by David Moody
The bedrooms were adequate with clean, fresh linen on the beds, a kettle with sachets of tea and coffee and, to Neil’s eternal relief, a small television.
As it turned out, they weren’t the only guests at the hotel that weekend. One of the other rooms was taken by Toby and Fiona Hammond, a couple in their mid-thirties from Buckinghamshire who had the unfortunate (and extremely annoying) habit of referring to each other constantly as ‘Tobes’ and ‘Fi-Fi’. But, as the new arrivals found out during the course of the evening, this was possibly the least irritating thing about the pair.
Once they’d left their gear in their rooms, the gang headed down to the bar for some supper, where the Hammonds took little time in introducing themselves, and insisting on joining Gez and his friends while they ate.
Toby was one of those people who thought that everything he said was hysterically funny and, irritatingly, Fiona agreed with that thinking. Every sentence uttered by Toby was followed by a guffaw of laughter, while Fiona’s echoing response could be best described as a cross between a hiccup and a shriek.
The pair had been sweethearts since their school days and after their ‘A’ levels, they took a gap year… which became more of a “gap three years”. They spent that time backpacking around the globe, where they developed a love for extreme sports and travelling to the most far flung hot spots on the planet. This constant flirting with danger was what had led them to Lampeter for the weekend.
After Rotten Monday, travelling abroad had been banned, in case it spread contagion even further between infected countries. As a result, Toby and Fiona had to make do with travelling to dangerous sites in the United Kingdom. They visited Anglesey annually and, only last year, had spent a whole week trekking through the by now Stench infested and extremely hazardous Lake District.
It was while trawling the internet that Toby had found an advert for the zombie weekend in West Wales. ‘…and so I booked it there and then.’ Toby finished his long-winded monologue with a guffaw of laughter. Fiona joined in with a hiccupping shriek.
It was lucky that the rest of the crew around the table were busy wolfing down their food as none of them would have been able to get a word in anyway.
‘So, are you guys heading up to the rugger club in the morning?’ asked Toby excitedly.
Billy nodded, while shovelling another forkful of food into his mouth.
‘It’s supposed to be totes amaze-balls,’ added Fiona, just as excitedly.
‘It’s what?’ asked Gez, a perplexed look on his face.
‘Totes amaze-balls,’ repeated Toby. ‘You know, it’s what the kids say, isn’t it.’
Neil placed his cutlery on his now empty plate. ‘I think you’ll find the ‘kids’ stopped saying that about ten years ago.’
There was an awkward silence around the table for a minute until Toby piped up again. ‘Anyway, did I tell you about the time Fi-fi and I were bungee jumping in the Amazon rainforest?’
The four friends shot nervous glances at each other, before Gez just barely nodded his head in his Uncle Billy’s direction.
‘Er, well, you know what Toby…’ stammered Billy
‘It’s Tobes. Okay? Tobes.’
‘Yes, well, the thing is Tobes, it’s been a long enough day for myself and “the kids” as it is so, if you don’t mind, we’re going to turn in. Probably see you up the rugby club tomorrow morning, then.’
‘No you won’t,’ giggled Fiona.
‘Really?’ smiled Gez.
‘No, silly, we’ll see you here for breakfast first, won’t we.’ A hiccupping shriek was followed by a hearty guffaw.
‘Can’t wait,’ Bethan muttered under her breath.
ELEVEN
Despite being a little cramped, Gez, Billy and Neil managed to get a good night’s sleep, although using the small en suite bathroom the following morning was a bit of a performance.
They met Beth on the upstairs landing and made their way down to the bar for breakfast. Before they’d even entered the room, they heard the braying laughter of Toby and Fiona.
‘Oh dear God,’ winced Gez. ‘Can’t we just order room service?’
Billy gave him a playful clip around the ear. ‘C’mon, mun. They’re not that bad.’
Neil looked at him in mock horror. ‘I’d rather be stuck in a back alley with a couple of Stenches again than those two. At least the dead don’t laugh like hyenas.’
