Wandering Weeds: Tales of Rabid Vegetation

By Rebecca L. Brown, Bryan Thomas Schmidt, M. Pax and 5 more

They roll in from unknown places, mysterious and unexplained. They take root, take over, spread to all corners and refuse to be eradicated. No one can say why they came, but there's no arguing that they're up to no good. These plants are out for blood, and getting rid of them will take a certain kind of hero - the best kind. Twenty-five tales of evil weeds to entertain, enthrall and change the way you look at the unwelcome invaders in your lawn.

Twenty-five tales of evil weeds to entertain, enthrall and change the way you look at the unwelcome invaders in your lawn. From feral tumbleweeds to ravenous seaweed, from alien life forms to migrating asteroid fields, in these pages you will find fairy tales and weird westerns, space romps and chilling horror stories.

Scary or silly, wicked or wily, these plants are here to stay.

Authors: Rebecca L. Brown, Kevin J. Childs, Jaleta Clegg, Bryan Thomas Schmidt, Duane Ackerson, C. H. Lindsay, M. Pax, Terry Alexander, Berin Stephens, Mo Castles, Adriane Ceallaigh, Voss Foster, Brian D Mazur, Katherine Sanger, Eric J. Guignard, Audrey Schaefer, David J. West, Robert Borski, Frances Pauli, Andrea Tantillo, V. Hynes Johnston, Ann Willows, James Hartley, Louise Maskill, Katie M John

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca L. Brown
• Release date: Nov 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370058778

Book preview

Wandering Weeds:

Tales of Rabid Vegetation

Edited by

Jaleta Clegg & Frances Pauli

Smashwords edition Copyright 2016

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between the characters, events, and places herein and real persons, events and places is purely coincidental. In stories in which historical figures are used it is for purely fictitious purposes.

The stories in this collection are Copyright © 2012 their respective authors.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Cover design by Jaleta Clegg and Frances Pauli

First edition, released July 2012

When we came up for this project, it was with much excitement and absolutely no idea what we were in for. The theme sounded like a fun and limitless concept, one that we felt could spark a great deal of diversity in interpretation. On that note, we hit the mark exactly. The stories that our simple idea sprouted blew me completely away. Not only did we receive pieces that stretched our initial idea of where the tumblers could take us, we were gifted with a collection of finely imagined tales and poems that I am very proud to present to you now. I am honored and indebted to each author featured in Wandering Weeds, for their hard work and for allowing us to gather and share their words with the world.

~Frances Pauli

This book happened because of a chance comment in a chat one night. That comment led to a what if? moment, which led to a story challenge, which led to this anthology idea. I thought, how hard can it be? I’ve done graphic design and book layouts before. Ah, the innocence of naívety.

So what if tumbleweeds, exposed to radiation, mutate to become man-eating tumbleweeds? What if the plants gain sentience and decide to fight back? What if aliens came to colonize our world, but they were plants? This anthology explores a lot of those ideas and more.

It’s been a journey bringing it to publication, with many bumps and bruises along the way. At least we weren’t eaten by rabid weeds.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the stories. I certainly have.

~Jaleta Clegg

I owe Louise Maskill a big thank you for line editing on this book. You saved my eyesight, Louise!

