“Not your lactating,” Smalling said, though he did wonder where all that milk was coming from. Lou was relatively short, dumpy, the kind of guy you used to see hanging around bookies, smoking roll-yer-owns and drinking Red Stripe from a can. The milk on the tarp would have filled him twice over, which meant that he was producing it as quickly as he was leaking it. “I’m talking about the milk-mutants. How do we stop them? You said you have guns…”
“Forget about the guns,” Lou said, only because he wanted them to forget about the guns. They were his…and his alone. If things were going to go south that night, he wanted to be able to defend himself, or at least put a round into his own head, should it come to it. “How many of them are out there? How many milk-mutants did you see?”
The woman walked casually across the room, sheathing the sword as she went. “Too many,” she said. “They’re lurking in the shadows; a couple of them are out in the open. I guess even they can’t stand the heat.”
“Maybe they don’t want to curdle,” Harkness said. “I mean, their insides are practically made of the stuff. If they go all clumpy, it might be like a stroke to them. They might lose the ability to function. Maybe that’s why they’re sticking to the shadows.”
“Maybe,” said Red. She reached Lou, who suddenly became very coy, trying to shield his exposed body from the woman, who he now recognised as the girl that had come by earlier asking about Kellerman.
“Where are your friends?” he asked, hunching over the tarp and squeezing his right nipple. The flow increased momentarily before settling again.
Red sighed as the deaths of her Los Pendejos brothers finally sank in. “They…they didn’t make it.” She had a reputation to uphold, though, and so added, “Bunch of cunts anyway.” She didn’t mean it. El Oscuro had been, on occasion, a very considerate lover. Sometimes he even gave her the opportunity to finish.
“Sorry to hear that,” Lou said.
“Kellerman’s dead, too,” Smalling said.
“Well, at least that’s something,” Lou said, though it wasn’t the response Smalling had been going for. “Look, I don’t know what you want from me, but I’m almost positive I can’t give it to you, and I’m finding this whole thing a little embarrassing, if I’m being totally honest.”
“Do you have anything to eat?” Red said, optimistically. “Something to drink that isn’t that?” She pointed at the milk-flooded tarpaulin.
Lou smiled. “That I can do. There’s food in the basement, but don’t go crazy. We don’t know how long we’re going to be here. Oh, and don’t uncover the body down there. It’s not a pleasant sight.” The thought of the mother-beast down there, head all but decimated, oozing pink slime all over the place, sent a shudder down his spine and brought bile up into his throat.
Red walked across the room and lifted the trapdoor. Her stomach growled in anticipation of the food it was about to receive. Down she went, into the darkness, in search of tinned goods and anything to quench her thirst that wasn’t milk.
31
“The rooftops?” Roger Fox said, hoisting himself up onto the adjacent gable. “You think we can get all the way to Lou’s by using the roofs?”
Zee reached down latched onto her father’s wrist. Pulling him up, she said, “Do you have a better idea? There are twenty houses between here and LOU’S LOOT. I’m pretty sure there are no major gaps between, nothing too difficult to traverse. Up here we’re safe, away from those fucking…I mean effing monsters.” She turned to face the others, who all seemed to be examining her as if she had lost her senses. “What?”
“Well, this is a little far-fetched,” Rita said. “Jumping across the rooftops like cowboys. Sounds like something from one of those terrible novels you read.”
“Like I said…does anyone have a better idea?” Zee waited a few seconds, and when no-one was forthcoming, said, “That’s what I thought. Now…” She glanced off into the distance, over to where Lou’s store would be. “…Okay, follow me. But keep low and away from the edge. If one of those things spots us up here, we’re for the chop. Stay close, and whatever you do, don’t sneeze, cough, or fart, and absolutely no talking. Does everyone understand?”
They all nodded in unison, apart from Clint, who had fallen asleep in Rita Fox’s arms. He was snoring gently, but it was nothing to be concerned about. There were pigeons on the next house making more noise, and the milk-mutants didn’t seem to be concerning themselves with them.
