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.
CHAPTER 9
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 silence 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.
The milk yields were up, he was making a decent enough profit from the cattle he raised for meat, and he even had a farm shop, which sold home grown fruit and vegetables to an ever expanding market. And even though he missed his daughter, the fact that they were able to have Skype conversations on a regular basis meant that he could at least keep in touch with the one person who meant more to him than any other.
Gwyn Callaghan, the farmer, was doing very well for himself. But it was the sheep that were causing him problems… those evil bloody sheep.
*
Gwyn was crossing the yard when he noticed an unfamiliar green Land Rover coming along the track that led to the farm. He glanced at his watch. Just after three in the afternoon. Visitors to the shop never came up to the farmhouse, and he wasn’t due a visit from the people at DEFRA for at least another month. So who was calling by on a quiet Friday afternoon?
The Land Rover came to a halt at the entrance to the farmyard. Gwyn began to walk towards the new arrivals, when the back door of the vehicle was flung open, and a young woman jumped out of the cab and ran towards him with a big smile on her face.
‘Bethan?’
Before Gwyn had the chance to utter another word, Beth cannonballed into him, knocking the tall man back a step. And then she hugged him with all her might.
‘Hello, calon. Looks like you missed your old man, then.’
Her head buried in his chest, Gwyn only just h
eard Beth’s muffled, ‘Hi, Dad.’
Gwyn looked up at the three other passengers who were stepping out of the Land Rover, nodded a quick hello, before turning his attention back to his daughter.
‘Well, this is a nice surprise. What brings you out to this neck of the woods?’
‘Oh, we’re having a weekend away from Cardiff and I just thought it would be nice to swing by and say hello.’
Gwyn looked down at Bethan and said, ‘In that case… hello. Great to see you, sweetheart. I’m sure you’ve grown since I saw you last.’
Gez and his companions stood a few feet away from the reunited couple. Gwyn looked over at them. ‘Well, I’m guessing that you’re Geraint,’ he said, nodding in Gez’s direction. ‘Beth does talk about you an awful lot.’
Beth felt her cheeks start to redden.
Gwyn’s gaze moved along to the next in line, ‘And I’m betting that our twitchy young friend over there, who’s clearly never seen a farm animal in his life, is Neil.’
Neil didn’t react at all to Gwyn’s comments. He was far too busy keeping his eye on a couple of chickens that were wandering slowly across the yard in front of him. He took his eyes off the birds for just an instant in order to ask, ‘er, do those things bite?’
Gwyn tried to suppress a smile. ‘No, Neil. They don’t bite.’
There was a visible sigh of relief from the young man.
‘No, they don’t bite, they peck. But it’s the venom that does the damage.’
‘V... v... venom?’ said Neil nervously.
‘Yes. Your average chicken has enough venom to kill a grown man stone dead in less than a minute.’
‘I can see where Bethan gets her sense of humour’.
Gwyn looked across at the dark haired man and winked slyly.
‘Pleased to meet you Mr. Callaghan, I’m Billy Morgan. I’m the one trying to keep an eye on this mob for the weekend.’
He reached out his hand, and Gwyn shook it.
‘It’s good to meet you too, Billy. And please, call me Gwyn.’
Before any further pleasantries could be exchanged, they heard a shriek from Neil’s direction and watched the young man run back to the Land Rover, jump in, and slam the door shut.
‘What’s up with you, now?’ asked Billy.
Neil pointed towards one of the chickens. ‘It was looking at me funny.’
‘And on that note,’ said Gwyn, ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
*
It took them twenty minutes to persuade Neil to leave the safety of the Land Rover. And they only managed that after Gwyn had ushered the chickens off the yard and then explained, in far more detail than was necessary, that chickens weren’t actually poisonous. He was finally persuaded to leave the vehicle when Gwyn told him, ‘look, these animals are more afraid of you, than you are of them.’
Tea was served and the conversation flowed. Gwyn and Bethan had a lot of catching up to do, despite a Skype chat a couple of weeks earlier. And Gwyn was keen to hear stories about Cardiff from the rest of the group.
Billy didn’t disappoint with some of his anecdotes.
The afternoon stretched out in a leisurely fashion, and even Neil finally seemed to relax.
‘So, why head to Lampeter for the weekend?’ asked Gwyn finally.
‘Well,’ replied Billy, ‘I just thought it’d make a nice change for us all to get out of Cardiff for a few days, you know the sort of thing – fresh air, open spaces, poisonous chickens…’
‘Sod off,’ muttered Neil under his breath.
‘And on top of all that, we’re going to be spending tomorrow…’
Before Billy had even finished the sentence, Bethan had kicked him hard in the shin. He could just about make out the fact that she was shaking her head at him.
‘Pony trekking,’ said Bethan, smiling happily. There was a perplexed look on her friends’ faces. ‘Just ordinary, safe as houses, pony trekking.’
‘Right,’ said Gwyn. He drew the word out as he spoke. ‘So you’re definitely not going zombie hunting then?’
‘Good grief, no. Why would we do something that mad?’ Bethan tried to laugh off the question, but the laugh sounded more like a mad cackle.
Gwyn reached for the copy of the Western Mail resting on the sideboard in the living room. ‘Just because we’re out in the sticks doesn’t mean we’re not up to date on what’s happening in the rest of the country. I’ve seen the advert in the paper, you know.’