~Jaleta

Table of Contents

Beyond the Fence, Rebecca L. Brown

Colors of Blood, Kevin J. Childs

They Call The Wind Mariah, Jaleta Clegg

Duncan Derring and the Call of the Lady Luck, Bryan Thomas Schmidt

Legends of the Tumbleweeds, Duane Ackerson

Cowchip Charlie and the Tumbleweed Gang, C. H. Lindsay

The Tumbas, M. Pax

Thistle, Terry Alexander

Of Weeds and Wizardry, Berin Stephens

Feral Tumbleweeds, Mo Castles

Earth’s New Masters, Adriane Ceallaigh

Misplaced, Voss Foster

Oh, Dark Tumbleweed, Brian D Mazur

Crispy Fried Pickles at the Mad Scientist Cafe, Katherine Sanger

I Survived the Sargasso Sea, Eric J. Guignard

The Great Tragedy of the Illustrious Empire, Audrey Schaefer

Garden of Legion, David J. West

Tumbleweed, Robert Borski

The Souls of the Wicked, Frances Pauli

Fair Weather, with a Chance of Tumbleweeds, Andrea Tantillo

The Tumbleweed Woman, V. Hynes Johnston

Guardening, Ann Willows

Weeds, James Hartley

Sleeping Beauty, Louise Maskill

Desert Oracles, Katie M John

Author Introductions

Beyond The Fence

Rebecca L. Brown

I built these fences to catch them—no point using electric ones, the dratted things don’t feel it. Vampires, they are, or zombies maybe—something like that anyways. They’ll suck the flesh right off a man’s bones if he’s unlucky enough to run into them.

Saw it happen once, just a couple of miles from here. Fella was minding his own business when it hit him a glancing blow to the head. Just a little one, mind you, not one of the man-sized things you see around these parts sometimes. Stripped half the skin off his face before he managed to shake it loose.

Don’t ask me where they came from, I wouldn’t like to say. Nowhere I want to be going though. The kind of place they’re rushing away from won’t be turning up in those fancy holiday brochures anytime soon.

Fire. They’re scared of fire, about the only thing they are scared of. We used to have a guard dog, fiercest thing you ever saw. Gave me this raggedy scar right here on my arm when I tried to worm him. One day he just got crunched up by one of them, bones and all. The barking didn’t even slow them down.

You don’t believe me, eh? Well I suppose that’s up to you. I’ll tell you what, you step over to the other side of that fence and see for yourself. Just don’t expect me to come looking for your bones when they suck you clean.

Colors of Blood

Kevin J. Childs

A fitful breeze slid over the dark landscape of the Zanir foothills. Flowing from out of the night, the wind brushed over Riko with a damp touch. His attention had dwindled over the last hour. He barely registered the puff of his long duster against El’s flanks. The wind waited, deceptive in its calm. Just like the rest of the world.

Riko shifted in the saddle, the leather creaking under his weight. The sound snapped through the quiet like a whip crack, startling him alert. His heart stuttered and thumped. With a gasp, he snapped his eyes open. Fifty paces was visible in every direction, before shadow obscured the world. The two moons were still out, descending to opposite horizons, but their light was pale and impotent. The wild land around appeared as a silhouette; a gray scene without depth that turned the most mundane form into claws, pincers, and terrible imagined shapes.

Thirty-six cycles of experience as a Watcher kept Riko from panicking. He pushed the misleading scene from his head and focused on the rest of his senses. He took in the tiny, regular sounds and the caress of the breeze. He checked the calm way El stood beneath him and the way her ears flickered without concern. With a deep breath, he calmed down. Nothing threatened. He was safe.

A nervous chuckle escaped his lips as he relaxed, embarrassed that he’d let his control slip. A Watcher doesn’t dwell on what he can’t see, Riko reminded himself. Imagined threats distract from real ones. It was one of the first skills a Watcher had to learn. He nudged El into a walk and started back along his route.

For several minutes, all was well, until a crunch sounded beneath one of the mare’s hooves. Insects surged from ground, clicking and hissing in anger. He choked off a yelp as El snorted and stamped, destroying more of the nest in panic. In the dark, it was only the bugs’ bright blue coloring that let Riko see them gush out of the ground like water from a spring. The sound grew as the angry wave surrounded his mount, faster than he would have believed possible. He sawed at the reins, fighting to control the gray mare as she shied sideways. He thumped El in the ribs and let her prance away in fright. Once fifty paces away, she calmed enough to be pulled to a stop.

Cursed bugs, Riko muttered. He checked the ground for signs of another nest before dismounting. Fumbling in the dark, he plucked the squirming hand-length insects from where they’d latched onto El’s legs. Each one squealed in a high, almost inaudible, pitch as he yanked it free. They burst in a splash of dark goo when squished in his gloved fist.

