CREEPERS (19 page)

Chapter 72

Sam was in the back of the pickup truck manning the power washer’s gun as Karl guided the 4x4 across the desert beneath a welt of purple clouds. Curley was crouched next to Sam, ready to man the drum pump and keep the power washer supplied with Round-up.

Behind the 4x4 was Karl’s tow truck driven by Tommy. Then came Tommy’s Jeep with Donnie at the wheel, and bringing up the rear was the deuce and a half driven by Laura with Kristin riding shotgun, the Super Soaker slung across her lap. The lead vehicles disappeared, then suddenly popped back into view, lit by intermittent arcs of flashing light as they ran under stormy skies towards an uncertain future.

Inside the pickup, Karl spun the wheel, guiding the caravan around a lunar-sized divot, then slowed as the wall of creepers loomed before him in the windshield. The convoy continued forward another half mile, then Sam leaned over and banged on the cab’s roof, signaling for Karl to stop. They were almost there. The creepers lay directly in front of them, a hundred yards away.

Karl let off on the gas, put the truck in neutral and rolled to a stop.

Sam faced the other vehicles, cupped his hands to his mouth, and addressed the group. “Okay, we’re almost there. Stick to the plan. Give us a thirty-yard lead. We’ll advance and hit the creeper with Round-up. As soon as we’ve created a large enough opening, Karl will honk his horn. That’s your signal to join us. After that, there’s no stopping or turning back. We’ll go through that thing like a hot knife through butter. We’ll pour on the Round-up until there’s nothing in front of us except sand and cactus.”

Sam paused and let his eyes run down the line of vehicles. He raised an arm, then yelled, “Drivers… If you’re ready, signal by flashing your headlights.”

A second later headlights flicked on and began to flash.

Sam gave a thumbs up, then turned to Curley. “Fire up the power washer.”

“I’m on it,” Curley said. He straddled the little engine, hauled on the pull cord, and the power washer roared to life.

Sam waited for a moment, letting the washer pressurize, then squeezed the trigger. A thick stream of Round-up shot into the air. He released the trigger and moved the wand up and down, left and right, checking to make sure it swiveled freely.

Sam flashed another thumbs up, then leaned forward, banged on the cab and shouted, “Let’s roll, Karl!”

A second later, the pickup truck lurched forward. Sam and Curley grabbed the armored sides as the other vehicles idled, waiting for a gap to form. After a moment, they fell in behind the pickup, following its path.

Overhead, thunder boomed and lightning swarmed like a mad scientist’s experiment gone wrong. Ragged trails of dust rose from the vehicles as they sped towards the river of creepers that cut across the valley, blocking their path.

Up front, Sam and Curley readied themselves as the pickup pulled within striking distance of the undulating creeper stalks. Sam tightened his grip on the gun as Karl slowed, dropped the truck in low, and continued to advance.

Sixty yards… thirty yards…. and, when they were twenty yards out—

Two massive stalks detached themselves from the quarter-mile-wide rope of twisting, churning creepers, rose into the air—and shot directly at the pickup truck. With all three of them yelling
SHIT
at the top of their lungs, Karl kept his foot on the gas—and Sam opened up, blasting both creeper stalks with a thick stream of Round-up.

As the poison slammed into them and the Round-up took effect, the stalks wobbled in midair. Seconds later, they collapsed to the ground, the systemic poison withering their tips and moving up their arms like a grey-colored stain.

“Way to go, Sam!” Curley whooped as he furiously cranked the drum pump, transferring more Round-up into the power washer’s reservoir.

Karl continued thirty more feet, then slowed and inched the pickup forward until they stood directly in front of the writhing creeper river.

Sam leveled the power washer’s wand, drew in a lungful of air and, as he released it, began to blast the churning creeper stalks. With the power washer’s engine going full tilt, Sam worked the stream of Round-up back and forth, coating stalks in front of the truck in a fan-shaped pattern.

The effect was immediate, dramatic, amazing. Glistening with Round-up, creeper stalks began to melt and wither and die. If plants could talk, this one would be screaming in horror.

A few minutes later, after a gap had formed, Sam leaned out, banged on the cab, and yelled, “
NOW
, Karl!”

Karl acknowledged with three loud blasts of his horn, signaling the others it was time to roll. As the truck moved into the creeper river, Sam felt like he was on a road plow entering a snowdrift, with tall banks on each side.

With the sound of Karl’s horn echoing in her ears, Carla leaned across the tow truck’s cab, kissed Tommy, and whispered, “I love you, baby.”

Tommy kissed her cheek, smiled, gripped the wheel, then pressed on the accelerator and joined the pickup for the push through the creepers.

Inside the Jeep, Donnie glanced in the rearview mirror and blurted out, “Grab your dicks!” He dropped the Cherokee into drive as the Grogan twins dove onto the backseat floor next to their mother’s feet.

At the same time, in the deuce and a half, Laura stepped on the clutch, put the truck into gear, and glanced at Kristin. “Ready for this?”

