CREEPERS

by Bryan Dunn

  Lining the front of Nguyen’s Place, gassed up and ready to go, were Sam’s deuce and a half, Tommy’s Jeep, a 4x4 pickup, and Karl’s tow truck.

  Inside the diner, the group was preparing to leave, packing clothes, rolling up bedding, and having a last bite of breakfast.

  “I hate the thought of just up and leaving. Turning tail. Running,” Karl said to the group gathered around the counter. “The garage. This town. It’s all I’ve got.”

  “Hey, maybe we should just wait. With the power down, there’s sure to be help on the way. Why not wait and let them come to us?” Tommy asked, giving the others a hopeful look.

  “Even if help is on the way,” Karl replied, looking at Tommy, “how the hell are they going to get past that thing?”

  “In two hours there won’t be a town,” Laura said, echoing what everyone was thinking.

  “I hate the thought of leaving, too,” Sam said. “Coming here, to Furnace Valley, to my family’s place… it was my escape hatch.”

  Tommy and Karl looked at Sam and nodded. Both of them felt the same way.

  “But we have no choice,” Sam continued. “We’ve got to put distance between us and that thing out there. What Laura and I saw last night…”

  “Okay! Let’s go now!” Curley blurted, cutting Sam off. “What are we waiting for?”

  “Our best hope is to make a run down the valley,” said Sam. “See if we can find that old catwalk that leads up and out the back way.”

  “We should’ve done that yesterday,” Tommy said, pacing anxiously behind the bar. “Run down the valley.”

  Karl looked at Sam, nodded. “All right. Then it’s across The Devil’s Anvil, and God help us, up that catwalk and out the backdoor.”

  The counter fell silent. Laura reached over, grabbed Sam’s arm, and in a low voice asked, “What’s The Devil’s Anvil?”

  “It’s a hundred square miles of sand and salt that sits between us and that Jeep trail that leads over the mountain.”

  “Oh,” she frowned. “Sorry I asked.”

  “Something’s weird,” Kristin announced, stepping in from the porch. “The sky. Check it out.”

  Sam and Laura jumped up and went out the door, the others following. All eyes turned toward the ominous-looking clouds that had formed in the sky. They were purple and round and piled one on top of the other like scales on a fish—gravid-looking orbs ready to burst at any moment.

  There was a loud crackling sound as static electricity shot through town. Everyone ducked as the hair on their arms stood straight up. A second after that, their upturned faces were illuminated by blinding white bolts arcing between the eerie-looking purple clouds.

  There was another flash as a jagged lightning bolt struck the water tower, ran down one of the legs, and grounded out on the desert floor—but not before splaying the wooden staves and rupturing the tank.

  A girl’s voice filled the air, shrill and haunting…

  All turned to see Maya standing on the edge of the porch, head thrown back, chanting as she addressed the sky.

  “Air I am, fire I am, water, Earth and Spirit I am… Air I am, fire I am, water, Earth and Spirit I am…” Her voice rose as she stepped off the porch and wandered into the street.

  “Air I am, fire I am, water…”

  “Maya!” Kristin yelled, horrified by the sight of her possessed-looking friend.

  Carla swept out and put her arm around Maya, comforting her as she led her back onto the porch.

  “Hush now. Hush now, honey.”

  Just as Carla got Maya inside, there was a loud thunderclap—and a moment after that, a powerful wind swept down the valley.

  “Feel that?” Karl said, raising his hand.

  They all faced Furnace Mountain as the wind swept over them—hot and humid—like a tropical squall or the inside of a greenhouse.

  “Look,” said Sam, pointing. “It’s coming.”

  All eyes followed his hand to the low hills on the outskirts of town. They seemed to be moving, rising and falling like they’d been wrapped by Christo with some diaphanous material as an art installation.

  But it wasn’t a Christo installation. And it wasn’t billowing material. It was creepers moving down the valley, zeroing in on the town.

  “My God, look…” said Laura, pointing to their escape route at the far end of town and out to the desert beyond.

