Free CREEPERS by Bryan Dunn

to one side. A man stood in one of the pens surrounded by six goats. He looked up and waved as the Honda pulled up alongside the pen and parked next to a section of the split rail fence.
    Laura waved back. Then she stopped the engine, climbed out of the car, stepped up to the fence, and looped her arms over the top rail.
    “Hello,” she said, smiling warmly.
    “Hello back, young lady,” answered the frail-looking man. He was dressed in khaki pants, a soiled work shirt, and a battered Resistol cowboy hat.
    “You must be Lester Moon.”
    “The very same,” said Lester, his weathered face crinkling into a smile. “Say, do you like cheese?” He reached down and gave one of the goats a loving pat.
    “Um, yeah. Sure,” said Laura, thinking, oh-kay .
    Lester picked up a handful of hay, then leaned forward and dropped it into a feed bin. “The thing about goats is—they’ll eat just about anything. Had one chew off my back pocket once.”
    “Really?” said Laura. Here we go .
    “Yep, chewed it right off and swallowed it.” Lester shook his head, thinking about it. “I’m raising these here for goat cheese.”
    “Oh. Great. I love feta cheese. Good stuff.”
    “Me too. I’m a cheese-eatin’ son-of-a-gun. I love all cheeses—gouda, swiss, jack, cheddar—heck, you name it. No processed cheese, though. No, sir.”
    “No, of course not,” Laura agreed, stifling a laugh.
    “Remember the movie Treasure Island? ”
    “Sure… Long John Silver.”
    “Right. And Ben Gunn. Remember Ben Gunn? He was the guy in the cave surrounded by all that treasure.” Lester leaned forward, his eyes widening at the thought. “And when they finally discover him—all he wants is cheese.” Lester laughed, then slapped a knee. “So old Ben Gunn trades all those doubloons for a giant wheel of cheese. I believe it was cheddar.”
    “Hard to imagine,” Laura said, playing along.
    “I’m like that. Heck, I’d have done the same thing.” Lester stooped and picked up another handful of hay. Just as he went to drop it in the bin, there was a flash of green, alien and unnatural-looking—a Fletcher Creeper had been mixed in with the feed. It was a clipping given to him by Doc a few days ago.
    “Actually, I’m looking for the Rainsford Ranch,” Laura said, finally getting to why she had wandered by. “I think I may have missed the turn?”
    “Oh, Sam’s place. You’re almost there. Just go back to the main road and keep going for five miles and you’ll run smack into it.”
    “Great,” said Laura, relieved she hadn’t missed the turn. She turned back to her car, then waved and said, “Thanks again.”
    “Come back in about a week, and I’ll have some cheese for you.”
    “That’s a deal,” said Laura, pulling open her door.

Chapter 29

    Sitting on the house porch, Sam watched as Curley tried to scramble up a sandy bank—two steps forward, one step back. Kristin was inside reading one of her books, a zombie thriller, but had only made it through a couple of paragraphs before drifting off to sleep. The end of civilization as we know it would just have to wait until she woke up from her nap .
    “Stop right there, Curley.” Sam rocked back in his chair, took a sip of beer. “Put it there and we’ll see if it can hold back that marching dune.”
    “ What? ” said Curley, twisting toward Sam. “What did you say?”
    “Just plant it there, Curley,” Sam said, pointing at Curley’s feet. “That’s the perfect spot.”
    Curley waved and nodded okay. He dropped to a knee, scooped away a handful of sand, making a shallow hole, then placed the creeper clipping—the one Doc had insisted Sam take—in the hole. Using both hands, he carefully pushed sand around the creeper, being sure to tamp it down on all sides.
    Satisfied with his work, Curley struggled to his feet and looked at Sam. “I swear, Sam, half the time I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Yeah, Curl, I know. It’s why we get along so