Zee walked slowly across the rooftop, keeping low, heeding her own advice.
“It’s your fault she’s like this,” Rita told her husband. “If you hadn’t found that Action Man™ (other militarized and cockless action figures are available) in that skip all those years ago and given it to her as a Christmas gift, we wouldn’t be up here now. We’d be inside, making pastry and talking about boys.”
Roger didn’t like the sound of that. “Don’t blame me,” he said. “It’s all those books she reads. Blame Lee Child.”
“Keep your voices down,” Mickey said. “I can hear them down there, scrabbling about the place. The last thing we want is to let them know we’re up here. Just try not to argue for, like, five minutes. Once we get to the store, you can go ballistic if you must. We just—”
“Hang on a minute,” Rita angrily whispered. “Are you giving us advice on our marriage? Is that what’s happening here? Because I’m not going to take advice from a man whose cock and balls are constantly on show.” She reached down and covered Tom’s ears with both hands, even though she had no intention of using further profanities, and Tom had heard the previous ones just fine.
“I think she wants us to follow,” Roy said, pointing to where Zee crouched at the end of the rooftop, gesticulating frantically.
“Come on, then,” Roger whispered. “Let’s go a roof-hoppin’.” He wasn’t looking forward to it in the slightest.
The first three jumps, if you could call them that, were relatively simple. Two foot gaps between buildings, necessitating only the smallest of leaps, were all that stood between the roof-hopping ‘haveners and the next stop on their crazy excursion. By the time they reached the fourth rooftop, all of them – Tom included – were feeling unstoppable. Bring it on! Fucking milk-mutants, don’t make us come down there and show you what a mistake you’ve made in messing with the people of Oilhaven!
Then they saw the ten foot jump required to make it onto the next roof – Oilhaven Catholic Church – and six hearts sank simultaneously.
“You can fuck that right off,” said Roy, examining the empty space between the buildings. “What do I look like? James fucking Bond?”
“Who?” Tom said. His mother covered his ears. Once again, she was a little too late, and Tom had a new word to add to his vocabulary.
“We have to keep going,” Zee said. “It’s our only hope.”
Rita Fox stepped up to the edge of the building. Down there, in the shadow of the old church, something moved. She couldn’t quite make it out, but it was big, and had several large appendages, which it was swinging around the place the same way a drunkard took a piss. “I don’t think I can do it,” she said, backing away from the edge. She looked nervous, and rightfully so. The roof opposite slanted sharply down; even if they made the jump, there was a good chance they would roll off the roof when they landed, falling straight into the tentacles, or mouth, of the thing waiting in the shadows.
Zee shook her head. “You don’t have to jump,” she said, pulling the coil of clothes-line from her pocket. “It’s only a few feet.” She searched the rooftop, looking for anything she could tie it to. Everyone watched in silence. Down in the shadow of the church, the milk-mutant plaintively keened.
“Over here,” Mickey said. Zee paced across the roof to where the nude man stood pointing at a hook just over the lip of the roof. “That what you’re looking for?”
Zee grinned. “That’ll do nicely.” She tied one end of the clothes-line to the hook, double-knotting it not once but twice, then mad
e her way across the roof, to where the rest of the survivors stood, nervously waiting. “Right, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to jump across and tie the other end of this line to the church. Anyone that can make it across with a jump, please, be my guest. Those that feel like they can’t do it are going to have to shuffle over on the clothes-line.”
“What about your brothers, Zee?” Rita said. “How are they going to get across?”
Zee was about to answer when a voice said, “I’m already over,” and all eyes turned to the church roof, to where Tom Fox was leaning against a gargoyle’s ass.
“Tom Fox, you get back here right this minute,” Rita said.
“He’s over!” Zee said. “He made it. Which means that we can all make it, Mom.” Zee tucked the end of the clothes-line into her back-pocket and pried Clint out of her mother’s grasp.
