They reached the edge of the parking lot outside the grimy building where their fathers spent their working days. The words “Nu Co.” had been painted above the front door in towering white letters. A shallow cement staircase led to a pair of double doors, beige like the ones at school. Lucy wondered how many times her father had crossed this bland threshold.
The van was parked haphazardly at the back of the building. Tyre marks on the cement suggested it had skidded to an abrupt stop. The rear doors had been ripped open by some furious force of nature. Or supernature.
There were no creatures, clowns or corporate officers in the vicinity.
“Where is everybody?” asked Milo.
“Inside, I guess.” Lucy’s brow furrowed. “How do we break in?”
“Why don’t we try the front door?”
“The front door?” She laughed. “Now who’s the crazy one?”
“You have a better idea?”
“Yeah.” Lucy pushed her glasses up her nose. “Like, any idea.”
“You underestimate the direct approach,” said Milo. “All the workers like your dad are at the fair. The clowns are in the back with Bigwoof. I’ll bet you ten thousand bucks nobody is watching the front door.”
Lucy scanned the darkened windows. If anyone was in there, she could see no sign. But that didn’t mean nobody was. She scratched her chin. “I guess it’s worth a try.”
They jogged up the steps, pausing at the top to steel their nerves. Milo grabbed the handle and pulled. It was unlocked.
“After you.” He gestured for her to enter.
Lucy exhaled nervously and stepped inside.
The heavy door slammed behind them with a resonant CLANG.
They were on a grated platform overlooking the factory floor. The hum of electricity reverberated around them, the air thick with the saccharine scent of Nucralose.
The facility was big enough to house a jumbo jet, its high ceiling strewn with spinning industrial fans and translucent yellow skylights. A set of shiny metal tubes and pipes ran along the floor towards the centre of the room, neatly snaking around cauldrons, machines and conveyor belts, all leading to a massive copper vat as big as the above-ground swimming pool in Tex’s backyard.
Lucy listened for voices, but heard nothing. It seemed they were alone.
She and Milo descended the stairs towards a row of wide cylindrical vats with ladders running up each side. They looked shiny and new, as did much of the equipment they could see.
Lucy knocked on one of the vessels and heard a dull CLONG. She hopped on to the ladder.
“What are you doing?” asked Milo.
“I wanna see what this stuff looks like.”
“Hurry up then. And don’t fall in.”
Inside the open cylinder, freshly harvested sap simmered in an early step along the surely fascinating journey to becoming an alternative pine sweetener. A large bubble forced its way to the surface, spritzing Lucy’s cheeks with black goop.
“See anything interesting?” asked Milo.
“Nothing unexpected.” She wiped her face with her sleeve and craned her neck to get a better sense of the massive space. At the far end of the room was a doorway labelled “SUBTERRANEAN STORAGE”. The basement. That looks promising. She slid down the ladder to the concrete floor.
“I know where to go,” said Lucy.
Milo was staring uneasily at the ceiling.
“What’s wrong?” said Lucy.
“I thought I saw a shadow on the skylight.”
Lucy looked up, trying to spot whatever ill fortune would befall them next. She saw nothing. “Maybe it was that freaky owl again?”
“Maybe,” said Milo. “There are cameras up there, by the way.” He pointed to each of the high corners of the building.
“I wonder if some clown creep is watching us.”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
They crept down aisle after aisle of giant silver equipment. Some gurgled while others buzzed with unseen purpose. At the centre of it all was the enormous copper vat, brewing beneath a large fan that swept up its rising steam in a ghostly vortex.
This is it. Lucy felt a shiver run down her spine. The stuff that turns people into monsters. Before Milo could object, she scurried up the ladder on the side of the vat.
The contents of this vessel looked quite different from the dark, sappy substance from which it had been transformed. Stirred from below by some unseen force, it rippled like liquid gold. The eye-watering scent of pine was now masked by a buttery odour, like the popcorn they sold at the cineplex.
“This stuff is crazy,” she said to Milo. “You’ve gotta see it.”