‘All right, all right. Look, we’ll have breakfast with them, and then… worst case scenario, they’ll want to walk up to the rugby club with us. After that, we’ll ditch them and then the rest of the weekend is ours. Happy now?’
Judging from the muttering and grumbling coming from the three youngsters, they clearly weren’t.
As they walked into the bar, they heard Fiona’s dulcet tones. ‘Oh, hi guys. Look, we’ve saved you a place at our table.’
‘Great. Thanks,’ said Billy, mustering all the enthusiasm he could manage.
Toby’s grating voice chipped in, ‘you guys really have to try the ‘full Welsh breakfast’. It’s—’
Don’t say amaze-balls, don’t say amaze-balls, don’t say amaze-balls, thought Neil.
‘—amaze-balls.’
Neil tried his best to smile, but it became a sneer.
Billy turned to his companions, ‘Take a seat then. I’ll order the grub. Full breakfasts all round?’
They nodded. Billy headed to the bar. ‘Hello? Shop.’
The landlord popped his head out from the kitchen at the rear of the room. ‘Oh, hello. You’re up and about then. Four full breakfasts?’
‘Please.’
‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee, ta.’
‘Leaded or unleaded?’
‘Best give us a bucket of the strong stuff. We’ve got a long day ahead.’
‘Ah, right. Off hunting zombies, are we?’
‘That’s the idea.’
‘Has anyone told you about the rugby?’
‘A few people have mentioned it. How far is the rugby club from here?’
The landlord leant against the kitchen door. ‘It’s about a five minute walk. Turn right out of here, and head towards the town square. Then left at the square, and just keep walking. You’ll be there in no time.’
‘Is it clearly sign-posted? Just in case we take a wrong turn.’
The landlord smiled, ‘Just follow the crowd and you won’t go far wrong. Right, I’ll get those breakfasts on.’
As he turned to head back into the kitchen, Billy walked towards him and asked quietly, ‘So, what’s the difference between the ‘full Welsh breakfast’ and a ‘full English breakfast’?’
The landlord gave him a sly grin, ‘Nothing. Only, we charge idiots like those two over there an extra £3 for the Welsh version.’
Billy smiled back, ‘Perhaps we better have the full English instead then.’
‘No, that’s ok. We’ve got a deal on Welsh breakfasts for you this morning – three pound off, per head.’ The landlord winked, and headed back into the kitchen.
Billy strolled back to the long dining table and couldn’t help but be amused at the miserable look on his companions’ faces, as they listened to Tobes and Fi-Fi’s latest tale of high adventure.
‘How’s that full Welsh breakfast going down?’ he asked.
Chewing noisily as he spoke, Toby replied, ‘Absolutely brilliant. Worth every penny.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Billy and sat down to wait for his food.
◆◆◆
Once breakfast was done, the six residents of the Castle hotel headed out of the front door, down to the square, and then up College Street towards the rugby club. At the end of College Street they reached a crossroads: to the left led Bryn Road, to the right Station Terrace, and ahead of them was North Road.
‘Straight ahead, isn’t it?’ bellowed Toby.
Billy looked around him keenly and noticed people heading along North Road. Some were alone, others were in couples, and yet more
were moving in excited, talkative groups.
Billy nodded his head in the direction of the moving throng, ‘just follow the crowd is what the man said.’
As they headed on to North Road, the crowd grew larger, and soon enough they were carried through the iron gates of the rugby club, in the middle of the mass of people.
A single bar fence surrounded the pitch, and there seemed to be someone leaning against or sitting upon every square inch of it. Billy had been down to watch Cardiff City playing back in the glory, glory days of Premier League football; but he couldn’t remember ever seeing a crowd this big before. He’d definitely never seen a crowd this big gather for what was probably only going to be a small-scale parochial rugby match between two local sides.
And then the teams hit the pitch, and the place went wild.