  They all whipped around and followed her arm to a thin green line that had snaked along the mountain ridge and was now running down across the valley.

  “Jesus… it’s making an end run,” Karl said, staring out at the ribbon of creepers flowing off the mountain like hot wax. “It’s trying to cut us off. It’s trying to trap us.”

  Chapter 68

  Inside Nguyen’s the mood was black as Sam, Laura, Karl, Tommy, Carla, and Curley gathered around the bar, their haunted-looking faces filled with defeat.

  Karl pulled a revolver out of his coat, hefted it, then placed the .38 on the counter in front of him. “I’ll tell you what—if it comes down to it, if comes to me and one of those things out there—I’m not going to let it do me like it did Rufus.”

  “Put that thing away, Karl,” Carla said. “We’re not finished yet.”

  “I’m just saying…” said Karl, grabbing the revolver and slipping it back into his coat.

  Tommy stepped into a storeroom behind the bar, then emerged with two gallons of Weed-B-Gone and plunked them down on the bar.

  “We’ve still got these…”

  “What the hell good is two gallons of weed killer against that monster outside?” Karl said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

  “Wait! Wait a minute,” said Sam, rising to his feet. “That’s it!”

  “What, Sam?” Laura asked. “What’s it?”

  “The biplane. We’ve got to go back to the plane.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Karl. “I thought it was smashed to pieces.”

  “It is. It’s completely destroyed. Except the belly tank. It survived. There’s over three hundred gallons of Round-up sitting out there, ready to be picked up.”

  “Great, Sam. Good thinking,” said Laura. “But there’s just one little problem—the rest of the plane isn’t attached to it.”

  “We don’t need the plane.”

  Sam marched out of the grill and into a room behind the counter. A moment later, he wheeled out Nguyen’s power washer, knocking into a candy rack as he pushed it ahead of him.

  “How will that help?” Tommy asked, staring at the power washer.

  “Think of it as a Super Soaker on steroids,” said Sam, grinning at the group. “We mount this baby in the back of a pickup truck, fill it with Round-up, and blast our way through that son of bitch that’s blocking our escape route.”

  Silence filled the room as everyone considered what Sam had just said. Then Karl banged his fist on the countertop. “Damn if that might not just work. Be like one of them water cannons they use to break up riots.”

  “Ah, excuse me…” Laura said, with a dubious expression. “How do we get the Round-up? It’s back with the plane, and the plane is surrounded by creepers, and—”

  “Good question.” Sam cut her off as all heads swiveled in his direction. He grabbed one of the gallons of weed killer and held it up. “We use this. We put it in a Super Soaker, and maybe we can find something else… I don’t know, maybe a—”

  “How about this?” Tommy stepped up to the bar holding a backpack sprayer. It had a plastic reservoir on top and a pump handle fixed to the side.

  “Perfect, Tommy,” said Sam. “That will work great.”

  Laura raised a hand to get their attention, then said, “Okay, so you actually make it back to the plane without getting killed—how do you get the Round-up back here?”

  Sam stared at her and compressed his lips. He had to think about that one.

  “I know,” said Karl. “We use a drum pump. We could siphon the poison into 55 gallon drums. I’ve got everything w
e need at the garage. We could put three or four barrels in the back of the tow truck.”

  “Yeah,” said Curley. “Just like we do with the diesel.”

  “Sam, it’s too dangerous,” Laura said, looking him right in the face. “The road back to the plane is probably completely blocked by now.”

  “Look, you said it yourself,” Sam said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “That thing is going for the aqueduct. From what I can tell by how it’s moving—how it’s running along the top of the mountains—I think you’re right. I think it’s putting all its efforts into moving down the valley.”

  “Sam, it’s just a theory.”

  “I know… but we don’t have a choice. We can’t stay here. And we can’t outrun that thing.” Sam turned and looked at the others. “We’ve got to fight it.”