“Get down from there before somebody spots us,” he urged, nearly tripping over a steel-covered cable.
“Somebody already has,” said a terse adult voice.
The kids turned in alarm as an undulating shadow emerged from behind a humming cylinder. A small woman appeared, dark hair pinned neatly atop her head, her long white lab coat billowing behind her in the industrial-fan-conjured breeze.
It was the doctor from the medical tent. “Step away from the product,” she ordered.
The biggest clown they had seen yet marched out from behind a bottling station and headed towards Milo, who didn’t seem to know which way to run.
Lucy gritted her teeth and jumped down with a THUD.
“I don’t know how you podunks usually operate,” said the fuchsia-haired henchman, in a voice that was higher than Lucy had expected, “but we don’t appreciate intruders at this facility.” A set of ridiculous green freckles adorned his rosy cheeks.
“Especially thieves,” barked the tiny doctor.
“We’re not thieves,” said Milo.
“What the crud’s a podunk?” asked Lucy.
The clown appeared to be confused by the question.
“What are you doing in here?” asked the doctor.
“Playing sardines,” said Lucy.
“Lucy…” Milo whispered. His eyes were locked on the ceiling.
What is he staring at?
“I’ll take these rugrats to the back office, Doctor Quittan.” The clown grabbed Milo roughly by the collar.
“Fish!” said Lucy, reaching for him.
“Duck!” Milo squealed, covering his head with his hands.
“Why are they saying animals?” demanded Doctor Quittan.
With a loud crash, something big and yellow fell through the skylight, sending shards of metal and plastic into the vat of golden goo. A plume of steam rose from the cauldron and spiralled towards the ceiling, thick, and dark, and fast.
A person-sized something had fallen through the skylight, but it hadn’t fallen far – it was caught on a twisted windowpane, agitating the clouds of steam that concealed it from view.
“This is unacceptable!” seethed Doctor Quittan. “The product must not be contaminated.” She stormed over to a panel near the cauldron and pressed a big green button.
There was a hiss and a whir as the ceiling fan kicked into high gear. The steam dispersed, revealing a very large banana dangling from the mangled skylight like a cocoon, legs flailing in mid-air.
Millepoids! Lucy gaped at the candy man in awe. How the plop did he get up there?
“Forget the children,” Doctor Quittan barked at the clown. “The substance must be protected at all costs.”
“Yes, Doctor!” The clown saluted. He released Milo and turned his focus to the pendulous banana and the bubbling vat directly below. “We’ve got a situation on the main floor involving the rogue agent,” he spoke into his flower. “We need backup. Repeat, we need backup.”
Liberated from the flustered clown, Milo yanked Lucy down an aisle of open containers outfitted with blinking dials and measures. He knocked on each one as they passed, trying to find one that rang hollow.
“In here,” he said. He hopped over the side of a squat tank and ducked inside with a tinny BONG.
Lucy followed, and they stood on tiptoe t
o peek over the rim.
Above the vat of Nucralose, Millepoids kicked his feet, twisting and turning in his loosening costume.
“Code red,” the clown shouted into the flower on his chest. “I repeat, code red at beta location.”
“What is Millepoids doing?” Milo whispered. “Does he want to fall in?”
“He can’t possibly,” said Lucy. “He knows what that stuff does.” If eating and drinking Nucralose turned Steve and Carlos into Bigwoofs, what would a whole vat of it do to Millepoids?
The dangling candyman swung his legs high and then kicked low, squirming until his slender body, clad in black spandex, slid out of the bottom of the peel. He caught the banana suit with both hands and hung for just a moment, looked down at the simmering soup, and let go.
“No!” cried Lucy and Doctor Quittan, simultaneously but for different reasons.
“CODE RED!” barked the clown.
Millepoids landed in the cauldron with a sickening SPLOOSH. His yellow costume, freed by the sudden loss of weight, split and fluttered like a Jurassic butterfly to the factory floor.
“Why? Lucy choked. “Why did he do it?” She felt like she was going to be sick.
