PAGE 13

THE TROUBLE WITH MILK

The Milk Maker plant stood in what, in my grandfather’s time, used to be the winter housing for the dairy herd. That was back in the days when we had cows to milk. Now it was all stainless steel, plastic and hissing valves. We hadn’t been able to alter the seasons all that much and the bulk of the plants that were fed into the Milk Maker still grew in the Spring of the year.

The area around the machine that day in late April was piled high with masses of short chopped greenery waiting to be fed into the ever hungry machine. Despite the air conditioning it was sweltering in there and the material was slowly losing its bright green colour as it became more and more limp in the heavy atmosphere.

I was on my own attending to the Milk Maker that afternoon and went over to the door to get a breath of fresh air. The atmosphere outside was not a lot different as I looked across a sea of green, the crops yet to come in. They looked almost black under the lowering sky. Thunder had been threatening all day and it looked as if we might be getting it at any moment. There wasn’t a breath of air and my shirt clung to my damp body as I took a handkerchief from my pocket to wipe my forehead. Phew! I glanced along the length of the building towards the end which held the great tanks used for storing the finished product. The huge sliding doors were always kept locked until the tankers came to take away the week’s production. I turned to go back to the control panel when it suddenly struck me that the doors were not upright. I stepped back a couple of paces to make sure that my eyes were not playing tricks in the poor light. No! They weren’t, the doors were bulging out at the bottom as if they had come out of the guides. I walked quickly over to them. That is exactly what had happened. They were being pushed out at the bottom from inside. Even as I looked a white mass of what seemed to be a large pancake, that’s the only way I can describe it, was slowly oozing out under the door. I touched it tentatively with the toe of my shoe. It gave me a burning feeling and I felt my foot being drawn into the stuff. I pulled it back quickly and scraped it off on the concrete. The welt of my shoe looked like decaying flesh.

No. 1 tank was nearest the doors through which the tankers came and was always filled up first. As I approached it I could see that the cover, the size of a manhole cover and about twice as heavy had been forced up and the holding bolts pulled out of their sockets. The pancake was slowly coming out of the hole and making its way down the sides of the tank and onto the floor.

I looked at No. 2 tank just as the cover bolts pinged under the pressure from inside and I watched fascinated as the thick pancake rolled out and on down the tank to the floor. Coming to my senses I ran back along the cat walk to the control panel and switched off. I picked up the visi phone and dialled. It seemed ages before I heard a familiar click and a voice said, “Regional Police, can I help you?” His picture came onto the screen.

“Yes,” I said and then wondered what I was going to tell him. He must have detected the hesitation in my voice for he repeated, “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” I said again. “This is the Markam Milk Plant and all the milk’s gone sour.” I hesitated again and then, “IT’s coming out of the tanks.”

“Is it now?” His voice was toneless but I sensed he was humouring me. I could see by the look on his face that he didn’t believe me.

“Yes,” I replied, “It’s all over the floor and ...” There was a noise like the burst of a machine gun as the bolts of the small door gave way under the strain from the other side. I looked in horror as it slowly spread over the heaps of green material around the Milk Maker.

“What was that? A gun?” The sharp voice brought me back to reality.

“It’s the bloody milk, its coming in here!”

As I spoke it was piling through the door about four feet high and then flattening out again across the floor towards the platform on which I was standing. It was already at the bottom of the steps I said, “Come quickly” and dropped the phone, clambered up on top of the control panel, jumped for one of the pipes running along the wall and worked my way hand over hand towards the cat walk. Once on top I was able to have a breather and take stock of the situation. The whole floor was now covered by a yellowy white carpet which pulsed like a giant chest. The stuff seemed to be able to climb any surface that wasn’t vertical. I wondered if that policeman would do something or did he think I was just another nut-case?

I walked along the narrow iron way towards the storage area. God!, it was hot up here in the apex of the roof. The sweat dripped from me, got into my eyes as I made my way. The first two tanks had stopped discharging but the other five were still at it. I moved back to the plant room and looked at the Milk Maker. Every flat or sloping surface was covered with the stuff. The finished product had reversed its direction and was pouring out of the feed entrance. Every slight gap in the machine was spewing out the horrible stuff. The cat walk was only about a foot above the flat top of the Milk Maker and I was able to examine the surface of the stuff.

It was like the skin of an under-cooked rice pudding. I spat on to it and the saliva was immediately absorbed. I looked along the cat walk and saw a rubber washer that a maintenance man must have lost. I dropped it on the ‘rice pudding’. It made a slight dent and the skin opened and then it was gone. I wondered what had happened to it as I moved back along the walk. There was a long metal pole used for clearing the greenery when it jammed in the mouth of the machine. The end of it rested against the safety rail. I looked down at the other end. It was surrounded by the stuff. I caught hold of it and tried to pull it up but it was held fast. I felt it being slowly pulled out of my grip. With a hard yank it came out of the morass. The end of it had been eaten away. It had been a rubber claw so it seemed as if the stuff was eating rubber. I wondered what had happened to the back and cushion of the chair at the control panel.

All I could see from the walk was this stuff. There were undulations where it had spread over various pieces of equipment. It looked so different down there that I could only vaguely guess at what was underneath. Every surface that was not actually vertical was covered. It was still pouring out of the small door in the dividing wall and spreading out of the building through the doors on both sides. Soon the whole place would be surrounded.

I had to get out before that happened. I wasn’t sure if it was harmful to flesh but I didn’t fancy taking any chances after seeing what had happened to the end of the pole. My only hope was the skylight. It was in the roof about half way between the apex and the eaves, nowhere near the cat walk. I ran back to get the pole and then clambered along the roof truss that was nearest to the light. It was still comparatively dark outside as the storm had not yet broken. Clinging with one hand to a strut in the truss, I made a jab at the glass with the pole. It was awkward as I was not directly underneath and the effort tired me. I tried again and this time managed to crack the glass. After several more jabs pieces of glass dropped onto the mass below and were quickly engulfed. I watched them for a moment and then saw the sharp points of the glass pierce the skin and come back out to lie flat on the surface where they were carried along towards the doorway.

