All three nodded enthusiastically. But to be honest, Neil seemed to be faking his enthusiasm for the most part. Billy looked down at all of the young man’s possessions gathered around him. ‘No washing machine, Neil?’
Neil’s brow furrowed. ‘Look, seriously now. That’s the second time I’ve been asked about a washing machine. Should I call home, and see if we can unplug ours?’
Billy burst out laughing. ‘No need for that, son. We’re only off for the weekend. And on top of that, you won’t be needing the telly or the microwave either. We’re going to Lampeter, mun, not Outer bloody Mongolia.’
‘Right,’ said Neil, quietly.
‘I’ve booked us a couple of rooms in the Castle Hotel. One for Beth, and then the three of us can bunk down together. There’s telly in the rooms and they do bar food as well so you won’t go hungry or miss your diet of moronic TV shows. Will that do you?’
Neil perked up. ‘So, I’ll just bring the suitcase then, is it?’
Billy winked at him. ‘That’s the idea. Right, we fit? Okay, let me introduce you to Lizzie then.’
There was a look of bemusement on the faces of the teenagers as they followed Billy outside. ‘And this, is Lizzie,’ he said, gesturing theatrically in the direction of an old, yet sturdy looking Land Rover parked a few yards down the street.
Lizzie was a 1968 Series IIA station wagon, with a 2.6 litre straight six petrol engine. Painted in classic bronze green, the machine had been adapted over the years and now had impressive “bull bars” front and back and heavy wire meshing over all the windows. But there was a gap in the mesh on the driver’s side of the front window, to help with visibility.
‘Why Lizzie?’ asked Bethan.
Billy just shook his head. ‘God alone knows. It belongs to a mate of mine. You’d have to ask him.’ He gazed admiringly at the Land Rover. ‘Suits her, though.’
Billy walked towards the vehicle. ‘Right, sling your gear in the back and we’ll hit the road.’
With the gear stowed, the four took their seats with Gez riding shotgun next to his uncle. Billy turned to address his passengers. ‘Lampeter here we come. Lock up your daughters… Er… Oh, and your sons, of course.’
Bethan put her head in her hands and muttered, ‘Oh good grief.’
*
Lizzie’s engine purred happily as Billy drove the old girl away from the Heath district and towards the outskirts of the city. As they wound their way towards Cardiff’s outer walls, Beth leaned forward in her chair to have a word with him. ‘Billy?’
‘Yes, lovely?’
‘Well, I was just wondering… I know I should have asked earlier this week, probably, but… well, do you think we might have a quick detour on this road trip so we can visit my dad?’
Billy kept his eyes on the road as he talked to Beth, ‘Where is he living, Bethan?’
‘A couple of miles outside Carmarthen… it’s a little village called Peniel. D’you know it?’
‘I know of it, Beth. Well, that’s not much of a detour… So, aye, no problem. We’ll call in to see him tonight then.’
Bethan squeezed his shoulder, ‘Thanks Billy. It’s appreciated.’
The Land Rover headed towards Junction 32, and the motorway that led west.
CHAPTER 7
Before heading onto the motorway, the travellers had to pass through the checkpoint at the north wall of the city. In the early months of construction, the wall had been guarded by army marksmen who kept the Stenches at bay while the builders got on with the task at hand. But once the ten foot tall barrier was up and doing its job, the security operation had been scaled back drastically.
There were now only two guards on the gate – Reg and Kenneth. Both men were in their sixties and, with no family to speak of, the pair of them spent almost all of their time living on Junction 32 and keeping an eye on the comings and goings of the population, while keeping a wary look out for the undead. For those that thought a couple of old fellas in the twilight of their lives were hardly the best defence for the walls of a capital city, they may have been reassured to know that both Reg and Kenneth were former stewards at the Cardiff City Stadium. And, having dealt with ‘over-enthusiastic’ football fans for many years, keeping a few wandering Stenches in check was hardly a problem for these gentlemen.
