Horror Sci-Fi Box Set: Three Novels

by Bryan Dunn

  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 dusted 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.

  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 then 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, Cu
rley, 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.