped, raised his head. Then he heard it too—the pop-pop-popof opening pods.

  “Yeah, I hear it.”

  Then they watched as the fog that hung across the valley began to lift. A moment after that, they saw what it was…

  The entire valley had bloomed! Lily-white flowers covered the desert floor.

  “My God,” said Laura. “It—

  “Bloomed,” Sam said, finishing her sentence.

  Sam made a slow 360. The flowers were everywhere, as far as he could see. And the popping was getting louder—and closer.

  “Great. Just great. What next?”

  Both of them spun around as a rattling filled their ears. And then they saw a creeper stalk—rising and falling—heading directly towards them!

  Sam grabbed Laura’s arm. “Run!”

  * * *

  The deuce and a half rumbled through the valley, Karl putting the powerful 6x6 through its moves.

  “I don’t like this,” Curley said, giving Karl an anxious look. “I ain’t never seen fog this time of year.”

  “Yeah,” Karl agreed, shaking his head. “But you gotta admit—it fits right in with giant man-eating vines.”

  “Jeez… I wish you hadn’t said that.” Curley tightened his grip on the handle of a machete that rested next to his leg. “You think Ms. Beecham was right about them things not moving at night?”

  “Hell, Curley, you were there. You saw it with your own eyes.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Curley said, an uncertain look on his face. “I guess…”

  The cab fell silent. Then a whistling sound filled their ears…

  Through the windshield they watched as a giant creeper arm waggled up and dropped across the road, fifteen yards in front of the truck.

  Karl hit the brakes. Curley slammed forward against the dash. The wheels locked, sending the truck skidding right towards the creeper.

  Curley rocked back in his seat, raised the machete, and cracked his door—tempted to bail out, make a run for it.

  Karl’s arm flashed up, his hand clamping tight around Curley’s arm.

  “Curley, no! Stay with the truck. It’s our best chance.”

  * * *

  Racing through the desert, lungs on fire, running flat-out for their lives, Sam and Laura vaulted over a patch of yucca and angled toward a ravine.

  Thirty yards behind them, and gaining with every footstep, two large creepers swam through the scrub, dust trails rising above their swirling serpent bodies.

  “There! Over there!” Sam yelled, pointing to a large cement pipe that loomed out of a gravel wash.

  Arms pumping, they shot toward the pipe, ready to jump inside—and pulled up short when they saw a grid of steel bars and wire mesh blocking the entrance.

  Shit.

  Sam threw himself at the metal grate, grabbed the bars, braced his foot—then, thrusting back with all his might, tried to pry them open.

  Laura fell in beside him, latched onto the bars, and together they yanked and pulled, trying to break them free. Behind them, one of the creepers closed the gap and moved within striking distance.

  At the bottom of the grate, Sam noticed the cement had begun to crack and crumble. He lowered his grip, pulled, and saw an anchor bolt loosen.

  “Down here.” Sam dropped in front of the loose bolt. “Help me pull on this side.”

  Laura placed her hands above Sam’s. They tightened their grip, pulled—and, just as the corner of the grate bent up enough to let them slip inside —

  The creeper smashed into the mesh, fractured its bony tip, and split in two, spraying geysers of sticky white sap across the pipe’s entrance and littering the floor with white flowers.

  Defeated by the grate, the creeper writhed and twisted, fell back, and disappeared into the night.

  Inside the cement conduit, Sam and Laura fell against the sides, gasping, exhausted, covered with creeper sap. After a few minutes, Sam recovered enough to rock onto his knees. He went to the grate and stared into the night.

  “It seems to have retreated. Looks clear—at least for now.”

  He slid back from the grate, dropped against the side of the pipe. “So much for those things not moving at night… What the hell?”

  “It’s the moon. Has to be. I’ve never seen such sensitivity to light.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Laura reached down, lifting one of the silky white flowers that covered the bottom of the pipe. She raised it to her eyes, trying to see inside. Then, using her fingers, she spread the petals, revealing a perfect set of reproductive organs.

  “Stamen. Anthers. Pistil,” she said, separating each of the parts as she cataloged them.

  “What?” Sam asked, staring at the flower in her hand.