“What are you doing?” Rita asked. “You’re not going to…” She trailed off as Zee turned and rushed toward the roof’s edge, her sick brother clutched tight to her chest. Then she was off the end, floating through the air, an involuntary grunt escaping her as she went. Behind her, hearts leapt into mouths, Rita Fox’s mouth opened so wide that she would suffer with it for weeks to come; Mickey applauded, which was always a dangerous game to play when bereft of clothes.
Zee landed on the church roof and managed to keep her feet, despite one of the ancient slates shifting beneath her. She propped Clint up against the stone gargoyle and instructed Tom to look after him.
“Okay,” she said, surveying the church roof. Mickey landed on the church roof next, a little heavily – three slates rattled their way toward the edge and disappeared over the side – but safe.
Lining the rooftop were six-inch stone crosses, perfect for tethering to, and so Zee wasted no time in securing the other end of the line. When she was done, she gave it a little pluck. The boyoyoyoyng! noise it made told her it was plenty tight enough.
Her father made the jump across, and was steadied by the waiting Mickey.
“Did you just rub your penis on my leg?” Roger said, frowning.
“Accident,” Mickey said, taking a step back. “Just trying to help.”
“That ought to do it,” Zee said, joining Mickey and her father. The line between the two buildings looked good. To her mother, she said, “You’ll be fine, Mom. Just don’t look down.”
Rita gave her the finger and took a deep breath. “Okay,” she whispered. “You can do this, Rita. You can do it. Do you want to go first?”
Roy Clamp frantically shook his head. “I’d rather slide down a bannister made of razorblades and land on a bicycle with no seat.” In other words, ladies first.
Huffing nervously, Rita lowered herself slowly down, crawling under the clothes-line next to the roof edge. She wasn’t good with heights, or falling from them, so it took a moment to compose herself. During said composure, however, she had plenty of time to think about the beast skulking about down there next to the church, and what it would do to her should she fall.
It was the least fruitful attempt at equanimity ever.
She shuffled slowly backwards, clutching at the clothes-line with both arms. Her eyes remained closed for the entire journey, which lasted just under twenty seconds. When hands pulled her to safety on the other side, she exhaled deeply, and said, “Gerghhh.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Roger Fox said, pulling his wife to her feet. “You did great.”
“Don’t ever make me do anything like that again,” she replied. She had been able to hear the milk-mutant beneath, licking its lips and god knows what else, hoping for a misplaced hand, an accidental slip of a leg.
“I won’t,” Roger said, though it was a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. Who knew what they would have to do next in order to survive the day.
“Come on, Roy,” Mickey said. “Shuffle your fat ass over here.”
The landlord regarded the line as if it were a snake, liable to bite and poison him if he made contact with it. “I can’t do it,” he said. “I thought I could, but I can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t do it?” Roger said. “There’s an eight-year-old boy over here that cleared it, and Zee did it while carrying Clint.”
“But I’m tubby,” Roy said, patting himself in the belly. “I’ll break the line; I know I will.”
“Then jump!” Mickey said. “We’ll catch you.” He moved up next to the roof edge, as close as was humanly possible. One more step and he would have fallen into the tree- and monster-lined abyss below. “I’m seventy-five percent sure that you’ll make it.”
“Just seventy-five?” Roy said, fear etched across his face.
“Like you said, you have got a bit of timbre to you.” Mickey patted his own belly; his willy did a little dance. “But I’m sure you’ll make it. Like, seventy percent…”
“Seventy now?” Roy gasped. “What happened to the other five?”
“The longer you put it off, the less likely it is that you’ll get across.” Mickey held out a hand. “It’s now or never, buddy. Let’s do this while you’re at sixty-five percent.”
Fuck, Roy thought, but he knew he had to jump. He couldn’t stand the thought of being left behind, left to battle those things alone…and the boy, Tom, had made it look relatively easy. Maybe the naked dude was right; he was building it up, making it more difficult than it actually was.
“Okay,” Roy said. “But you’ll catch me?”
“We’ll have a go,” Mickey said. “Just make sure you get some good elevation, otherwise we won’t reach you.”
“Elevation?”