Kristin tightened her grip on the Super Soaker and shot back, “Let’s get some.”

Up at the front, Sam swept the power washer back and forth in a 180 degree arc, cutting a thirty-foot-wide swath for the vehicles to pass through.

It went like clockwork—the Round-up was knocking the hell out of it. In matter of minutes, they were three quarters of the way through the band of creepers. Curley was securing the drum pump to the last 55 gallons of poison when the power washer engine began to sputter—and then completely stopped!

Sam whipped around, checked the power washer, then shouted, “Curley, what the hell?”

Karl slammed on the brakes when he heard the power washer stop. Curley jumped on the power washer’s engine, grabbed the pull cord, and yanked for all he was worth.

Nothing—the engine turned over, but wouldn’t catch. And then Curley remembered…

The gas!

He’d forgotten to top off the power washer’s gas tank.

Shit!

Curley lunged to the rear of the truck, grabbed a gas can, ripped off the lid, removed the power washer’s fuel cap, then filled the tank, not caring that gas flooded down the sides and onto the toes of his boots.

“Jesus Christ, Curley,” Sam yelled. “Get that thing running!”

Curley dropped the gas can, yanked on the pull cord—and the power washer roared to life, just as a creeper stalk whipped out and smashed into the armor plating, soaking Sam and Curley with sticky sap.

A second after that, the pressure came back up and Sam banged on the cab for Karl to roll. As the pickup surged forward, Sam blasted away, beating back advancing creepers. Less than a minute later, it was over—the pickup made it through the remaining creeper stalks and into the safety of the open desert, followed by the tow truck and the Jeep.

Meanwhile, the creepers were coping exactly the way Laura had predicted. The stalks that had withered back thirty feet broke away from secondary roots and began to reform. At the rear of the column, behind the deuce and a half, creepers were already closing in.

Laura noticed the tanker had begun to slow. She added gas, but the truck continued slow and then bogged down as reformed creepers raced up and attached themselves to the vehicle.

“We’re stuck!” Laura shouted, as the tanker bounced to a stop.

“
Holy shit!
” Kristin yelled back, just as a creeper dropped onto the hood and attacked the windshield. She grabbed the Super Soaker, rolled down her window, thrust the gun out, and blasted the creeper. The stalk twisted up, writhed along the hood, and fell from the truck.

Using both hands, Laura wrestled the deuce and a half into six-wheel drive just as another creeper T-boned the truck, denting her door and rocking the tanker sideways.

Shit!

Outside, five creepers had attached themselves to the rear end, swirling around the water tank like a Kraken’s tentacles around a ship’s hull.

Inside, Kristin kept blasting creepers through her window as Laura revved the engine, then dumped the clutch. The big diesel screamed. The front of the truck rose up. The rear wheels began to hop up and down… and seconds later, Laura and Kristin were slammed back in their seats as the tanker broke free of the creepers and shot towards the open desert beyond.

Standing next to their vehicles, Sam, Karl, Curley, and Tommy watched as the deuce and a half blasted out of the creeper wall and rocketed into the clear, leaving torn creeper stalks spouting sap like freshly severed arteries.

Seconds later, like water flowing around a boat’s hull, the path they’d just blazed through the creepers disappeared, already covered by newly formed stalks.

Laura and Kristin screamed for joy as they rumbled up to the waiting group. Laura brought the tanker to a stop, and as she killed the engine, Sam hauled open her door, swept her into his arms, and kissed her. And then everyone was hugging each other.

“Sam… we did it!” Laura exclaimed, as he lowered her to the ground. “It worked!”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed with relief and broke into a smile. “Who knew?”

“Holy Lord, look at that!” Karl said, staring back towards town.

Everyone turned to watch as creepers swept into Furnace Valley, crushing everything in their path.

“
Come on
,” said Sam. “We’ve got to keep moving.”

Chapter 73

Beneath the threatening sky, the little caravan regrouped, rolling towards the mountain pass and the safety beyond. Sam was on point, wrestling the deuce and a half through a tortured pieced of desert littered with razor-sharp rocks and thick patches of cactus. Snaking along behind were the 4x4, Tommy’s Jeep, and Karl’s tow truck.

Sam eased his grip on the wheel as the scrub thinned and they settled onto a smooth section of desert.

Laura leaned out her window, drew in a deep breath, and turned to Sam.

“My God… I think it finally might—”

“
Rain
,” Sam said.

And sure enough, the heavens opened, and it began to pour. Gigantic raindrops soaked the parched ground and hammered the top of the cab like someone was throwing gravel at it.

“Incredible,” Laura said, looking out at the desert monsoon. “What was it Rufus said…?”

“Right…” said Sam. “I wish he was here to see this.”

Laura nodded, and they both fell silent.

Outside, the visibility shrunk to zero as the rain continued sheeting down. Sam slowed the truck and leaned forward, straining to see through the windshield.

