by David Moody
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.
EIGHT
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.’
The youngsters looked shocked at this new information. Yvonne leaned in towards Billy in a conspiratorial fashion. ‘Mind you, I wouldn’t get him too excited. He can still give you a nasty suck.’
A broad smile broke across Yvonne’s face, ‘So, we ready to order, then?’
◆◆◆
They ate silently and speedily. Neil kept glancing towards the old Stench, Leighton.
‘Are you worried he’s going to take a bite out of you or your burger?’ asked Beth.
‘He’s toothless, remember?’ sneered Neil.
‘You’re useless, remember?’ mimicked Bethan.
Gez growled at the pair through a mouthful of food, ‘All right, stop bickering the pair of you, or this is going to be a very long weekend.’
As the hungry travellers finished the last of their meals, Yvonne returned to collect the plates. She pointed towards the empty drinks glasses, ‘Are these dead?’
‘As dead as old Leighton over there,’ replied Billy. Yvonne gave him a sour look but Billy just ignored it. ‘So, if you don’t mind my asking; what is the deal with Leighton then? I’ve never seen a Sten… a bloke in his condition behaving like that before.’
‘I know, it’s a mystery, isn’t it. I mean, we were used to people disappearing in the first few years, and never seeing them again. Or if we did see them, then they were usually trying to bite lumps out of you. Still, you got used to that kind of nonsense, soon enough.’
Billy marvelled at the nonchalance of the woman.
‘Anyway, no one had seen hide nor hair of Leighton for about five years, and then one lunchtime, there he was, stood outside the front door. Tom and Idris bought him a drink and that was it really. He just joined them at their table and no one thought anything more of it.’
‘But surely, you must have realised he was, well… dead?’
‘Well that’s the thing, love, he was hardly the chattiest of people when he was alive, so we never gave it much thought. It was only at Christmas Eve, when everyone was heading home that night, someone pointed out that they couldn’t see Leighton’s breath in the cold air. Well, we all watched him for the next five minutes and then I think it was Idris that said, he must be dead then.’
‘And you didn’t think of contacting the authorities, or taking matters into your own hands?’
‘Good grief, no. Why would we do something like that? It’s only old Leighton, after all.’
Neil shook his head in amazement.
‘Anyway, he’s been good as gold since he’s come back. Haven’t you Leighton bach?’
Leighton moaned and held up his beer glass.
‘Yes,’ continued Yvonne, ‘He’s happy as Larry with his old friends there. As long as he has his beer and they let him have a go on the karaoke now and again, we never have any trouble with him.’
‘Karaoke?’ spluttered Gez in shock.
‘He does love a sing song, does our Leighton. Well, I say sing-song, he mainly just stands there swaying from side to side and moaning. Still, the customers seem to enjoy it, and I tell you this for nothing… He’s better than most of those buggers I’ve seen on that Britain’s Got Talent.’
‘Unbelievable,’ said Bethan, under her breath.
Billy rose from the table, looked at the teenagers before turning to Yvonne. ‘Well, we’d best be off. Long old day ahead of us. Thanks for lunch, it was lovely’.
The other three added their thanks as well and left the table. As they climbed into the Land Rover, Yvonne shouted after them, ‘Remember to call by the next time you’re in the area.’
‘Will do and thanks again,’ said Billy as he turned the key in the ignition.
As Lizzie headed back down the gravel track, Yvonne Williams turned to look at the three old men sat on the bench. ‘Right then boys, I’m closing up for the afternoon. Let’s be having your glasses.’
The three grumbled, and made a big performance of draining their glasses slowly.
‘Come on now. Haven’t you got homes to go to? Oh, sorry Leighton. I meant, haven’t you three got homes and a grave to go to?’
Yvonne chuckled to herself as she walked through the front door of the Stag and Pheasant.
NINE
They drove for the next half hour in silence. All four had been bewildered and bothered by their run-in with the old Stench at the pub. The sil
ence was finally broken by Neil. ‘Do you think there are many more like that out there?’
‘More like Leighton, you mean?’ asked Gez. ‘Dunno. Every other Stench I’ve seen or heard about just wants to eat you.’
Billy shifted gear. ‘That was new to me too. I’ve never seen the like. At least with the rest of them you know they’re after one thing and so it’s easy to deal with it. But seeing old Leighton just sitting there… quiet and peaceful. That was scarier, somehow.’
‘Well, do you think they’re starting to calm down at last? Perhaps they’ve had enough to eat by now.’
Bethan smiled. ‘I think Leighton was the exception rather than the rule, Neil.’
Gez joined in. ‘If the Stenches had stopped attacking people, I’m sure we’d have been told by now. I’m with Beth. I reckon that old guy was a one off.’
Neil mulled over the last few minutes’ conversation. ‘So, you know if a vegetarian dies? Do you think they come back wanting to eat us? Or are they just as happy nibbling on a carrot?’
Bethan raised an eyebrow. ‘And he’s back.’
Neil gave her a puzzled look.
Bethan patted him patronisingly on the shoulder, ‘I was starting to worry about you, asking all these sensible questions. Now, that last one was more like the Neil I’ve come to know, and find constantly annoying.’
They continued their journey in silence.
◆◆◆
Gwyn Callaghan, Bethan’s father, was the owner of Hafod Isaf farm on the outskirts of the village of Peniel. A tall, wiry man in his mid-forties, with salt and pepper coloured hair, Gwyn had headed home to West Wales following his divorce from Beth’s mother. It was a chance for him to start over, while also helping out on the family smallholding.
For a number of years, Gwyn and his father worked side by side, tending to the daily chores on the farm, while also building up the perimeter defences in order to keep out unwelcome, rotting visitors. But then Gwyn’s father died of heart failure and the son decided to go it alone, rather than sell up and move on. The last couple of years had been hard on him, body and soul, but he threw himself into his work and turned a smallholding that was just scraping by into a very successful little farm.
