Sergeant Pugh returned his attention to Gez: ‘So what the bloody hell were you three playing at, wandering around back alleys in the dark? You know it’s still not safe out here at night.’
Gez looked ashamed, ‘Sorry. It’s just that I had to see my uncle, and I was in a rush to leave the house. I didn’t think it would get dark this quickly.’
‘Yes, didn’t think’, repeated the sergeant. ‘There’s still a lot of that “not thinking” going around these days. Not thinking is what gets you killed, lad. Or at the very least, it gets you assigned to the PPG, where you tit about for three months without a clue what you’re doing.’
The sergeant looked pointedly at his assistant as he spoke. PC Lovell was wiggling a booted foot in front of his captured Stench’s face. Despite lying face down on the floor and being trussed up like a turkey, the creature still managed to move its head enough to bite down on Lovell’s boot. Luckily for the constable, the only damage caused was to the Stench’s fragile teeth. Lovell yelped as the zombie chewed on his footwear. ‘Aaarrgh! It’s biting me.’
‘See what I mean,’ the sergeant wearily said to Gez.
A few minutes later a PPG wagon arrived, more usually referred to as the “Rotmobile”, to transport the Stenches away from the scene. Wandering zombies like these two were usually rounded up by the authorities and then placed in huge, specially built pens, scattered around the country. Once the creatures were inside these large caged areas, they would then be used for all kinds of purposes. Waste not want not, seemed to be the order of the day. Some were sent to specialist laboratories for testing, as scientists worked tirelessly to see if it was possible to stop the zombie infection. Others went to more commercial labs, where they were used for testing make-up products. PC Lovell had always found the idea of a Stench wearing mascara and blusher extremely unattractive, but if he was being honest with himself, he’d had blind dates with worse.
Some of the undead were used as crash-test dummies (just the once, obviously). Many more were sold on to television productions such as Dead Shot, to keep them in contestants. Or, in the case of the pitiful Jeremy Kyle special – I love a zombie, and he’s the father of my child – they were used as ratings winners.
As the Rotmobile drove off with its two new occupants, Sergeant Pugh returned his attention to the three teenagers.
‘Right then, lady and gentlemen, I think that’s enough entertainment for one night. Time you headed home. PC Lovell and I’ll drop you off in the patrol car so that you don’t get into any more trouble.’
‘But I still haven’t found my Uncle Billy.’
‘Never you mind your Uncle Billy. I’ll give him a ring as we’re taking the three of you home. Now what’s your uncle’s surname?’
‘Morgan.’
‘Billy Morgan? Not Billy Morgan, Australia Road?’
Gez nodded his head.
‘Should have known,’ said the sergeant, staring deep into Geraint’s eyes, ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? Right, get in the car, now.’
*
Sitting quietly in the living room of 24 Australia Road, Gez was waiting for the boom to drop. Sergeant Pugh had managed to get a hold of Uncle Billy on his mobile and, even from the back seat of the patrol car, Geraint could hear Billy’s voice rising in anger over the phone as he was told about the little adventure his nephew and friends had just taken.
‘You don’t have to hang around, Sarge. He’ll be back any minute, I reckon.’
Sergeant Pugh looked across at the young man, ‘No, no. I’ll wait. Between you and me, he sounded a little bit annoyed. So, just in case his temper gets the better of him, I’d rather stay and keep an eye on the situation.’
‘But Uncle Billy’s never lost his temper with me in all the years we’ve known each other. And he’s definitely never tried to hit me.’
‘Well, there’s always a first time. I mean, we are talking about Billy Morgan here.’
Gez gave the officer a sullen look, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
The sergeant looked around the room nonchalantly, but it was clear he was trying to avoid eye contact with the young man. Before Gez had the chance to ask anything further, he heard the key turning in the front door, followed by Uncle Billy’s voice booming from the hallway, ‘Geraint? Geraint, where are you, boy?’
‘In here, Billy,’ called out Sergeant Pugh.
