Once free of the car park, he accelerated, heading toward the manor. He was looking forward to a few hours of well-earned sleep and Dill could take the tunnels back to Magelight, though he made a mental note to make the exit more secure. The labyrinth of the Bone Cathedral was obviously not a sufficient deterrent to people coming through.
He slowed as he approached the rear of an electric milk float. “You don't see many of those about any more.”
Dill looked up from where he was texting, his thumbs dancing across the touchpad. “There are still a few. You just have to be up early enough. Or late enough, as the case may be.”
“They can't compete with the supermarkets.” Harold nodded to the two-litre jug he'd just bought. “That cost me less than half what the milkman would charge.”
“But they still use glass bottles. That's proper recycling that is. They were doing it decades before it was popular.”
“Name me one dairy that still uses glass bottles.” Harold pulled out to overtake before he spotted the lights ahead changing to red. He slowed again. “They all use plastic, now. It halves the time the milkmen are on the roads.”
“And puts the burden of recycling back on the consumer who, lets face it, can't be bothered most of the time.”
“I recycle.” The Markham Road lights went green and Harold put his foot down, overtaking the milk float and narrowly missing a car crossing on amber. It swerved. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw, in subjective slow motion, the car plough into the rear of the milk float. Bottles and crates were thrown up like depth charges from a destroyer, smashing against the road in a forty yard radius.The scream of twisted metal sang through the night air.
“What was that?”
“The sound of why dairies stopped using glass bottles.”