Tucking the blue-dyed gloves behind his belt, Riko ran his bare hands over El’s flanks and legs, checking every inch. A blue burrow-leech left too long would dig its pincers into a horse’s—or a person’s—skin and then inject a poison as they died. Leech rot would set in soon after, if even one bug were left. He shuddered at the thought, remembering his younger brother’s leg amputation after a burrow-leech had festered. Thankfully, his brother had passed out during the procedure, but Riko still had nightmares of the screams, and the sound of the saw cutting bone. This is no time for that, he thought, and shoved the memory away.

Once satisfied he’d gotten them all, he swung back into the saddle and returned to his path, searching the ground with his eyes even though he knew El stood a better chance of avoiding anything.

First dawn came as a relief to his eyes, but not to his tense shoulders. Sunlight burned away the darkness and the Foothills came to life under yellow morning rays. To his left, a slithercoil bush unfurled its sinuous coils, reaching for the sky. The twills of colorful tongi-birds and the deep bleat of squat, shuffling muskreits filled the air, replacing silence with the sounds of nature. Yellow-light creatures were of the Good Mother, and the scene was beautiful. But they were not what he was here to watch for.

According to Aril, the town’s Sun-Seeker, Red Dawn would come about ten minutes after First Dawn today. Aril was a mean old hag, but she was accurate about half the time, and that was considered excellent. Riko hoped she was wrong today. He could really use a good yellow-light day. He gripped his warning horn and lifted it to his lips, ready to blow at the first sign of a red-light horde.

Red Dawn came a short time later. The tiny red second sun crept above the distant mountaintops to join its larger yellow companion. He held his breath. Anticipation roiled in his stomach. The bloody light spread and grew stronger. The slithercoils shuddered and contracted at its touch. The land went abruptly silent.

A faint noise drew his eyes to a patch of ground a hundred paces off, to a bare patch of ground just in front of a copse of trees. The soil shifted. Riko’s mouth went dry. The horn trembled in his hands. The red-light tumbleweed sprouted. Please, Good Mother, let it just be the one, he prayed. The weed pulled itself out of the ground and shook off the dirt, quite like a dog shakes off water.

It was a small one, less than two foot high, but still deadly. It splayed its blood-colored branches out wide, sensing the air. And then it tumbled away, as if the wind had tossed it in a random direction. Riko knew it hadn’t been the wind. He was just glad it had chosen a direction that was away from him.

A full minute passed before Riko let himself breathe. He studied the ground for a minute more, then two, then ten. Normal sounds crept back to life. He sighed in relief. Thank you, he prayed, and lowered the horn. El nickered and swished her tail. She was impatient to get home. After so many years, she knew the schedule even better than he did. He grinned and patted her neck. We’re going, he muttered.

Riko’s mind wandered as he headed toward town. Red-light tumbleweeds woke hungry. And their only action was to hunt for prey. The instant they sensed anything warm-blooded they would attack, rattling to attract others nearby. A horde could gather and rush in moments. As a Watcher, Riko had been trained to avoid dangerous areas and situations. He’d spent his first few cycles memorizing every detail of his area. His job was to get a safe glimpse of a threat, report it, and then get away. After so many close calls, Riko couldn’t help but wonder how he was still alive at all.

While listening for a horn blast from another Watcher, he never let his eyes rest in one place. Every inch of ground was suspect, as though it was a thing alive and not to be trusted. He held El at a steady canter that covered ground fast but didn’t raise a dust cloud behind him. Most of his attention was on the sides and the rear. He trusted El to avoid the patches of red-light poison-pods and to veer around a large gully that was riddled with needle-rats. Those were the least of the threats, and thankfully stayed in one place for the most part.

