The Slugs of Dale Cannon

By Nicholas Licalsi

Rystole Whitlock, a young rancher and colonists on the Earth-like planet of Dale Cannon, spends his days cutting class and herding buffcows.

 

When a group of alien slugs invade his family's cabin he can't find a good way to corral them before the toxic slugs put his mother in a comma.

 

Determined to save his mom, and the rest of the colony, Rystole won't stop until he gets revenge or a cure.

 

If you enjoy exploring alien worlds and first contact stories with young heroes then you'll enjoy Slugs of Dale Cannon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Step Into The Road Publishing
• Release date: Apr 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9781961751170

Book preview

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First published by Step Into The Road Publishing 2024

Copyright © 2024 by Nicholas Licalsi.

First edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

From this point on take everything with a grain of salt. I made most of it up!

For my grandparents, Roy and Beth, thanks for your encouragement to go outside of procedures and pursue what makes me happy.

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Thank You Patrons!

Your generous support has helped me break a few rules here and there and helps me herd my creativity!

Katelyn Combs, Bonnie, BW, Melinda Callender,

Roy & Beth Shockey, Callen McMillian, Sam Meeks, John Middleton.

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One

The wooden planks of the living room creaked under the weight of Rystole Whitlock’s work boots. Normally he’d have to take them off at the door, a time-consuming process of unlacing the shoes. But there was no time for that.

He was worried he was already too late.

He’d heard the screams from the barn and rushed over with the first tool he could find a pitchfork.

The door had been cracked open, but not busted down with force. It matched all the reports from others who’d experienced the same intrusion.

The wooden stilt house wasn’t big, they’d built it just last year, a few kilometers outside of town where the buffcows could roam on the wild prairies of Dale Cannon.

Across from the front door where Rystole stood were the closed doors of two bedrooms. One room Rystole shared with his sisters, the other belonged to his parents.

For months Rystole had lobbied for an extension, a room or area to call his own, if they were still on Feldman’s station he’d be getting his own apartment by now. But there was no time on the ranch. That problem never seemed more apparent to Rystole than right now.

The living area had a kitchen and a living room. The living room was to his right, a stone fireplace with shelves built into the wall around it. The room itself was filled with wooden benches and chairs and a short table for board games in the evening.

The kitchen was on the opposite side of the fireplace, it had a horseshoe counter, a small icebox, and a solar-powered range.

The kitchen was where his parents were. The room smelled like his father’s vegetable curry and Rystole was reminded the last thing he had was a sandwich during his early lunch period at school.

His parents were in the kitchen. His father, who wore an apron over his collared work shirt and thin khaki pants, was swinging his best cooking knife at the intruders. He seemed out of breath and far from effective.

At least a half dozen slugs, big enough to wrap themselves around Rystole’s leg, crawled across the floor of the kitchen and on the wooden counter. Their skin was dark brown like wet dirt and spotted with light brown rings that constantly changed their shape and size like ripples in a puddle.

Despite what others at the town hall meetings had said these weren’t the grossest thing Rystole had ever seen. Nonetheless, he wanted them out of his house. Away from his family.

Rystole’s mother lay on the ground, unconscious, a giant slug crawled over her exposed arm. She wore the same thing as Rystole, canvas pants, and a short-sleeved shirt.

She’d come inside a few minutes ago, Rystole had promised her he’d take care of docking the tractor and the drones, even though she normally did it.

The obvious thing missing from the room was his siblings.

A few slugs crawled towards the door of the kids’ room and Rystole watched the light at the bottom of the door get snuffed out. Proud of his sister’s response to the situation he knew she was barricading any small gap the creatures could slip through.

In the lounge room, he twisted the pitchfork in his hand and aimed the slugs headed towards the bedroom.

He stabbed harder than he would if he was moving hay for the buffcows and he sunk the tool into the flesh of the slug. A satisfying thud of the tines hitting the wooden floor meant that the slug was pinned for good.

Except the little slime ball reacted unlike anything Rystole had seen before. The body of the slug separated from the four prongs of the pitchfork making gaping holes in its blobby body.

The holes moved down its body as the slug crawled out from under the fork. Rystole stabbed it again but the slug repeated its reaction quicker than before.

Rystole wasn’t stupid, if piercing wouldn’t do anything then he’d switch tactics and beat at it with the handle of the tool.

The slug moved slowly across the floor of the lounge room. It didn’t dodge the attacks like it did the stabbing and Rystole was putting as much force behind the swing as possible. Breaking the good pitchfork would be a worthwhile price for killing these monsters.

On Rystole’s fifth swing the handle buried itself into the slug’s body. The slug continued to crawl but Rystole couldn’t free the tool from its back. It was as if the pitchfork was