There had been a slight worry some two years earlier, on a cold November morning, when Reg had seen a tall figure shuffling out of the mists as he ate an early breakfast. Grabbing a pair of binoculars for a better look, Reg watched the huge zombie plod its way relentlessly towards the wall. At a rough guess, he thought the Stench must have been at least seven feet tall.
As it turned out, the zombie was actually seven feet and three inches tall and, in its former life, had been better known as Gareth Blake, Wales’ tallest man (officially).
When the former Mr Blake arrived at the outer wall, he reached up and just about managed to get his fingertips onto the top of the barricade but that was as far as he went. Problem solving, including climbing, wasn’t high on the list of “things a Stench can do” and there were no other shambling corpses in sight to offer a leg up, even. Then again, co-operative teamwork didn’t really work with zombies.
It was Kenneth that put the bullet into the creature’s head but Reg was the one who had the brainwave of having Blake stuffed and put on show for all to see. As the Land Rover pulled up towards the elderly guards, the four passengers couldn’t help but notice the incredibly tall Stench standing to the side of the main hut with a sign hung around his neck – Pembrokeshire New Potatoes For Sale. Despite their advanced years, Reg and Kenneth were very aware of the phrase, multiple streams of income.
As Billy pulled up next to Reg he leaned slightly out of the window, ‘Bloody hell. The size on that bugger.’
‘Aye,’ said Reg. ‘But you should have seen the one that got away.’
Reg chuckled at his own joke before adopting a more official air. ‘So, where are we off to today then, folks?’
‘Out west,’ replied Bill crisply. ‘Quick stop outside Carmarthen and then on to Lampeter for the weekend.’
Kenneth joined the conversation, ‘Lampeter, eh? Oh right. Off zombie hunting, are we?’
‘That’s the idea.’ Billy gestured at his fellow passengers. ‘Thought it would do them good to get some country air. And a bit of Stench spotting should keep things lively. But if they’re all as big as that one, perhaps we should turn around now.’
There was a loud groan from the three youngsters. Billy winked at the guards.
Reg joined in with the joke. ‘You could be right there, squire. See this one here, kids?’ He pointed towards the stuffed Mr Blake, ‘Well, that’s just one of the baby ones.’
Reg couldn’t help but notice Neil shifting uncomfortably in the back seat, and he addressed his next line directly at him. ‘Yes, they do say there’s some ten footers out there. Just wandering through the fields at night and hiding in the trees during the day. Some say it do take at least a dozen shots to kill one of them.’
Neil’s jaw began to drop. Bethan realised that this tall tale was at the expense of her friend, and gleefully joined in the fun. ‘So, a head shot won’t work on these Stenches?’
Reg caught on quickly, ‘No, Miss. With something that high off the ground, it’s difficult to get the angle right, see. Chances are you’re more likely to hit a low-flying bird than one of those big ‘uns.’
Neil’s mouth was wide open in shock by now, but he managed to compose himself long enough to join in the conversation. ‘So how do you stop one of these things then?’
Reg stared into the young man’s eyes. ‘Well, if you see one of those monsters coming at you, your best bet is to reach around behind you and pick up a bit of shite off the floor, lob it at the bugger, and run for your life.’
Neil took in all this information. ‘But what if there’s no shite there?’
Reg glared balefully at the boy. ‘Oh, there will be, son… There will be.’
/> A deathly silence hung in the air for a few seconds before Reg burst out laughing. He nodded in Neil’s direction, ‘This one don’t get out much, do he?’
Bethan nudged Neil, ‘Do you know, if you look up the word gullible in the dictionary, there’s a picture of you next to it.’
Neil glared at his friends, ‘Oh ha ha. Very funny. Pick on the townie, why don’t you.’
As the laughter subsided around Neil, it was Kenneth who first spoke. ‘Don’t mind us, son. We’re just having a bit of fun at your expense. It gets a bit boring around here most days, so we’ve got to find ways of entertaining ourselves.’
The old man leaned against the window of the Land Rover. ‘You’ll be fine. Just stick to the populated areas, keep your eyes peeled, and always make sure you’re armed’.
Billy punched Gez in the arm, ‘See. Told you.’
‘On your way now.’