The living room door swung open, and there stood Billy Morgan. Depending on who you talked to, Billy was either a character, a rogue, an absolute angel or a bloody menace. In his late thirties, with a head of spiky, thick black hair, and what women would describe as rugged good looks, Billy Morgan was not at his most calm as his gaze settled on his nephew.
‘What have I told you, time and time again, about being out at night?’
‘I know,’ said Gez quietly.
‘Well clearly you don’t know, or I wouldn’t have to be shouting at you like this. So none of you were armed, is that right?’
‘No.’ Geraint’s voice was becoming quieter.
‘Christ on a bike! If your parents were here now.’
Gez snapped and yelled back at him, ‘But they’re not, are they Billy. And it’s not as if you’re doing such a bang up job of looking after me.’
An awkward silence descended. Sergeant Pugh stood up. ‘Well, you two have got a lot of talking to do, that’s clear. I’ll leave you to it.’ He looked at Gez. ‘You okay now, son?’
Gez nodded.
‘Don’t be too hard on him, Billy. It was just one of those things. Wrong time, wrong place. Could have happened to any of us.’
Billy’s attention swung towards the officer, ‘Aye. Fair enough, Sarge. And listen, thanks for looking after him. It’s appreciated. If you ever need anything, just give us a shout.’
The sergeant raised an eyebrow, ‘Anything?’
Billy led the officer towards the front door. ‘Oh, nothing illegal. You know, a free tune up for the car, that kind of thing. Mind you, I can get you some very nice bacon at a knock down price.’
Sargeant Pugh glowered at the man. ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Morgan.’
‘Aye. Fair enough. Listen, thanks again. I really do owe you one.’
‘That’s all right, Billy. Just take it easy on the boy, eh? He’s had a rough enough night as it is.’
‘Yeah, okay.’
Billy closed the front door and went back to the living room. Gez sat quietly, looking down at the floor. ‘I’m sorry I yelled at you, Uncle Billy.’
Billy sighed, ‘That’s all right, Gez. You weren’t far wrong, mate. I’ve not exactly been the best uncle in the world.’
‘But that’s the thing. You have, though. It couldn’t have been easy for you, having me dumped on you…’
A pained look crossed Billy’s face, ‘You were hardly dumped, Gez. After Andrea… after your mum died, I had no problem taking you in. Hell, you were family, mun. I’d been there when you grew up anyway, so it wasn’t that big a deal to take on some more responsibility.’ He sat on the sofa next to his nephew. ‘It’s just… it’s just that I wanted to give you plenty of room to grow. I didn’t want you to feel I was being overprotective, or anything. But let’s be honest, I’m hardly the best role model, am I?’
Gez smiled. ‘You’re not too shabby, Uncle Billy. At least you didn’t shout at me for getting into trouble earlier. Oh wait… you did.’
Billy dug his elbow lightly into his nephew’s ribs, ‘Cheeky sod. Well, if you’d remembered one of the few important bits of advice your old Uncle Bill had told you, there’d have been no need for shouting, would there?’
‘I know, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, trust me.’
Billy clapped a hand on the boy’s knee. ‘Yep. Didn’t think you’d be wanting to get caught out like that again. Anyway, what the hell possessed you to head out tonight?’
‘I was on the way to the lock-up, looking for you.’
‘Oh that’s just blood
y great. I was the reason you almost get eaten?’
‘No, not you… Barry.’
‘Barry? Barry who?’
‘The fella that sold you all that bacon.’
‘Oh right, Barry Bacon. So what’s it got to do with him?’
‘He was the one who wanted you to give him a ring, so I thought I’d best pass on the message, sharpish.’
Billy frowned, and Gez could swear he snarled under his breath as he did so. The man stood up, headed out to the hallway, put on a leather coat, and slid a length of lead piping into one of the inside pockets of the coat. He craned his neck round the door to look at his nephew.
‘Where you off to now, Billy?’
‘I am going to see Barry Bacon. And after I’ve punched him in the bollocks for sending you out into the night, I’m going to find out what he wanted.’
Gez laughed. ‘Fair enough. When will you be back?’