The sinister sweetener bubbled madly, pearls of syrup cascading on to the floor.
“Backup,” the clown squeaked into his flower as he jumped aside to avoid the golden goop.
“Why aren’t they going in after him?” Milo asked anxiously.
The doctor stared at the vat as if transfixed, her face frozen in awed anticipation. She, too, kept a cautious distance from the spilled substance.
“He’s alive,” Lucy gulped. “Listen.”
A banging sound emanated from the giant cauldron, soft and sporadic. Millepoids was swimming around inside, though he hadn’t surfaced.
“It’s not possible…” said Milo.
The banging grew louder. Lucy had a feeling that something very bad was about to happen. For the first time in her life, she hoped she was wrong.
With a resounding CLANG, a dripping, distorted hand gripped the copper rim. It was soon joined by another. Then another. And another.
Holy cripes.
And another.
“Unbelievable,” Milo murmured.
All at once, an impossibly enormous beast rose from the shimmering stew and revealed itself, pulling itself up by eight long, spidery limbs. At last, it perched like a grim gargoyle at the edge of the cauldron. Six black eyes clustered on its brow above a snarling, wolfish snout. A coat of golden goo trickled down its hairy, bulbous body.
The blood drained from Lucy’s face. Spiderwoof. The hideous thing that once was Mandy Millepoids, beloved Sticky Pines candyman, balanced on the balls of its freakish feet, raised its misshapen head and howled – an enraged cry that reverberated across every surface on the factory floor.
Lucy and Milo crouched and covered their anguished ears until the walls of their hiding place ceased vibrating.
Catching her breath, Lucy peeked back over the edge of the tank. What have these quackheads done?
Steely-eyed, Doctor Quittan approached the creature. “Mr Millepoids,” she said with a confident smile. “I assure you, we mean you and your friends no harm. Come, let us discuss this situation like civilised people.”
The monster snorted in her general direction and surveyed the factory floor with its many glistening eyes.
“We-we are quite close to getting to the bottom of this little mishap,” the doctor stammered. “The others will be released as soon as we have all the information we need, I assure you.”
The corners of the beast’s mouth stretched into a terrible grimace as it made an unearthly guttural sound.
Lucy realised with a chill that it was laughing.
The many-limbed creature leapt high into the air and landed with a THUD on a wide rectangular machine with black tubes sticking out the back. With a vicious kick, it sent a panel flying, exposing a series of wires and blinking lights. Lucy forgot to breathe as the monster tore into the machine’s innards, scraps flying everywhere.
“Stop this tantrum at once,” commanded the doctor. “We can help you. All of you. Let’s work together to—”
Quittan shrieked as the ghastly being parkoured off the foamy cauldron and landed on a crouch on the floor before her, its front legs poised above its head like a black widow about to strike. Its beastly face oozed with anger, a low growl emanating from a throat large enough to swallow the doctor whole.
“Back off!” Quittan’s high-pitched henchman charged at the creature. The clown immediately slipped on the banana peel costume and skidded head-first into the side of the vat. BOMPHSQUEEEEEE. He slumped uselessly to the floor, leaving a streak of white face paint along the shiny copper.
The Millepoids monster chuckled and leapt on to a tall vessel across the aisle from a terrified Lucy. It seemed to wink at her with three of its eyes as it thrust its talons into the cold steel, penetrating the container as though it were made of paper. Brown liquid squirted out of each hole, splattering the machinery around it.
Satisfied, the monster bounded off to attack a series of blue tubes depositing something into a trough. With one swipe, the tubes were ripped in half, spewing a fizzy substance that smelled like rancid lemons.
Lucy sank into the tank and huddled next to Milo, who was cradling his filthy face between his knees.
Outside their hiding place they heard the sound of shattering glass followed by a grotesque cackle.
Lucy patted Milo’s head. “It’ll be OK,” she said, not at all sure that it would, for any of them, ever again.