  Chapter 69

  An hour later, under a darkening sky, Sam, Laura, and Curley rumbled down the road in the tow truck towards Furnace Mountain and the crash site.

  Sam was driving, Laura was next to him, and Curley was riding shotgun with the charred-looking Super Soaker filled with Weed-B-Gone resting on his lap. The damaged trigger had been replaced with a piece of aluminum that Karl had glued in place.

  A drum pump and three barrels had been loaded in the back of the wrecker and lashed down with heavy nylon straps. Next to one of the drums was a box containing jars filled with gasoline, ready to be turned into Molotov cocktails at a moment’s notice.

  “There, that’s it,” said Sam as he downshifted, slowed the wrecker, and turned off the main road onto an overgrown Jeep trail.

  A second later, Laura bounced up, hitting her head on the cab liner as the truck lurched into a pothole, then leveled again.

  “Sam!” Laura said, gripping the top of her head.

  “Sorry…” he said, just as they banged into another hole, sending Laura shooting up again.

  “SAM!”

  “Hey, it’s not me,” he said, glancing at her. “The road is completely overgrown.”

  “What road?” she said.

  “Exactly,” said Sam.

  “How far is it, Sam?” Curley asked, a nervous warble in his voice. “How far to the plane?”

  “Not far. Less than a mile.”

  “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe there aren’t any creepers,” Laura said. “They should be all over the place.”

  “Yeah… weird,” agreed Sam. “Maybe it’s like you said, maybe they’re putting all their effort into running for the aqueduct.”

  “I know where they are,” said Curley, in a solemn voice. He raised a hand, then pointed out his window.

  Sam and Laura leaned forward and turned to where Curley was pointing. A thousand feet above them, just below the ridge, was a quarter-mile-wide river of creepers heading east down the valley towards the aqueduct.

  “Holy shit!” said Sam. Then he pressed down on the accelerator and sent them seesawing forward through the scrub.

  * * *

  Sparks spouted from the bed of a Ford 4x4 pickup at Eller’s Garage as Karl arc welded the last of three metal plates into place. Tommy’s power washer had been secured in the center of the truck, and the washer’s wand had been mounted on a swivel, making it look like a .50 caliber machine gun in an up-armored Humvee.

  Karl flipped up his helmet, checked the weld, and proclaimed, “Hell, this thing’s ready for a tour in Afghanistan.”

  Tommy hopped up into the truck next to Karl, grabbed the power washer’s wand, and swung it back and forth like a machine gunner mowing down an invisible enemy.

  “Yeah… this is great, Karl. This’ll knock the hell out of them!”

  * * *

  Sam, Laura, and Curley stood next to the tow truck that was parked on a rise above the smashed biplane. Or what you could see of it…

  The plane was covered with swarming creepers. Their thorn-encrusted stalks wove a deadly wreath that circled the wreckage.

  Behind the plane, creepers had fanned out and split into two groups. Half streamed up the mountain and joined the river of creepers flowing along the ridge. The other half continued on its path towards town.

  “Look at that,” Curley said, pointing to the right of the crash site. They all watched as a writhing creeper snagged the biplane’s rudder and dragged it up the face of the mountain.

  Laura turned back to the biplane and studied the matrix of creeper stalks shrouding the crash site. “Sam, supposing we can actually clear a path to the plane and get to the Round-up… how are we going to get the drums back to the tow truck?”

  “We’re not.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got a plan,” Sam said, flashing a confident grin.

  “Where have I heard that before?” Laura asked in a dubious voice.

  * * *

  Karl yanked on the power washer’s pull cord, and the engine hummed to life. “Okay, Tommy, give her a try.”

  Tommy gripped the handle of the wand, pulled the trigger, and a wide fan of spray shot from the tip.

  Karl raised a hand and made a cutting motion across his throat. “Kill it, Tommy.”

  Tommy released the trigger, stopping the spray. Karl moved to the end of the wand, removed the tip, replaced it, then stepped back around Tommy and said, “Okay, try that one.”