‘Ok, thanks, lads.’ Billy revved the engine as Kenneth hauled open the gate to the M4. Reg stood watch over his colleague, rifle in hand.
The Land Rover eased through the barrier and they began to head for the motorway. Before they could pick up any speed, there was a shout from behind them.
‘Oi!’ yelled Reg.
Billy hit the brakes and reversed the vehicle slowly. As they pulled up in line with Reg, the old man said cheerily, ‘do you want to buy some potatoes, by the way?’
Billy smiled. ‘No thanks, boss. Maybe on the way back, eh?’
He put the car into first gear. Lizzie’s engine sounded as if it was snorting with derision at this latest delay but, at last, they started their journey west.
*
It was obvious to everyone that keeping the lines of communication open and the transport links clear, would be vital in combating the problem of the newly risen Stench population.
After the chaos of the early days, the phone lines and internet connections were soon back up and running properly, but it took a while longer to clear the roads of undead traffic.
Even the most simple journeys could often take a long time, as drivers found themselves weaving through groups of zombies dotted along the main roads. Of course, not everyone went for the weaving option. Lorries, construction vehicles, the Army’s armoured personnel carriers and the sturdier 4 x 4s just tended to plough through such shambling obstacles. Some drivers even went so far as to put stickers of zombie heads with red lines drawn through them on their doors as a way of keeping score. The doors of the fleet of trucks belonging to Mansel Davies were festooned with stickers. Hardly surprising as there were as many of Mansel’s lorries on the road as there were Stenches, according to some people.
After a number of months, fewer and fewer zombies were found on the roads. Whether it was a trace memory of their past lives, a survival gene or just instinct, it seemed even the Stenches realised that straying on to the tarmac could be hazardous to their health.
This was just a temporary respite for drivers, however, as bored youngsters invented a new game for themselves by trying to lure hungry zombies across the motorways. In effect it was a real-life, spectacularly messy version of Frogger, but it meant that drivers had to be on high alert once again.
Because of these juvenile antics, the motorways and A roads were ‘Stench-proofed’, with sturdy barbed wire fences erected along major routes over the next few years. Even today, people driving along the motorways could catch sight of the odd zombie wrapped up in the wire, struggling to free themselves.
For the most part, however, the wire fences were littered with the body parts of Stenches who’d managed to free themselves, although at some cost. At one major roundabout just outside Carmarthen, someone had built a collage of Stench arms with a sign bearing the legend – Caution: No hand signals.
CHAPTER 8
They’d been travelling for over an hour, and were easing on to the Swansea bypass. Gez and Billy chatted nonchalantly while Beth and Neil were whiling away the time by playing “Arm or Leg”. It was a simple little game, ideal for long car journeys, where each contestant counted either the number of arms or the number of legs they could see hanging from the barbed wire fencing around them. The first person to reach twenty was the winner. At present, Beth had seventeen arms to Neil’s nine legs.
‘Perhaps I should have mentioned,’ said Beth, ‘You’re far more likely to see arms hanging off the wire than legs.’
‘Now I know why you were so keen to have first choice.’
‘Them’s the breaks, my friend,’ smiled Bethan.
Neil smiled back. ‘Makes sense though. It’s probably a lot easier for a Stench to make do without an arm rather than a leg.’
Beth nodded sagely.
‘In fact,’ continued Neil, ‘you lose a leg out here and you’d be hopping mad.’
There was a loud groan from the driver’s seat. ‘Bloody hell, Staveley, if that’s the level of humour I can expect from you on this journey, you can get out and walk now.’
‘Sorry Billy,’ smirked Neil.
Changing the subject quickly, Billy addressed his passengers. ‘Right. Anyone fancy a bit of lunch?’
The three friends looked at each other and said ‘Yes’ instantly.
‘Okay then. There’s a nice little pub about three miles down the road from here. Just off the motorway. I used to call in there when I still had the motorbike. They do a cracking steak pie and chips.’
‘I’m starving,’ said Gez. ‘I could eat a horse.’
‘You’d better order the lasagne, then,’ quipped Billy.
