CREEPERS (10 page)

Chapter 38

“Come on, baby,” Amber said, pulling on Vinny’s arm, trying to get him to join her in the bedroom. “Let’s get busy. I have to be back at the casino in less than an hour.”

“Am I gonna see you later?”

“You know I can’t.”

Vinny looked at her for a moment, then jerked his arm free and went to the kitchen.

Amber threw her hands up and said, “Your loss.” Then she disappeared into the bedroom.

Vinny stood at the kitchen sink, poured himself a shot of Jack Daniels, gulped it, and was about to have another when he noticed the little pot containing the clipping he’d taken from Fletcher’s place.

He reached out, turned on the water so there was a steady drip coming out of the faucet, lifted the clipping, and placed it in the sink. Then he stripped off his T-shirt, grabbed the bottle of JD, and went to the bedroom.

* * *

Rufus Smoot stepped out of the ancient-looking outhouse located behind Eller’s Garage, let the door slam shut, then stared at the old structure with a look of pure satisfaction.

As he went to hitch up his pants, something fell out of his pocket and dropped to the ground. Rufus bent and picked it up. It was the clipping that Doc had given him earlier in the week. He’d forgotten all about it. Rufus was about to slip it back in his pocket, then changed his mind. He turned, opened the outhouse door—and, grinning ear-to-ear, leaned inside and pitched it down the hole.

“If you can make it down there, you can make it anywhere.”

* * *

At the front of the garage, Karl was leaning over the fender of Rufus’s old Dodge, fixing something in the engine compartment.

“Nice crapper, Karl,” Rufus said, rounding the building and joining Karl beside his car.

“I didn’t know you were a connoisseur, Rufus,” said Karl, backing out from beneath the hood with a laugh.

“A nice crapper is a nice crapper.”

“Okay… if you say so,” he said, wiping his hands on an oil-stained shop rag.

Rufus put a hand on the fender, leaned into the engine compartment. “What about my radiator?”

“Needs a new hose.”

“I know it needs a new hose, Karl.
That’s why I’m here
.”

“Yeah, well… I don’t exactly have the right one.”

Rufus straightened, gave Karl a direct look. “Well, shit… fake it, Karl.”

“That’s what I’m doing now.” Karl leaned back under the hood and tightened a hose clamp. “This is off an old Impala. Can’t guarantee it, though.”

“Karl, look at this car. The thing’s got more spare parts than Frankenstein’s monster. A used Chevy hose is
perfect
.”

Chapter 39

Lester Moon’s goat farm was completely quiet except for the sound of buzzing flies.
Thousands of them
. They crisscrossed back and forth through the hot desert air—all of them headed for the same place—the feed trough.

The pens were empty. There was no sign of Lester—or any goats, for that matter.

But they were there, just the same…

You just couldn’t see them. Because all six goats had been transformed into creeper pincushions. Their backs were exploded open, and hide and hair had been replaced by writhing creeper stalks—some of them waving goat entrails through the air like flags.

The loud buzzing was momentarily drowned out by the sound of the tanker truck as it rumbled into Moon’s farm and pulled up next to the house.

Sam killed the engine and everyone climbed out, with the exception of Kristin and Darwin—both of them happy to wait with the truck.

“Lester!” Sam yelled. Then he turned to the house and yelled again. “Hey, Lester!”

“Maybe we should look for a cave filled with gold,” said Laura looking around.

Sam gave her a funny look. “
What?
” Then he reached in the truck and grabbed the machete.

“Nothing,” she laughed. “It has something to do with cheese. Lester loves cheese.”

“I like cheese,” Curley said, then looked at Laura as if she might suddenly produce a block out her back pocket.

“
Jesus
.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Curley, go check the barn.”

“
By myself?
” Curley asked, a genuine look of concern on his face.

“Yes. Think you can handle it? We’ll go check the main house.”

Curley took a step in the direction of the barn, stopped, then wheeled around. “Hey, maybe she’d like to go check the barn with me?”

“
She’s going with me
,” Sam fired back, his voice louder than he had intended. Laura looked at Sam, a curious smile forming on her face.

“Curley. Please. Go check the barn, see if Lester’s there.”

Defeated, Curley started for the barn, then said, “It’s just not fair. You’ve got the machete
and
the girl.”

Sam looked over and saw Laura staring at him, her eyes boring right in. He suddenly felt embarrassed.

“I had no idea I was so popular.”

“I just figured you’d rather see the house,” said Sam, sounding more and more flustered. “That’s all I meant.”