The first squad onto the field were the Lampeter XV. Togged out in their maroon shirts, they looked more like ancient warriors than sportsmen. You could almost imagine them hefting battle axes and screaming blood oaths to Odin and all the other Norse gods. The crowd roared their approval, while Gez and his friends politely clapped. Toby and Fiona were getting into the spirit of the event and whooping wildly, despite not really having a clue what was going on.
And then, the opposition took the field to sharp intakes of breath and a look of utter horror from Neil. ‘Ohmigod, they’re all Stenches.’
Stumbling, shuffling and dragging their way onto the field of play were fifteen of the ugliest zombies Gez had ever seen. Each one wore a mud and blood stained jersey with green and white hoops. And more importantly, for obvious health and safety reasons, each of the zombies wore some sort of muzzle over their faces. A portly man leaned over to Gez and said, ‘spoils the game when they start biting, see.’
Gez nodded wisely as if he understood any of what was going on around him.
The Lampeter XV were gathered in a huddle underneath the rugby posts, while their opponents, for the most part, stood around the field, moaning softly or hissing eerily. Some of the zombies had noticed the crowds lining the field and were shambling towards them, more interested in a pre-match snack than in taking part in a game of rugby.
The portly man nudged Gez again and pointed towards the pitch, ‘aye-aye. That big Number Eight looks a bit keen.’
Gez looked in the direction of his pointed finger and saw one of the larger back row forwards from the Stench team walking stiffly towards the gathered Lampeter squad. Its arms were outstretched, and a dark line of drool was dripping from the creature’s mouth, down onto its chin and throat.
The zombie was stopped in its tracks by the sound of a shrill whistle blow as the referee took his place on the pitch.
There was another huge cheer as the Lampeter players took their positions, ready for the kick off. The referee checked his watch, looked at both teams and gave a sharp blast on the whistle.
The Lampeter outside half kicked the ball towards the opposing team. The ball landed with a thud about twenty yards further up the pitch, and bounced to a halt near one of the zombies. The creature looked down at the egg-shaped ball with a quizzical look on its face. The zombie’s attention was then interrupted by the whooping of fifteen large, scary men charging towards it.
The first man to the ball picked it up, and easily side-stepped the Stench, while his fourteen team-mates followed closely behind. They steamrollered the undead player, sending it flying backwards, then trampling it into the ground with enthusiasm.
Less than five seconds later, Lampeter had scored their first try of the game.
Billy leant towards the portly man stood next to Gez. ‘Bit one-sided, isn’t it?’
‘That’s the trouble with these dead buggers, see. They’re not natural ball carriers’, he replied sagely.
The Lampeter team trotted back to their own half, and waited patiently to kick-off again. The whistle blew, the ball sailed through the air, and more carnage ensued.
Five minutes into the game and the ‘home’ team were already ahead by forty nine points to nil. The portly man continued his touchline commentary. ‘Most of the time, these poor sods are lucky to get nil.’
Back on the pitch, the referee had just awarded Lampeter a line-out, although, trying to get the zombies to stand in a straight line for the throw in was proving a bit tricky.
There was a wicked smile on the face of the home team’s hooker, as the referee finally decided to let the line-out be taken. Without a second thought, he launched the rugby ball straight into the face of the nearest Stench. The creature’s rotting features imploded as the ball struck it in the head and the zombie hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.
There was a shrill blast on the whistle, and the referee shouted, ‘not straight.’
The hooker was livid. ‘What do you mean, not straight?’
The ref gave him a steely look. ‘Do you want me to stick with ‘not straight’ or would you rather ten minutes in the sin bin for ungentlemanly conduct?’
The hooker turned on his heel, stomping away from the ref, while cursing under his breath.
Gez had seen enough of this rugby match to last several lifetimes and moved away from the crowd at the railing. Beth saw him step back and joined him.
‘Not enjoying the game, Gez?’
‘It’s hardly competitive, is it?’
‘I know. I actually almost feel some pity for those Stenches out there.’