*
Ten minutes later, Billy pointed out a long, low building about a hundred yards to their left. ‘There she is, the Stag and Pheasant’.
The Land Rover took the left turning off the motorway and continued down the slip road before turning sharp left onto a gravel track. The barbed wire fence wasn’t as high or as well built on this part of the route, but it seemed to be solid enough.
As the vehicle pulled up in front of the pub, the four couldn’t help but notice the three old men sat on a long bench outside, clearly enjoying the good weather. All three wore similar high-wasted trousers, white shirts, tweed jackets, flat caps and very cheap looking sunglasses. They nursed their halves of bitter as they gazed into the distance. They looked, for all the world, like a pensioner version of the three wise monkeys.
‘Well, at least they’re open. That’s a good start. Come on then, I’ll pay for the food,’ Billy said, ‘and if you’re lucky, I might stand you a beer as well.’
Walking into the pub, Billy said hello to the three old fellas sat outside. All three nodded politely back at him.
Yvonne Williams stood behind the bar of the Stag and Pheasant. A short but buxom woman, she’d have probably been the same height lying down as she was standing up. She’d been the landlady of the Stag before the events of Rotten Monday and had managed to keep her loyal customer base, despite everything that had happened since.
‘Afternoon lovely,’ said Billy. ‘Are you doing food?’
‘Menus are there on the bar. Help yourselves. Something to drink?’
‘Let’s see…’
‘Hang on though. Are all these old enough to have alcohol?’
Quick as a flash, Gez and Beth answered ‘Yes’ while Neil answered, ‘No’.
Yvonne gave Neil a withering look.
‘Okay then,’ said Billy, ‘Pint of bitter for me. Two halves of lager, and a glass of coke for the child there.’ He looked over at Neil and grinned.
Neil fumed quietly.
Yvonne pulled the drinks and money changed hands. Billy looked out of the pub’s window, ‘Is it all right if we eat outside? Seems a pity to waste all this sunshine.’
Yvonne nodded pleasantly. ‘Of course. You can join the Three Amigos out there. I’ll come and take your orders now in a minute.’
The four carried their drinks outside and sat at a large wooden table, just a few feet away from the old men.
They took in their surroundings – birdsong
, sunshine, and fresh air. It was a perfect early summer’s day. Billy took a long swig of his pint. ‘Doesn’t get much better than this, does it?’ He turned towards the three old men, ‘Eh boys?’
The three nodded and muttered in agreement.
‘Been out on the pop all day, have we gents?’
The first old man nodded, while the second said, ‘Nothing better to do, is there.’ The third old man just grinned and mumbled softly to himself.
Yvonne stepped out of the doorway of the pub, notepad in hand, ready to take the food order. She gestured towards the three old men before talking to Billy. ‘These three not bothering you, are they bach?’
‘Not at all. We were just commenting on the weather, weren’t we boys?’
The three nodded happily.
Yvonne looked at the table of newcomers, ‘Well, if they start bothering you, just give me a shout. Especially old Leighton there at the far end.’
‘Bit of a handful, is he?’
‘Oh, he’s all right. It’s just that he’s not really been the same since he died last summer.’
The four travellers rose instantly and stepped away from the table. Billy looked sharply at Yvonne, ‘Bloody hell, woman, he’s a… he’s a…’
Neil finished the sentence for him, ‘He’s a Stench?’
Yvonne glowered at Neil. ‘Well, there’s no need for that kind of name calling, is there. He’s not a ‘Stench’, he’s just Leighton.’
‘But aren’t you worried he could attack one of your customers?’ asked Bethan.
‘No, he’s pretty harmless, really. And Tom and Idris there have been mates of Leighton’s for donkey’s years. He just showed up here one morning a few months after his funeral. I think he just missed the company, you know. So we let him be. The boys there seem happy enough to see him again’.
Idris raised his head slightly, ‘Aye. Wish the bugger would buy a round once in a while, mind.’
‘So he’s never tried to bite anyone since he’s come back?’ Billy queried.
‘No. But we did have all his teeth pulled out, just in case.’
Geraint Wyn: Zombie Killer (Year of the Zombie Book 5) Page 4