“I can’t see a thing. We may have to stop.”

Just then, Sam’s hands were thrown from the wheel. The tanker swerved violently to the left, its right side lifting off the ground as it slid into a shallow ravine and came to rest on its side.

Laura was thrown across the cab and slammed into Sam, who had just managed to put the truck in neutral and kill the engine.

“Jesus Christ. Are you all right?” said Sam, his face mashed against the window.

“I’m okay,” she said, but she sounded pretty rattled. “Nice catch,” she added, peeling herself off his side.

The next thing they knew water, was splashing down on them as Karl opened Laura’s door, stuck his head inside, and said, “Jesus, you guys okay?”

* * *

Behind them—no, all around them—creepers spread across the valley. Their fleshy-looking flowers yawned open, greedily gulping the torrents of water.

With each drink, the creepers literally exploded, gobbling up acres like starving animals. The town of Furnace Valley was gone, swallowed up. And now, farther down the valley, the unthinkable was happening as they reached the California aqueduct and poured stalk after stalk into the limitless supply of water.

Chapter 74

Sam and Karl walked around the fallen truck, checking the damage, seeing if they might be able to right the tanker with Karl’s tow truck.

The others remained in their vehicles, staying out of the downpour. All of them wondered if they were about to be overwhelmed by slithering creeper stalks—wrapped up, smothered, sucked dry.

“What do you think?” Sam yelled over the roar of pounding rain.

Karl emerged from behind the rear axle, yelling in return, “I’m not sure if—”

All of a sudden he stopped talking—the sound of his voice hung too loud on the air. The rain… it was over! Just like that! Like someone had turned off a valve.

Sam and Karl exchanged shocked looks as Laura ducked out of the cab. “The rain?”

“It stopped.” Sam held up his hands. “It just stopped.”

The clouds began to lift. A moment later, the air was filled with a piercing
whistle
… like the sound of a five hundred pound steel bomb falling through the air.
W-h-e-e-e-e-e
…

The whistling got louder and louder… and then they saw what it was…

The entire desert floor surged up. A giant green swell rose before their eyes. And a hundred-foot wave of writhing, bristling creeper stalks swept across the valley towards them—the leading edge snapping and whistling as spindrifts of tendrils peeled off the lip.

“
Jesus God
…” Sam said, as they stood watching the destruction.

Curley ran up with Kristin and Tommy in tow, the three of them pulling up short when they saw the approaching wave of creepers.

And then Curley suddenly yelled: “Bugs!” He danced up and down, swatting his face and neck as grasshoppers plowed into his body.

Kristin screamed and covered her face. Then they were all ducking and swatting, trying to dodge the grasshoppers that appeared out of nowhere.

“My God!” Laura pointed at her feet. “Look at the ground!”

The ground literally moved beneath their feet as grasshoppers emerged from the wet sand, spread their wings, and leapt into the air, their brightly colored bodies as big and fat as sparrows.

“What the hell?!” Karl yelled, scattering grasshoppers with a swipe of his hand.

“Locusts!” Laura yelled back. “They’re swarming.”

Sam looked at her. “You mean like…
a plague of locusts?
”

“Right. Desert locusts. Emerging because of the water.”

Inside the Jeep, the Grogan twins began to cry, bawling like little girls as grasshoppers—shot like bullets from a gun—
thudded
into the Cherokee, denting door panels and shattering windows. Darwin flapped in the back, squeezing between the roof and a duffle bag.

“Mom!” Billy cried. “
Mommy
…”

Behind the Jeep, in the pickup, Maya screamed and latched onto Donnie when her window shattered and locusts poured into the cab.

“We’ve got to find cover,” Sam yelled.

“Sam… Look!” Laura pointed out at the valley.

Sam whipped around and saw a black wall rising on the horizon—a maelstrom of airborne locusts—rolling across the desert like an advancing army. Brush, scrub, cactus—anything edible—was instantly devoured.

“
Sam, help
…” Laura screamed, wiping handfuls of locusts away from her mouth as the air around her face choked with wings and legs and snapping mandibles. “I can’t breathe!”

“The tanker!” Sam yelled. “Get everyone inside the water tank.” He bolted to the toppled deuce and a half and hauled open the hatch.

Karl and Tommy went to get the others, covering their faces, crouch-running to the vehicles.

Laura and Kristin scrambled to the tanker. Sam made a stirrup with his hands, boosting them up to the hatch and inside the tank. Karl, Tommy, and Carla were next, leaving Darwin, who refused to move from his hiding spot in the back of the Jeep.

After everyone was safely inside, Sam hauled himself up and pulled the hatch shut—leaving it cracked just enough for air.

Packed like sardines in the pitch-black tank, everyone fell silent as the plague descended. Grasshopper bodies slammed into the truck, ricocheting off the metal tank like spent rounds spit from a million machine guns. The unbearable racket made everyone cover their ears and bury their heads. Everyone was thinking the same thought:
Are we about to die?