‘I’m starting to wonder if this weekend away was a good idea.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, if they get this excited about a one-sided game of rugby, imagine how dull the zombie hunt could be.’
Beth furrowed her brow. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’ She glanced back towards the pitch. ‘At least Neil seems to be enjoying himself.’
Neil and Toby were stood together, cheering on the home team; whooping and yelling every time they scored.
Beth shook her head in despair. ‘Oh God, they’ve bonded.’
Gez grinned. ‘Still, at least he seems to have forgotten his fear of all things rural.’
Beth nodded in agreement. ‘He might even decide to stay here for good. I can see him now, trying to milk a cow by hand.’
‘Knowing Neil, he’d probably end up trying to milk the bull.’
There was a sudden cheering from the crowd. The pair looked towards the pitch, just in time to witness the sight of a Stench carrying the rugby ball and shambling towards the Lampeter try line.
‘Looks like one of them’s played this game before,’ volunteered Gez.
Almost as soon as he’d finished the sentence, the ball-carrying zombie was hit from the side by a ferocious tackle from one of the home team’s forwards. In fact, the impact was so violent that the Lampeter player went through the Stench completely, leaving nothing but the lower half of its torso standing on the pitch. The player turned sharply and ran back up the pitch, carrying the top half of the Stench’s flailing body with him. As he crossed the try line, he ripped the ball out of the dead creature’s hands and planted it firmly on the ground for the five points. The crowd went wild.
‘Amaze-balls!’ yelled Neil and Toby as one voice. Some of the supporters standing within earshot turned their heads and gave the pair looks of either mild amusement or utter disgust.
Gez looked at Beth. ‘Ok, I have to admit, that was impressive.’
‘The try or the duet of amaze-balls?’
The pair chuckled and made their way slowly back through the cheering crowd.
Billy had been enjoying the rugby spectacle thoroughly over the past fifteen minutes and was now asking the portly man next to him all manner of questions about the intricacies of the game.
‘So, are there scrums at all?’
‘Would you want to pack down with eight of those dead things? The smell would be enough to knock you out, to begin with. And if one of them managed to slip its muzzle… well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.’
Billy nodded. ‘And what happens when you
run out of Stenches?’
‘Run out of what?’
‘Stenches. It’s what we call these things where I’m from.’
‘Stenches… good name, that. Well, we’ve only got so many of these Stenches available to us, which is why they only play a game like this once every three months. It takes a while for the boys to hunt down another squad of these buggers so for the most part, when there’s only six ‘Stenches’ left on the pitch, we usually finish the game there and then.’
Billy did a quick head count, and noticed that there were still seven zombies shuffling around the field.
‘So this could all be over soon.’
‘Sooner than you think,’ said the portly man pointing his finger towards the far side of the pitch.
Another zombie had managed to get its hands on the ball and was lumbering up the pitch at a decent lick… for a dead thing.
Unfortunately, it was nowhere near as quick as the small and speedy winger that was flying towards it at a rapid rate of knots. At the last second, the wing stuck out an arm and clotheslined the advancing Stench.
‘C’mon, mun, play the game now,’ shouted someone in the crowd at the fast-moving Lampeter back. There was a shrill whistle and the referee shouted, ‘high tackle!’
The winger turned furiously to face the ref. ‘What do you mean high tackle? How was that ever a high tackle?’
‘Because,’ said the ref in a world-weary tone, ‘Your opponent’s head is a good five foot away from the rest of him. And I don’t even need to look in the Welsh Rugby Union coaching guide to be able to tell you that THAT was a HIGH BLOODY TACKLE!’
The referee’s face was beetroot red as he leant in to shout at the little winger.
He finally blew three sharp blasts on the whistle. ‘That’s it. Game over. Lampeter win… again. See you all in three months.’
The temperamental back shrugged and went to join his team-mates, who were celebrating their decidedly one-sided victory in the middle of the pitch. The crowd leapt over or ducked under the barrier to join the celebrations, flattening the remaining zombies as they went.