“Yes, well, I’m flattered,” said Laura, letting him twist in the wind.

“It’s no big deal. What’s the big deal?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “What’s the big deal?”

“Right,” he said, as they started towards the house…

“Oh, Jesus! Oh, lord…” Curley stood at the edge of the goat pen, staring in at the six eviscerated goats. “Oh, Christ.” Then he slumped against the fence.

Sam and Laura raced over, joining Curley at the pen.

“My God,” said Sam, looking at the goats.

“Lester must’ve had a clipping,” added Laura.

They all jumped as the air exploded with a loud metallic
bang-bang-bang
…

All eyes cut to the feed hopper’s metal lid. It was bouncing up and down.

Bang-bang-bang
….

Sam tightened his grip on the machete, slipped between two fence rails, entered the pen, and cautiously approached the feed bin.

Bang-bang-bang
…

He edged closer until he was standing directly in front of the hopper.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Sam,” Laura called out, her voice on edge. “Be careful.”

Sam raised the machete, slipped the tip of the blade under the hopper lid—and, just as he was about to flip it open—

Lester Moon’s head shot out and sprang directly towards him, looking like some hideous grinning jack-in-the-box skewered on the end of a bobbing creeper stalk.

“Jesus Christ!” Sam yelled, pitching back to avoid the springing head. Then, running on pure adrenaline, he regained his footing, raised the machete, lunged forward—and, like an executioner, sliced down and severed the creeper stalk, sending Lester’s head tumbling into the pen.

“Shit!” Sam yelled, backing away. “This is crazy. This is fucking crazy.”

Curley inched toward the truck. “I’m scared.”

They were all scared
.

Sam crossed the pen, slipped through the fence, and was met by Laura. She placed a hand on his arm. Then in a soft voice, she said, “Let’s get out of here, Sam. There’s nothing we can do.”

He looked at her and nodded, his lips becoming a thin line. He placed an arm over her shoulders, and as they followed Curley to the truck, he said, “We’ve got to get to town. We’ve got to warn the others.”

* * *

Frankie Desouza’s Escalade was parked outside a crummy-looking apartment complex in a rundown section of Las Vegas. He had driven himself there.

Times were tough.

He punched a number into his cell phone—waited—then left a message.

“Vinny. Vinny, pick up…” Frankie glanced out the window. “I’m outside your place. Get your ass out here. We got some new business. Oh, and don’t worry—I’ve decided to leave the sheriff out of that other thing—at least for now.”

Frankie slapped the phone shut, expecting to see Vinny any second. He waited. He checked Vinny’s apartment again. He tapped on the steering wheel. He turned the radio on and off. He was starting to get pissed. Here
he
was, waiting on Vinny-dipshit-Carpito.

Dumb fucking wop.

Frankie pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights, monkey-fucked up a cigarette, plucked the smoke out with his lips, then tried to light it with a gas lighter.

Flick, flick, flick
…

“Cheap piece of shit.” Frankie said. He tried again, then threw it onto the dash. He reached down to the console, grabbed a book of matches, started to open it, then stopped and cupped them in his hand.

He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, looked at it—then tossed it out the window thinking,
fucking coffin nail
.

At the same time, across the street, the inside of Vinny’s apartment was being
redecorated
. Couches, tables, chairs, lamps—everything—had been smashed against the walls. And in their place—a writhing, pulsing, throbbing creeper.

The apartment smelled like rotten eggs, and there was a
hissing
sound coming from the kitchen. Behind the stove, a creeper stalk had wrapped itself around the gas line, pulled it out of the wall, and ruptured it.

In the bedroom, Vinny and Amber hadn’t been the only thing that was
busy
. Their naked bodies lay pinned to the bed like lifeless kewpie dolls as dozens of creeper stalks sucked them dry.

Frankie stood in front of Vinny’s apartment door. He knocked. Waited. Then knocked again. Frustrated, he yelled, “Vinny! Vinny, wake-the-fuck-up!”

Nothing, no signs of life.

Frankie shook his head, pulled out a cigarette, stuck it in his mouth, and was about to light it—when he remembered something.

He bent, lifted the welcome mat, and saw the key. And as he grabbed it thought,
Dumb shit, hiding his key under the front mat
.

Frankie slipped the key in the lock, cracked the door, and struck a match to light his cigarette as he stepped inside.

The explosion bounced chips on a poker table two blocks away.

Nothing was left of the apartment.