‘Can’t rightly say, mate. Those bollocks might need a fair bit of punching. I’ll tell you all about it at breakfast. Now, no more gallivanting tonight, okay?’
‘Definitely not. That’s a promise.’
‘Good man, Gez. Right, laters.’
Billy Morgan headed for the front door, singing loudly, as he went, ‘Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s punching balls we go…’
Geraint smiled, turned on the television, and settled in for what would hopefully be a quiet rest of the night.
*
Generally speaking, it was a lot easier to get rid of the Stenches from the big cities in South Wales. As someone once eloquently put it, well, there’s more of us than them, innit.
The more rural areas and small towns had their work cut out dealing with the undead masses, but for the most part they managed. Especially when an influx of city dwellers started turning up in vans and buses: locked, loaded, and ready to quite literally remove the rot from these communities.
The townsfolk of Bangor in North Wales dealt with their Stench problem in an inspired fashion. Rather than go to the effort of taking out the undead one at a time, which would have meant a fair bit of effort and no little risk, the city leaders instead decided to block off certain streets and roads throughout the town, then try and lead the dead away from the populated city centre, along the A5 road, and across the two bridges that connected the mainland to the isle of Anglesey.
Thirty people volunteered to lead the Stenches through the city and across the bridges, while much of the rest of the populace hurriedly blocked off access to side streets by putting up fences, parking lorries across alleyways, and even having people holding large, makeshift shields to push the walking dead in the required direction.
Although a relatively simple and audacious plan, its success hinged on the ability of those thirty volunteers to keep the attention of the zombies focused on themselves. And by damn, they did a good job.
One of the ‘pied pipers’ stripped down to his underpants, and painted the words, “all you can eat” on his belly before starting on the march towards Anglesey. Most of the other volunteers carried whistles, bells or just pots and pans to clatter together – anything that would create a noise and make them the primary focus of the Stenches.
The news bulletins were awash with stories about the bravery of the Bangor marchers, and there were impressive aerial shots taken from television news choppers that made everyone marvel at the courage (or stupidity, depending on your opinion) of these hardy souls.
By the time the volunteers had reached the Britannia and Menai Bridges, they were being pursued, slowly, by close to a thousand Stenches.
Once the bizarre parade had reached the island, the order was given to blow the bridges, and the thirty volunteers then headed rapidly down to the shoreline, where a flotilla of motor boats was waiting to ferry them back to the mainland.
In the years that followed, many more of the undead were dumped on the island – usually carried in nets suspended from helicopters, which were cut loose once they were over the land. Even the National Trust decided to turn the whole island into a bizarre nature reserve/safari park and went as far as describing it as “an area of outstanding natural ugly.”
More adventurous holiday makers would often make Anglesey a destination during the summer months, with trips from the mainland for hunting, or just ‘zom-watching’ outings. Geraint’s next door neighbours had been there for a few days a couple of years earlier, and to this day still had the stickers in their car’s rear window, which read, “we’ve seen the zombies of Beaumaris” and “My parents went to Anglesey, and all I got was bitten.”
CHAPTER 6
Three weeks had passed since Geraint and his friends had met the two Stenches in the back alley, and things were pretty much back to normal for all concerned. That is, normal as defined by the soul-crushing, mind-crippling boredom most teenagers feel when they have too much time on their hands, and not enough distractions to keep themselves entertained.
The three friends had even lost all interest in their monthly trips to the Cathays Cemetery shooting range. Instead they moped around their respective houses, getting underfoot, sighing loudly at every opportunity, and generally being almighty pains in the collective arses of their respective families.
It was mid-morning Saturday, and Gez was stretched out on the sofa in the living room, with the television droning on in the background. He’d tried doing a bit of reading, but that felt too much like effort.
He thought about booting up his games console, but realised there was nothing he really wanted to play. He even considered surfing the web for an hour, but the computer was in his bedroom, and climbing those fifteen stairs seemed too much like hard work.
He heard the front door open, and the familiar boom of Uncle Billy’s voice, ‘You in Gez?’