An hour later, he dismounted in front of the watch station. Old Watch-master Erin and his son stood waiting next to the decrepit building. They stepped out of the shade and approached as Riko led El to drink from the old stone trough. Dust covered everything, puffing up from his boots, clouding in the air, and caking on Erin’s wrinkled and sweat-streaked face.

Sightings? Erin asked, in his usual wheezy voice.

A lone tumbler, thank the Good Mother, Riko replied.

Good, good, Erin said, and then hesitated. The worry lines etched on his brow deepened.

Anything from the others? Riko asked.

Erin heaved a sigh and shook his head. Nothing much. Boward found signs of a recent kill, but not a horde. And Jona says the Bone Draw hasn’t stirred at all. It ain’t good, Riko. They don’t just disappear like this.

I’ve been having the same thoughts, Riko said.

It had been three spans since the last horde had been sighted. Worrisome indeed. Small sightings were good. They told everyone where to avoid, where to defend, and when to run. In some ways it was like the weather. The longer it went without rain, the bigger you knew the storm would be when it showed up. No sightings meant doubt and questions... It meant the next attack could happen anywhere.

Before Erin could respond, the thump of an approaching horse drew both their eyes. It was another Watcher returning from his patrol.

Good day, Riko said. I’m aiming for home and sleep.

Erin grunted and shuffled away.

On his way to the main trail, Riko passed the returning watcher. It was Boward. The way he slumped in the saddle reflected exactly how Riko felt. Drained. Boward met his gaze, blinking dust away from dull and hopeless eyes. For an instant, a flash of memories surfaced in Riko’s thoughts, memories of a time when eyes glittered with purpose. And then the moment passed. Emptiness returned in a smothering flood and he no longer cared.

They passed without a word said. Staying alert during a stress-filled watch reduced even the most energetic man to a sleep-craving mute.

El sped down the path without needing to be prompted, she knew they were headed home, and wanted to get there as much as he did. Three more days of watch duty, he thought. Good Mother, I hope I can handle three more days. He groaned and wished he hadn’t reminded himself of that. It was best to take watch duty one day at a time.

After rubbing down and stabling El with a nosebag of oats, he shuffled in to bed, too tired to worry about hunger. Still fully clothed, he collapsed into his cot. Dreamless sleep took him.

* * *

Ono wiped at the sweat on his forehead and walked Shield deeper into the shade of a spiraling waterleaf tree. Reaching up, he plucked a plump purple leaf from the canopy and squeezed it into his mouth. Even in the heat of midday, the leaf provided a cool and sweet tasting drink. Waterleaf trees were rare, especially outside town. Today Ono had been assigned the only Watch position that had one.

Once there had been fifty Watchers on duty at all times, spread in a ring around the town and the fields, at least that’s what he’d been told. Now, there were only fifty watchers in total, five on each shift in locations chosen for their view of the surrounding terrain.

From atop Shield, Ono could see a mile in every direction. Behind him, a few figures toiled, growing berries, vegetables, and oats in square plots surrounded by tall wooden fences. Wild land stretched out in every other direction. Yellow-light plants grew in clusters, separated by clearings that had been taken over by red-rot or other red-light creatures.

To his left, an overgrown road meandered into the distance, curving back and forth to avoid hazardous areas. The road had not been used in a long time. He could only remember one traveler ever coming to town, maybe ten years before when he still fancied the thought of running away to see the places of legend. The lone wanderer had stayed a single night, leaving the town with news of desolation and death. Immense hordes of tumbleweeds have devoured the great cities, he’d said. Eating their way across the land and leaving no red-blooded thing alive. Ono no longer thought traveling was a good idea.

Cursed Red Sun, he swore. The red sun followed an unpredictable cycle, sometimes dormant for long periods of time. When it did rise, it followed a strange course, unlike the stable yellow sun. It rose and set in an arc that lasted a few hours at most, and it never reached far above the mountains.

