Geraint Wyn: Zombie Killer (Year of the Zombie Book 5)

by Gary Slaymaker

Gwyn nodded in agreement. ‘I know. But at least it won’t get through the gate. They never do.’

  ‘They? They?’

  ‘We get one of these turning up about once a week. As long as you stay well away from them, it’s fine.’

  ‘And when they start trying to jump gates in order to take a bite out of you?’

  ‘Well, normally, I’ll just fetch the cattle prod from the barn, give it a zap, and off it goes.’

  ‘Do you think it might be worth getting the cattle prod now, Gwyn?’

  ‘I would, Billy, but the batteries are dead, and I’ve not had time to buy new ones this week.’

  The sheep kept driving its head through the bars of the gate, eager to take a bite out of the travellers who were watching it in horrified fascination.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Gwyn, ‘I’ll go and get my sledgehammer.’

  *

  The zombie sheep were an unfortunate, and sordid, by-product of Rotten Monday. There were pockets of these dangerous creatures to be found across a number of rural areas in Britain, proving that it wasn’t just the Welsh who had a romantic interest in woolly livestock.

  The government’s department for agriculture (DEFRA) was well aware of the problem, but tried to keep a lid on any stories being spread about this strange contagion. For the most part, they didn’t want to create any further panic but primarily they were just very embarrassed about the whole thing.

  Again, scientists were baffled by the creation of these sheep. There was no evidence to suggest that the human Stenches had the wherewithal to convert any of the animals they “interfered” with, and the experts couldn’t understand why only sheep were affected. However a couple of farmers managed to half clear up that point by suggesting that trying to mate with cattle or horses would mean using a stool, stepladder or other device in order to reach. And so far no Stench had shown any creative thinking skills, and their sense of balance was hardly the best, either.

  One junior biologist summed up the scientific community’s confusion at explaining the zombie sheep presence with the sentence, ‘Perhaps they just fancied a change.’

  Despite the government’s best efforts, stories did leak about the creatures. Thankfully, most people dismissed it as a rural myth, or just a practical joke; but some did take more seriously.

  A group of animal rights protesters who’d discovered the truth, headed out to rural Wales to try and defend the sanctity of these poor, persecuted animals. Thirty of them headed out and only ten returned, and that was the end of that particular crusade. From thereon in they stuck to rescuing plants and trees. It was a damn sight safer.

  For the most part, if you lived in the country, you were always wary of single sheep and flocks were to be avoided at all costs. Luckily there were only two flocks that had been catalogued – one in the hills to the north of Machynlleth and the other deep in the heart of Anglesey. Only the most foolhardy would venture into those territories – which meant, for the most part, English tourists and particularly stupid sheepdogs.

  For years before Rotten Monday there had been a legend circulating around the country about the “Beast of Bont”. In 1996 a large animal, possibly an escaped Jaguar or Puma, had attacked over fifty sheep around a village, some fifteen miles from Aberystwyth. To this day, no-one had seen the monster, and there were still some doubts over the authenticity of the animal. But if you asked any of the old folk in the area, they remembered the beast only too well.

  But for the younger residents of Aberystwyth and its surroundings, the “Beast of Bont” was nothing in comparison to the nightmare stories they’d been told about the “Black Ram of Borth”.

  Depending on which local you asked, the black ram was anywhere between five and thirty feet long. It tended to have either no eyes, red eyes, “black eyes like the devil’s himself”, or you couldn’t see the eyes because of the size of its horns. And again, the horns carried their own separate legends. They dripped blood, were sharp as razors, had a man’s head impaled upon one of them, made an eerie screaming noise when the wind blew across them or any number of similar permutations.

  The only thing that wasn’t in doubt was that the black ram was a vicious brute, and had badly mauled at least a dozen people. He had marked out his territory near the coastal village of Borth, some six miles north of Aberystwyth, and had even been spotted on the beach once or twice.

  As one local put it, ‘it’s not too bad if you like a swim. At least having that big black bugger on the beach seems to be scaring the sharks away.’

  Posted at intervals, along the beach at Borth, never had a ‘Beware of the sheep’ sign looked less comical and more ominous.

  CHAPTER 10

  It was just past eight o’clock at night when the Land Rover crossed the bridge over the river Teifi, and arrived at the barricades that led into Lampeter town. As they pulled up, they noticed three men sat in deck chairs, drinking mugs of tea. One of the men rose from his seat, strode over to the Land Rover and leaned against the roof.

  ‘Ie? Shw’mai. Shwd I chi heno?’

  Billy looked up at the stranger. ‘Sorry mate, I don’t speak the lingo.’

  ‘Ah, right. English are you?’

  ‘No, from Cardiff.’

  ‘Same thing,’ said the man, grinning cheekily. ‘So, are you here for the zombies or the rugby training? Most people that stop in Lampeter come for one or the other.’

  ‘Rugby training?’ asked Billy.

  The man turned to his seated friends, ‘Hei bois, d’yw rhein ddim yn gwbod dimbyd am y rygbi.’ He turned his attention back to the passengers in the Land Rover. ‘I was just telling the boys, you didn’t know anything about the rugby. Well, just head up to the training ground on North Road tomorrow morning and you’ll see for yourselves. It’s quite a spectacle.’

  The two men in the deck chairs started laughing. Billy just looked at his companions and shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Fair enough boss, we’ll give it a look then. Anyway, we’d best head into town.

  ‘Right you are,’ replied the man and motioned his colleagues to help him move the barricade to let the vehicle through. Billy shifted Lizzie into gear and drove towards the Castle Hotel.

  *

  The Castle was a no-nonsense, down to earth, honest to goodness ‘boozer’. An open plan room with a bar in the middle, pool tables at the back, a dart board and juke box off to the side, with big screen televisions fixed to three of the four walls. As Billy noted when he stepped through the doors, ‘it’s like coming home.’

  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 Monda
y, 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.

  CHAPTER 11

  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 ug
liest 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.