  “Look,” she held it up. “A complete set of reproductive organs.”

  Sam studied it, then said, “As in—”

  “Baby creepers.”

  “Wonderful,” Sam said, picking up a flower from the bottom of the pipe. “More great news about Doc’s little experiment.”

  Laura frowned, nodding in agreement. Then she turned and looked down the black maw of the pipe.

  “Any idea where this leads?”

  “It’s part of the old aqueduct. It runs about a quarter mile. It should lead us right to the main road.”

  Laura gasped, then stared at Sam—a thunderstruck look on her face.

  “What?” he said, looking at her.

  “Sam… That’s it! That’s where this thing’s going!”

  “Slow down.” he raised his hands. “What are you talking about?”

  “The creeper. It’s moving down the valley straight to the aqueduct.”

  “And the world’s biggest happy hour,” Sam said, suddenly understanding.

  Chapter 66

  Working the gas and clutch, Karl tried to rock the deuce and half free as the rear end hopped back and forth.

  “Christ! We’re hung up good,” Karl yelled, letting off on the gas.

  Outside, creeper stalk after creeper stalk attached themselves to the truck, coiling around bumpers and axels, snaking up and over the radiator grill.

  “Hang on!” Curley yelled, clutching the machete.

  “Curley… No! Stay in the truck!”

  But it was too late. He was already out the door, standing on the running board, preparing to climb on the hood to get at the creepers. Just as he put his foot on the fender—a creeper swung up and locked onto his leg.

  “Shit!” Curley yelled, then brought the machete down, slicing the creeper in two and freeing himself.

  Wasting no time, he scrambled forward onto the hood. Wielding the machete like a whirring blade, he sliced-and-diced creeper stalks until the grill and bumper had been cleared. “That’s for Blossom!”

  Curley rolled off the hood, slid down the fender, danced along the running board—and as he swung into the cab, yelled, “Hit it!”

  Karl dropped it into gear and mashed down on the accelerator. The engine screamed as the big 6x6 rose up, shredding creeper stalks as it bulldozed free and shot back onto the road.

  “Son of a bitch!” Karl cursed. “Goddamn son of a bitch.” He brought the tanker around—made a U-turn—and sent the truck roaring back to town.

  Just as Karl hit third gear, another creeper
whistled through the night, arced over and gunned for the truck. But he saw it coming this time. Instead of trying to avoid it, he cranked the wheel and aimed the truck directly for it.

  Seconds later, two and a half tons of steel slammed into the creeper with a thud. The stalk was instantly destroyed, the front of it vaporized by the bumper guard, coating the windshield with milky white sap.

  “Jesus H,” Karl shouted, backing off on the gas and hitting the wipers.

  “We knocked the snot out of that one!” Curley cheered, shaking a fist in the air.

  * * *

  After a quarter mile crouch, Sam and Laura emerged from the abandoned section of aqueduct, stood, stretched, and scanned the area.

  “You see anything?” Sam asked, searching the surrounding desert.

  “Yes.” Laura pointed to Sam’s left. “The road!”

  A moment after that, they saw headlights—the twin yellow beams diffused in the thick atmosphere.

  Then they heard the rumble of the diesel engine.

  “I know that sound,” Sam said, straining in the direction of the lights. “That’s my truck!”

  “Let’s go!” Laura yelled, and they took off running.

  * * *

  The headlights bounced up and down and swept around a curve as the truck settled onto a straight section of road. Karl was about to add power when Curley yelled—

  “Karl! Watch out!”

  There—standing in the road—were Sam and Laura, both of them waving like mad.

  “Walkin’ talkin’ Jesus!” Karl said, taking his foot off the gas, letting the truck slow and coast right up to where they were standing.

  Curley leapt out of the cab with the truck still rolling and ran up to Sam and Laura, hugging them both, grateful that they were alive.

  Chapter 67

  The sun should’ve been rising in the sky as morning broke over the town of Furnace Valley, but a high layer of eerie-looking clouds obscured it. The air was moist and tropical, like hurricane weather. Only there weren’t any storms brewing off Mexico’s Baja Peninsula, ready to roll into California’s low deserts.