Friday, 13th June 2014
16:30, Swalec Stadium, Cardiff
For the last 30 minutes, the Glamorgan squad and back room staff had been watching the carnage from the safety of their elevated balcony. They had barricaded the door so no one could get in. Their previous attempt to run out and escape to their cars in the car park behind the pavilion had been thwarted by the homicidal stewards that roamed the hallways, killing hospitality staff left, right and centre and producing even more red-eyed killers. Their wicketkeeper had already been bitten and ‘turned’ in his effort to run away so was locked out with the rest of the ‘infected.’
Jackson Jones, the 6ft 4″ Welsh all-rounder had assumed the leadership role as both his coach and captain lay unconscious on the changing room floor. Captain Charlie Wills had been thrown against the wall but carried safely back into the now-locked changing rooms by his teammates. Coach Simpson however had not only been clouted over the head with a full champagne bottle but had a tear on his arm from the teeth of the Stadium Operations Manager. Milo Jones, Jackson’s younger brother and favourite batting partner stayed with the coach under his brother’s instructions, just in case he ‘turned.’
From the balcony, Jackson could see young Joe sprinting across the pitch towards him, bat still in hand.
“Jackson, help! I need to get in!” He cried, taking swipes at the red-eyed assassins around him mid-sprint. Jackson thought quickly and asked his team for something they could use for rope that Joe could climb up with. As they searched, their American Head Groundsman, Cash Martin appeared at the bottom of the balcony with a rope from the hovercover. He tossed one end up to Jackson who then urged his teammates to hold on. Joe had managed to make it over safely, blood-spattered but still blue-eyed. Cash grabbed hold of Joe and launched him up the rope. His teammates pulled until Joe got safely to the top. Jackson tossed the rope back down for Cash but he waved ‘no’ with a blood-covered arm.
“I’ve been bitten guys, I need to stay down here!”
Jackson’s teammates were all shouting to him, telling him to stop being stupid and grab the rope but Jackson knew better. He yanked the rope back up to the anger of his team.
“What are you doing you tool! Throw it back down!” Cried his Jonty-esque fielder, Michael ‘Mossy’ Moss. Jackson turned to him angrily.
“And put our lives at risk all over again? No chance!”
Cash gave out a large cry of anger as his eyes turned the deathly blood-red, now shared by at least 2000 people within the ground. His haunting growling and snarling up at the balcony was thankfully, all he could do. For now, the men were safe, or for as long as the barricaded changing rooms doors held up…