We were somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the desert, when the
drugs began to take hold. I remember "The Medway Handyman"
saying something like:

Ian wrote:

We're stumped. Any ideas on what to do next?

Run! Run away while you still can!

I recall reading "Slime", about a genetic freak growth that developed in
the New York sewers. Charming stuff that tended to grab people on the
bog.
Luckily, it was fiction.