Milo rocked back and forth. “My dad wouldn’t let any of this happen on purpose, I know he wouldn’t.”
“Whatever he did or didn’t do,” said Lucy, “we have to find the others. The people they’ve been holding here. We’ve gotta help them.”
A fire alarm rang out and shouting voices filled the room.
“That’ll be the backup,” muttered Lucy.
The vibrations of many pounding feet echoed around the factory floor. There was a TWHACK and a yelp as a human body hit a nearby vessel.
“Time to go.” Lucy helped Milo to his feet.
The factory was in chaos. Ten clowns in smeared make-up and combat boots charged at the creature, their tranquilliser guns raised.
The steam from the vat was now joined by the smoke of several electrical fires. The sprinkler system activated and water rained down from the ceiling, slickening the floor and causing the clowns to slide about pathetically.
The Spiderwoof was seated at the edge of the copper vat. It trailed a claw languidly inside, stirring the hazardous goop.
“You’re surrounded,” said an amplified voice. It was Mr Fisher, speaking into a loudspeaker several yards away from the central cauldron. He signalled for the clowns to keep their distance from the beast. “End this now,” Fisher continued. “You’re only putting yourself and the others in jeopardy.”
Millepoids sank his talons into the edge of the copper container, scrunching the metal like cardboard. A trickle of glistening syrup ran down the side and on to the floor.
“Get back,” Fisher barked at the clowns. “Everyone, get back!”
The goons started to back away. Then a shot rang out – one of the trigger-happy clowns had fired without warning. A split second later a barrage of shots sounded, one after another, POP POP POP!
Millepoids bellowed as he was bombarded with colourful darts. He tried to shake them off but was immediately hit by two more. He teetered on the edge of the cauldron, clutching it to keep himself upright.
“We need to go now!” Lucy hoisted herself out of the tank.
Milo clambered after her and they made a beeline for the back of the factory, ducking behind tables and bottling machines to keep out of sight. They crouched behind a conveyor belt, not far from the basement door. Two clowns, one with green hair and one with yellow, stood at either side of the doorway, tranquilliser guns in hand.
“T
here’s no way past them,” said Lucy.
Milo stiffened. “I can think of one way,” he said. He squeezed Lucy’s shoulder. “Go find the others. Don’t waste this chance.”
Before she could ask him what on the round blue Earth he was planning to do, Milo darted into the middle of the aisle.
“Hey, bozos,” he shouted, waving his hands in the air.
“Is that a kid?” yelped the clown with the haystack hair.
“Where did he come from?” shouted the green one.
Milo turned on his heel and ran towards the pandemonium at the centre of the floor.
“Get back here!” shouted the haystack clown.
They took off after him, racing past Lucy, who marvelled in dismay at her friend’s sacrifice. Milo dodged the buffoons, skidding across the slippery floor and out of sight.
Fish, what have you done?
“That’s my son!” cried Mr Fisher into the megaphone. “Get him out of here!”
More shots rang out and Lucy heard the Millepoids monster wail pitifully. Then came the slow, creaking sound of buckling metal.
“He’s tearing it open,” shouted a voice.
“Run,” shouted another.
“Milo!” shouted Lucy.
But it was too late. Millepoids fell, taking the wall of the copper vat with him. With a horrendous RIIIIIIIIIIIIP, a cascade of pure Nucralose surged from the container, engulfing the stampeding clowns in a swell of syrup.
The noxious wave gurgled towards Lucy. “Milo,” she cried again, but couldn’t find him in the crowd.
Did he get away?
She had no choice but to run.
With no plans of slowing down, she slammed her body into the crash bar on the basement door, thrusting herself into darkness.
Lucy slammed the door and held it shut. A trickle of golden goo seeped through the gap at the bottom. She spread her legs wide to avoid it, one foot wedged into the corner of the windowless cement hallway in which she now stood. She was safe, for now.
The same could not be said for everyone on the factory floor. There were a dozen people out there exposed to pure Nucralose, Milo among them.
The Bigwoof Conspiracy Page 11