CREEPERS (16 page)

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 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.”