After a lot more poking and prodding I managed to clear enough glass from the edge of the light to give me a hand-hold. It was only about four feet away from the truss but it looked like a mile. Leaning over as far as I dare I caught hold of the iron girder that carried the top of the light frame and reached out, got my hand around the edge of it, then swung out and made a grab with my other hand. My feet came clear of the girder and I was suspended by my arms. I dare not think of what was happening below, with a desperate heave I got first one elbow and then the other over the edge of the frame and humped my body out onto the roof. I lay on my back waiting for my heart to get back to normal and my gasping breath to subside. After a minute or so I stood up and walked down the roof to the eaves. The whole of the concrete forecourt was covered. I walked up to the ridge again and down the other side. It was just the same that side of the building. I was stuck unless that policeman turned up.

I looked down through the light into the plant room. The stuff did not seem to be coming through from the storage area quite so fast so I walked along the roof to the next skylight and looked in. The only tank still discharging was No. 7 and that had only been half full so it looked as if it was coming to an end.

I looked at my watch. It was almost four o’clock which meant that Benson was due at any moment. I hadn’t the foggiest notion how long it had been since I’d run for it. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes but seemed like an age. There was the sound of a motor coming up the hill. That would be Benson’s car now. He still had one of the old fashioned type with four wheels. I glanced towards the road and could see it as he turned the bend before he came over the brow. I waved frantically to catch his eye and stop him before he ran into the stuff. It had almost reached the brow from this side and he wouldn’t be able to stop if I didn’t slow him down. He didn’t see me and went smack into it and came to a rapid halt. I yelled to him to stay in the car. He must have heard my voice because he glanced up to see where I was. He couldn’t have seen me though for he opened the car door and got out, looking around for me. I shouted again and he looked up. Then he did a strange thing. His arm was half way to waving at me when he toppled over, flat on his face. The damn stuff must have eaten his feet off and now, even as I watched, it was slowly covering his body. He tried to push himself up onto his forearms but didn’t seem to be able to do so. He struggled violently onto his side and I saw that below the elbow there was nothing left.

I sat helplessly on the hot roof and looked at the sky. It was blacker than ever. The storm couldn’t be far away surely. Even as the thought crossed my mind I felt a spot or two and heard thunder in the distance. Ah, that would do it. A good deluge would wash it away. Poor old Benson, I thought ruefully, there’d be nothing left to cremate. And where the hell was that blasted policeman? He must have known there was something the matter. Why couldn’t they have sent the local man I wondered?

The rain was beginning to come in earnest now. Great big drops making dark round patches on the white plastic roof. It looked as if I’d have to sit it out and I tried to make myself comfortable on the corrugations. The water started to flow down the valleys under me. In no time the corrugations were full up and streams of water were pouring down the roof past me. It was getting lighter and as I looked down I could see that the stuff on the ground was absorbing the water and growing thicker.

I looked at poor old Benson’s car. The stuff seemed to be climbing around the only wheel I could see at the front. The tyre seemed to have disappeared. It had got quite a lot lighter and the rain was easing off. I could see as far as the main road now almost a mile away. There was a flashing light travelling at speed. Good! that must be the police. It was. The local chap in his Hoverina, a sort of glorified motor cycle that was really a cross between a hovercraft and a small car. It looked like an overgrown ping-pong ball as it turned off the main road and made its way towards the Milk Plant.

I stood up and waved frantically, motioning with my hands for him to stop before he reached the stuff which was by now almost on top of the brow of the entrance road and about to make its way down the slope the other side. Fortunately he saw me and understood. He stopped and got out, looking at me questioningly.

“Don’t drive on the stuff.” I shouted and pointed to the brow.
“It’ll have you.” He looked at it and then back at me.

“Don’t worry,” he called. “This thing’ll go anywhere,” and got back into the hoverina.

The engine revved and he sped up the slope and over the brow. He kept going right through the entrance gates and I was just looking for the nearest downpipe to clamber off the roof when he came to a stop about fifty yards from the building. The stuff must have eaten the skirt of the hoverina.

The batch opened and he started to clamber out. I shouted for all I was worth. “Don’t stand on the stuff, it’ll eat you.” He stopped and did a grin and then the fool put his foot onto the surface. It sank into the stuff and he tried to pull it out, his face contorted with pain. It would only come part way. He tried again and then reached down and unzipped the leg of the boot and pulled his foot out. I could see his bare foot and wondered if he’d been wearing socks. He was examining it and then held it up for me to see. His toes weren’t there.

“Use the wireless,” I called and he waved back.

Well, there isn’t much more to tell. He was an intelligent sort for in less than ten minutes there were half a dozen helicopters overhead. One of them dropped me a rope and I clung tightly as I was winched up off the roof. The ‘copter took me across the field which was by now full of police, firemen and boffins from the Ministry of Bacteria and Kindred Species. Apparently they had suspected that this could happen and were more interested than horrified in what had happened, even when I told them about poor old Benson.

The stuff had cleared the building now and was moving ever increasing circle. On their instructions the helicopters dropped incendiary bombs on the stuff and that did it. It just disintegrated and finished up as a lot of cinders.

When I got home that evening my wife greeted me and put her hand on my sleeve, “You’re wet through dear, were you out in that storm?”

“Yes,” I replied, “I must remember to check that the sterilizer is working in the morning.”

She looked at me as if I were nutty.