Or of Frankie “Nickels” Desouza, for that matter.

Chapter 40

Through an open window, the Grogan twins watched as Tommy hummed along with an old Eagles tune while polishing the front of his prized possession—an antique Wurlitzer jukebox.

As Tommy bent to polish the base, one of the twins brought up his Super Soaker, slipped it through the window—and tagged Tommy in the butt with a stream of water.

“Aaahh!” Tommy yelled, snapping to attention and wheeling around, just in time to see the twins duck away.

Tommy bolted over, leaned out the window, and yelled, “You little Gila monsters are on notice!”

The boys turned, stuck their tongues out, laughed, then took off running through the center of town.

“Run! That’s it,
run!
” said Tommy, then slammed the window shut.

The twins cut left, rounded Eller’s Garage, separated, and dove for cover behind two rusted-out cars. Then they took turns popping up, trying to blast each other. Finally Billy decided to make a move. He jumped up, and firing all the while, charged over and ducked behind the outhouse, crouching below the door.

Josh rushed forward and began to pelt the side of the outhouse with his gun. “Ha! I’ve got you trapped next to the shitter.”

Billy gripped his gun, poked his head around the corner, and—

Took a direct hit as Josh fired a stream of water, pasting his brother squarely in the forehead.

Billy ducked back behind the outhouse, wiped his face, and silently swore to himself. Then he stood, yanked open the outhouse door, started in—then quickly jerked back, letting the door bang shut. He made a face and grabbed his nose. “God! It smells like something died in there.”

He leaned against the closed door, and still holding his nose, gulped in some fresh air. Directly above him, through a little half-moon cutout over the door, creeper tendrils poured out and sniffed the air.

Behind the outhouse, Josh was preparing to bomb the hill and charge his brother—when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and spun him around.

“How many times do I have to tell you kids to stay-the-hell-away from here!”

“We weren’t doing nothing,” said Josh, trying to pull away.

“Bull.” Karl Eller pointed Josh toward the street, then gave him a kick in the seat of his pants. “If you two little monkeys aren’t off my property in five seconds—I’m gonna stuff both of you down the shithouse.”

Josh ran to the street. When he was a safe distance from the garage, he turned and yelled to his brother. “Come on! Old Man Eller is after us!”

Billy, still plastered against the door, heard his brother, thought about it, then said: “Liar! You’re just trying to trick me.”

At the top of the door a creeper stalk looped from the cutout, and—just before it reached the top of his head—Billy lunged forward and raced after his brother.

The creeper flicked left and right, and finding nothing, retreated up the door and back through the cutout.

Chapter 41

It was twelve noon and a hundred degrees in the shade when the tanker truck ground into town, rumbled past the water tower, and pulled up to Nguyen’s Place in a cloud of diesel smoke and dust.

Inside the diner, Karl was sitting at the counter eating a hamburger and shooting the breeze with Tommy.

Both men turned when the front door banged open and Sam, Laura, Curley, and Kristin entered—all of them looking hot, dusty, and shaken. There was a loud
squawk
. Then Darwin shot in and swooped up, lighting on a ceiling rafter.

Squawk, squawk, squawk
.

“What’s wrong?” Tommy said, coming around the counter. “You guys look terrible.”

“Could I have a glass of water?” Kristin asked, slumping against a barstool.

“Yeah. Sure, sure…” Tommy grabbed a pitcher of ice water, filled a glass, and placed it in front of Kristin. He motioned to Laura with the pitcher. She nodded her head,
Yes, she’d love some.

“You guys aren’t going to believe this,” said Sam, stepping up to the counter. “It’s completely crazy.”

“Man-eating plants,” said Curley. “Huge. Like giant octopuses.”

“Bull,” said Karl. “Quit talkin’ out your ass, Curley.”

“It’s true,” said Laura, joining Sam at the counter. “It’s horrible. Unbelievable.”

“Will someone please start making sense?” Tommy asked, plunking glasses down in front of the others and filling them with ice water. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“We need to call the sheriff,” Sam said. “Doc Fletcher and Lester Moon are dead.”

“
What?
” Tommy said, almost dropping the pitcher. “But how?”

“That crazy experiment of Doc’s.”

“You mean that vine thingy?” Carla asked, stepping out of the kitchen. “The whatchamacallit?”

“The
Fletcher Creeper
,” said Sam. He reached over and touched Laura’s arm.

“That’s it,” Carla nodded.

“Listen, did Doc give any of you clippings? You know, something for you to plant?”