But today was different. The Red Sun should have set hours ago, and Ono’s watch should have ended with it. It still hovered a few inches above the horizon. He had watched it all day, and it hadn’t dropped back down a bit. He couldn’t get his mind to accept the change. It has to set. It has to. What if it never sets? The horrible thought ate away at him, growing louder in his head every second. He couldn’t begin to fathom the consequences.

Eyes locked on the distant Red Sun, he caught a glimpse of a blur, flying at him from the side. He threw an arm up in time to catch the tumbleweed, stopping it only inches from his head. The weed thrashed and stabbed, puncturing his glove and tearing the cloth of his long-sleeved shirt. Pain shot up his arm, and he felt its needle-like hollow branches pressing in, seeking veins.

Shield snorted and frisked, but somehow Ono raised the horn to lips with his good hand, reins and all. He managed a single, frantic blast before Shield reared, his eyes rolling in panic. Flinging his hand out, Ono struggled to remain in the saddle. But one hand wasn’t enough. He landed on his back, breath exploding out of his lungs. His head hit something that seemed oddly soft. Only the pain and incredible pressure in his arm kept him from falling unconscious.

Abruptly, the agony vanished and his vision cleared. If it weren’t for the sound of his heart thumping in his ears, he would have thought time stood still. He gasped and gawked at his bloody arm. A dark blue liquid mixed with the red of his blood. Then, the tumbleweed was gone. It made no sense. They never let go. The disconnected words flitted through his thoughts.

Sitting up, he looked around at where he was. He could hardly believe what his eyes told him. He’d landed on top of a burrow-leech nest. Thousands of them swarmed around him, letting off continual clicking sounds. He started to crawl away, but stopped in wonder as he realized the angry bugs were attacking the tumbleweed instead of him. A thick mass of the leeches had circled it. As one, they sprayed a dark blue liquid. He gaped as the tumbleweed twitched a few times, then shriveled, only to disappear under a torrent of blue carapaces and black pincers.

Ono scrambled to his feet and lurched away from the nest. He expected some of the leeches to attack as he rushed away. But they didn’t. The swarm parted and he exited the circle without incident. He slumped to the ground under the waterleaf tree, and tore his other sleeve to wrap his arm. Holy Good Mother, what happened? Fire was the only weapon against tumbleweeds, everyone knew that, but fire burned houses and people as well. Cutting them apart didn’t work. It just made more to deal with. A sudden hope blazed to life inside him. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. He’d learned something new, a valuable secret that could change everything.

He stared at the blood already seeping through his makeshift bandage, and a piece of his mind screamed. Get up! The smell of red blood! He shot to his feet and tried to scuff dirt over the droplets he’d trailed up from the nest. A low grinding and rustling sounded, building in volume. That sounds like a full horde, he thought in terror. He quit covering the blood, and ran.

As shock wore off, pain returned, throbbing in his arm. The sound grew louder, audible even over his ragged breathing. And then an idea blossomed out of the panic. He tried to recall the locations of every burrow-leech nest between here and the town. Burrow-leeches didn’t attack unless threatened, but any near the town were exterminated anyway. They were just too dangerous to have around. Especially anywhere kids might go. Now, he wished they’d let more survive. He sprinted for the largest nest he could remember.

* * *

The piercing blare of a horn snapped Riko’s eyes open. He waited one second, then three. The lack of a follow-up signal jolted him out of bed. A single blast meant red-light creatures had not only been sighted, but had attacked. How? The Red Sun should have set by now. Blinking sleep from bleary eyes, he ran outside, slamming his shoulder on the doorframe in his haste.

The Red Sun still shone, like an evil red eye glaring at him from over the mountains. Riko gawped. It didn’t seem possible. He had never heard of a red-light day lasting more than four hours. His head spun, until the urgency of the horn blast surfaced again in his thoughts.

El frisked in her stall and resisted the bridle, a clear sign she sensed something wrong, but Riko managed to get her saddled and outside quickly.

Galloping down the path under red-tinged midday light, Riko rubbed his sore shoulder and fretted over the Red Sun still floating above the horizon, and over the lack