  Tommy raised the wand, pulled the trigger, and a thick stream of water shot out three hundred feet and began to drench one of the rusted-out hulks at the side of the garage.

  “Yeah!” Tommy yelled, as he worked the wand back and forth.

  Karl watched the stream of water, then thought to himself, That should do it. That should kick the hell out of it.

  Chapter 70

  Fifteen minutes later, Sam had moved the tow truck down to the crash site and backed it up to the edge of the arroyo. Below the truck, less than thirty yards away, a mass of creepers boiled across busted wings, torn bits of fuselage, and broken engine parts.

  Sam and Laura stood next to the truck, Sam holding the Super Soaker and Laura wearing the backpack sprayer, both of them looking like Ghostbusters about to do battle with some hideous apparition.

  Curley was positioned at the rear of the truck, waiting to play out the winch cable on Sam’s signal.

  “Ready?” Sam said, glancing at Laura and Curley.

  Curley indicated he was ready with a nod. Laura adjusted her rubber gloves, then gave Sam a thumbs up.

  “Okay, one more time,” Sam said, then went over the plan. “Laura and I will clear the crash site and locate the belly tank. When it’s safe—Curley, you haul ass with the winch cable and cargo net. We’ll keep the creepers back while you hook up the belly tank, then everybody back to the tow truck, and we’ll haul the tank up to the truck with the winch.” After a moment, Sam said, “Any questions?”

  “What about the Molotov cocktails?” Curley asked.

  “When the belly tank is safely out of the arroyo, we’ll pitch them into the wash and put a wall of flames between us and the creepers.”

  Sam turned to Laura. “I’ll go first, you stay on my right flank. When I give the word, we’ll hit them with everything we’ve got.”

  Laura gripped the backpack’s pump handle, then nodded okay.

  Moving as stealthily as possible, they picked their way down the embankment and dropped into the arroyo. Then, very slowly, they inched toward the deadly creeper arms.

  They made it five, then ten, then twenty feet, when—

  A whipping sound filled their ears, and out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw a creeper stalk shoot up and sweep directly towards them.

  He pivoted, raised the Super Soaker—and as the creeper descended—blasted it with a stream of poison. At the same time, he and Laura lunged to the right.

  By the time the creeper thudded to the ground, it had already started to wither and die, the tip turning an ashen color.

  Just as they caught their breath, another creeper shot towards them…

  Laura yelled, “Sam!” Then both of them blasted it
at the same time, causing it to drop to the ground, shrivel, and curl into a ball.

  “Now!” Sam shouted. He waved an arm through the air and both of them charged forward, yelling at the top of their lungs and blasting the creeper, coating the

  writhing stalks with a thick sheen of weed killer.

  As the Weed-B-Gone took effect, creeper stalks withered and atrophied, exposing the biplane, bit by bit. Thirty minutes later, an ashen halo of crumpled and shriveled creeper stalks surrounded the crash site.

  After creating a protective wall of flames with their Molotov cocktails, the crew retrieved the plane’s belly tank and winched it out of the arroyo. Sam and Curley siphoned poison from the tank into the 55 gallon drums, while Laura stood guard at the edge of the arroyo, watching the creepers.

  She noted that the poison had only affected the outer edges of the vine. The stalks had withered back thirty feet, but the rest of the organism seemed healthy and completely unaffected—not what you would expect after applying a systemic poison.

  How could that be? And then she saw it. Clever plant.

  She turned and waved. “Sam, you’ve got to see this.”

  Sam motioned for Curley to take the drum pump, then joined Laura at the edge of the arroyo.

  She pointed. “Look, only the outer part of the creeper is affected by the poison.”

  “How is that possible? The stuff should go right through them.”

  “Their aerial root network allows them to defeat the systemic poison. It’s an incredibly clever mechanism. What it does is, it breaks away from the closest secondary root and then reforms.”

  “Jesus,” said Sam.

  Both of them watched as the creepers did exactly what Laura had just described—parted from their withered ends, re-rooted, and started to grow again.