‘Front room, Uncle Billy.’
Billy entered the living room, a copy of that day’s Western Mail newspaper tucked under his arm and a broad smile on his face. The smile crumbled when he saw his nephew sprawled out on the sofa. ‘I see you’re full of beans, as usual.’
Gez gave a single slow nod.
‘Good God, mun. You’ve got a face like a slapped arse. C’mon, it can’t be all that bad.’
‘Can’t it?’
Billy had put up with his nephew’s boredom over the past few weeks, but even his patience was wearing thin with this stroppy behaviour. He lobbed the newspaper into Gez’s lap.
‘There you go. Have a look at that.’
Gez grumbled, ‘I don’t really want to read the paper, Billy.’
‘Yes you do. Page twenty-five, bottom right hand corner.’
Gez opened the Western Mail, and made a meal of rifling through the pages until he got to page twenty-five. And there it was, in the bottom right hand corner – a simply worded advert – Fancy a weekend’s zombie hunting out in West Wales? Our expert guides will take you out into the depths of the country, where you’ll be taught how to track and then despatch genuine wild zombies. Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back. Call Lampeter 01570…’
Gez placed the paper on the floor and looked at his uncle. ‘Seriously?’
Billy looked puzzled, ‘What d’you mean?’
‘Well, it’s not much fun going to Cathays Cemetery any more. What makes you think that the back of beyond would be any better?’
‘Wild zombies, Gez. Not the poor sods wandering aimlessly around the graveyards here. It’s like comparing a trip to Bristol zoo with an African safari, mun. There is no comparison.’
‘Oh… well… I don’t know…’
‘Tell you what, we can take Bethan and Neil along for the trip too. Make a nice change for you kids to get out of the city. Get some proper fresh air in your lungs.’
Gez brightened almost immediately, ‘Really? Well, if the four of us go then yeah, it could be all right, I suppose.’
‘Good. Glad you agreed because I’ve already booked it, and spoken to Neil and Beth’s families, and they’re fine with it all.’
‘Really? Neil’s pa
rents were happy to let him go zombie hunting in West Wales?’
Billy nodded happily, ‘Aye. Turns out, he’s been an even bigger bloody misery than you over the last few weeks, so they were glad to get shot of him for a couple of days. So, next weekend all right for you?’
Gez jumped up from the sofa and gave his uncle an awkward hug. ‘Too right. Thanks, Uncle Billy.’
‘Well, it’s nice to see you up and about and smiling again. Right, before this good mood wears off, go and make us a cup of tea, you moaning git.’
Gez almost skipped out to the kitchen in his excitement. Next weekend couldn’t come soon enough.
*
The rest of the week felt like the longest of Geraint Wyn Thomas’ young life. One day seemed to drag slowly into the next, and the hours crept along at a deathly pace.
Friday morning finally arrived, however, and the three friends gathered in Gez’s house, waiting for Billy to pick them up. A fair part of the week had been spent in finding the perfect excuse for them to take the day off school and head out west.
Uncle Billy’s first attempt at writing a note for Gez’s form teacher hadn’t exactly got the message across – ‘Dear Mr Wilson, please excuse Geraint from school today as he’s suffering from diary… dirare… dye-a-ree… the shits’.
In the end, it was Bethan who suggested that Billy asked for the day off, as he and Gez were heading westward due to a family bereavement. Beth had already persuaded her mother to write her a note, and Neil didn’t need anyone’s permission, as he was home schooled by his parents.
Beth and Gez carried some spare clothing in rucksacks, while Neil had brought a suitcase, portable television and a microwave oven.
Gez shook his head in disbelief. ‘You sure you’ve got everything there, Neil? Did you bring a washing machine?’
Neil looked horrified. ‘No. Why? Will I need one?’
Bethan snorted in disgust, ‘Truly, Neil, you are the king of the wild frontier.’
The front door opened and Uncle Billy’s head appeared around the living room door. ‘You lot ready for the off then?’
Geraint Wyn: Zombie Killer (Year of the Zombie Book 5) Page 3