Bethan squirmed in her chair. ‘Honest Dad, it’s just pony trekking and that’s it.’
Gwyn squinted at his daughter. ‘Good. Because, if I thought you were going to be running around in the wilds trying to find zombies for fun, well I…’
The penny had finally dropped with the other three, and before Gwyn had finished his sentence they were all talking across each other, promising that the last thing on earth they had in mind was to go zombie hunting.
‘It’s just a pony trekking weekend Mr Callaghan,’ said Gez.
‘Well, unless horses are venomous too,’ added Neil.
His feeble attempt at humour cut through the tension in the room, and Gwyn visibly relaxed. Billy spoke up, ‘Listen Gwyn, I don’t blame you for feeling worried, but if it’s any use to you, I promise that I won’t let any one of them come to harm this weekend.’
‘What do you mean come to harm?’ snapped the wiry farmer.
Bethan leapt in, ‘err… as in not come to harm falling off a pony. That sort of thing.’
Gwyn looked suspiciously across the table, but Beth had her best poker face on.
Billy sighed, and looked at his travelling companions. ‘Well, I suppose we should be making tracks. I’d rather get to Lampeter before the sun goes down. No telling what you might bump into once it gets dark, eh?’
The four rose from their seats rapidly, and began to head for the front door of the farmhouse. As Billy was about to step outside, Gwyn grabbed his arm in a firm but friendly manner.
‘Listen Billy, I know you’re heading to Lampeter to look for zombies. I’ve known Bethan long enough to tell when she’s lying. And truth be told, the rest of you weren’t much cop at pulling the wool over my eyes either. Just promise me you’ll take care.’
Billy nodded, ‘As I said Gwyn, I’ll make sure no harm comes to any of them. And that’s a gold-plated promise, boss.’
‘Good enough for me.’
They stepped out onto the farmyard. Bethan and Gez were leaning against the Land Rover. ‘Where’s the other clown?’ shouted Billy.
Beth pointed, ‘He’s sat on that gate over there, trying to chat up a sheep.’
Gez grinned, ‘Once a Welshman, always a Welshman, eh?’
‘Oh Christ!’ yelled Gwyn. ‘The sheep!’
He sprinted across the farmyard towards the gate, with a worried Billy in hot pursuit.
*
Neil was sat on top of the large wrought iron gate, looking out over Hafod Isaf farm. He spotted the sheep on the other side of the field, just standing there, staring.
‘Now HE really is looking at me funny,’ thought Neil.
The creature started to walk sluggishly across the field. Neil thought it looked in rather a shabby condition, and was possibly injured, judging by the unsteady movement of the beast. Neil tried to encourage the animal. ‘Here boy...Uncle Neil’s got some nice mint sauce for you.’
He chuckled to himself as the sheep drew ever nearer. The creature was less than ten feet away from the boy when it bleated savagely and then launched itself forward, far quicker than Neil thought possible. As the beast barrelled along, it lowered its head slightly and at the final moment jumped up at the shocked teenager. Whether it was just dumb luck, or bad judgement from the animal, the sheep’s skull hit the gate just below Neil’s feet, and the impact knocked the young man backwards.
Neil couldn’t stop himself falling, but at the last moment a pair of strong sinewy arms caught hold of him.
‘It’s okay, son. I’ve got you,’ said
Gwyn, breathless.
The farmer hauled Neil away, and the teenager looked on in horror as the sheep repeatedly tried to lunge at him through the bars of the gate.
‘Bloody hell, Gwyn,’ said Billy, grinning. ‘That bugger’s a bit of a handful. Horny, is he?’
‘No. Hungry.’
Now, there was a look of horror on both Neil and Billy’s faces.
Neil moved further away from the gate and the thrashing animal. ‘What? You mean that sheep’s a Stench?’
‘A what?’
‘Stench, Gwyn. It’s what we call zombies.’
‘I see. In that case, Neil, yes, it’s a Stench.’
Billy was dumbstruck for a moment before managing to gather his thoughts. ‘Hang on a minute. How the hell do you get zombie sheep? I thought it was only humans that were affected?’
Gwyn looked at Billy shamefaced. ‘Well, you know the old jokes about ‘sheep shaggers’?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, it seems that it’s not just the living that enjoy that kind of… erm… activity.’
‘Sheep shagging zombies?’
Gwyn just shrugged his shoulders. Billy tried to work out the logic of such a thing but even he couldn’t make any sense of this latest outrage by the undead.
‘But hang on a minute, they’re dead. How the hell do they… you know. What I’m trying to say is, your average Stench isn’t really equipped to be fruitful and multiply.’
Neil had a confused look on his face. Billy turned to him, ‘I’ll explain it to you later… or when you’re older.’
Gwyn was very nonchalant, ‘Look, we’ve already got dead people wandering around out there. So, to be honest, the idea of a zombie sheep doesn’t really seem that much odder, all things considered.’
By now, Gez and Beth had joined the rest of the gang.
‘What’s wrong with that sheep?’ asked Bethan.
‘It’s a Stench,’ yelled Neil while pointing at the enraged beast.
‘You have got to be kidding me,’ uttered Gez in amazement.
Billy turned to Gwyn. ‘And you asked me to promise to look after these kids when you’ve got something like this roaming loose on your land?’
Geraint Wyn: Zombie Killer (Year of the Zombie Book 5) Page 5