“Yeah, it’s what people get when they jump,” Roger Fox said. “When was the last time you jumped anything?”
Roy shook his head. Possibly never. But he was going to jump now, and failing was not an option. With the others on the adjacent roof, urging him on, giving him strength, he knew he had a good chance of making it.
At least fifty percent…
“Fuck it,” he said, and then he was running, running, running toward the roof’s edge. He wished he hadn’t taken so much of a run-up, for he was officially knackered by the time he leapt off. And, for just a moment, he was flying, confident that he was going to make it. The outstretched arms and wide eyes on the opposite roof told him otherwise.
Down, down, down, he slammed against the side of the church. A hand reached down and grabbed onto his wrist just before he dropped into the void between the buildings. He looked up to find Mickey’s face, contorted and terrified, staring down at him.
“Pull me up!” Roy gasped. “I didn’t get enough elevation.”
“No shit!” Mickey said. “You didn’t get any elevation.” Mickey had seen better leaps from legless crickets. “Don’t let go.”
“Same to you,” Roy said.
“Okay, everyone pull! Pull! Pull!” Mickey said to Roger and Zee, who had a hold of the naked man’s ankles, and also a graphic view of what he’d had for breakfast. As he was dragged slowly back, away from the edge of the roof, his member grazed the tiles beneath his body. It hurt like a sonofabitch, and reminded him of the time he’d spent a night with Abigail Sneve, Oilhaven’s geriatric whore.
Roy’s face appeared at the end of the building, and then his shoulder…elbows…it was working.
“Just a little more,” Mickey said, wincing with pain. “We’ve got you, Roy.”
For centuries, people had been known to jump the gun, to speak too soon, to generally jinx the fuck out of something, and as Roy’s mouth filled with blood and his eyes bulged from their sockets, Mickey knew he had joined the ranks of those premature celebrators.
“Gaaaahhhhh!” Roy screamed, spitting and drooling blood onto the church roof. He dropped a few inches, as if something was pulling him down. Mickey slid forward, desperate not to let go of the poor bastard.
“Hold on, Roy!” Mickey yelled, but Roy was out of it, unconscious, his head slumped listlessly to one side. “Everyone PUUUUUULLLLLL!”
And pull they did. Zee had one ankle; Roger the other, and Mickey had both of Roy’s wrists. Surprisingly, Roy came up over the side of the church roof without too much trouble…
At least, the top half of him did. There was nothing below his waist. Intestines and viscera trailed out from his savaged torso.
And down in the shadow of the old church, the milk-mutant ate noisily, clapping its tentacles together with joy at such an easy meal.
Rita Fox screamed.
32
“This is great,” Smalling said, chewing on another piece of Spam. “I didn’t even know this stuff was edible. I always thought it was for plugging holes in plasterboard.”
“It can be used as food and sealant,” Lou confirmed. “But I wouldn’t recommend puttying windows with it.”
Red was busy working on her second tin of sardines. “I think you’ve stopped leaking,” she said, gesturing to Lou’s sagging, red breasts.
Lou looked down, caressing one nipple and then the other. “I think you’re right!” he said. “Oh! Thank god for that! I thought it was never going to stop.”
The tarpaulin in the centre of the room was full, as were three large jars that used to hold miscellaneous nails and fixings. The stench in the room would have been enough to knock a crime scene investigator off their feet, but the three sitting around the counter were used to it, had been there as it worsened. And Lou, well, it was his milk. How could he be disgusted by something that was going on inside, and then coming out, of his body?
Lou climbed into a string vest and slumped against the ODDS N SODS rack. He was exhausted, and not looking forward to the next session. He didn’t know how women coped, how they voluntarily made their breasts available for tiny humans with the same suction as a Dyson vacuum cleaner. There was nothing hanging off Lou’s tits as the milk pumped from him and he was sorer than a hooker on halfpenny night.
“It’s getting dark out there,” Harkness said. “Must be getting late.”
“Do you think they’re going to come for us after dark?” Smalling said.
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