Zombies Stop Play Pt 8

Friday, 13th June 2014


19:30, Swalec Stadium, Cardiff

“Mate, what the hell is that?!” Asked Sammy, looking rather unnerved.

“I’m really am sorry mate, you’re gonna turn. You’re gonna become… one of them!” Answered Jackson, already filled with regret from what he was doing. Beads of sweat started to pour down Sammy’s head as he faced the person that was ready to end his life with a flick of a finger.

“I don’t understand, how can you even know that? I feel fine!”

“He was in the toilet when you told everyone about the blue-eye rule, Jackson. He doesn’t know. Maybe you were wrong?” Suggested Mossy, putting his hand on the gun barrel and attempting to lower it. Jackson was too strong for Mossy, and the gun didn’t budge. It was still aimed directly between the Aussie’s bright blue eyes. The rest of the team didn’t quite know what to say or what to do. They trusted Jackson, with their lives, and weren’t about to argue with him over something he seemed to know more about than they did.

“Sammy, close your eyes.” Said Jackson quietly. Sammy quickly reached for his bat and picked it up. He looked ready to attack Jackson.

“I’m not gonna let you do this!” Shouted Mossy next to him. “If he turns, then fine, paint the walls with his baggy green brains but until then, I can’t let you pull that trigger!”

“Don’t you see?” Shouted Jackson back at his best friend, turning his head to look at him. “I’m doing this for us. If he turns, he’ll kill us. I shoot him now and we have a chance!” In that moment, Sammy swung his bat hard at the gun. The shock made Jackson pull the trigger, and the bullet flew straight through Mossy’s shoulder. Jackson dropped the gun as Mossy fell to the floor, pushing down on the wound tightly with his hand.

“Shit Moss I’m so sorry!” Jackson pulled his T-shirt off and wrapped it round the wound, tying it hard to control the bleeding. The wound was deep but thankfully not fatal. Bridgey picked up the gun in anger.

“From now on, I’m the only one who uses this gun!” Jackson felt awful. Considering the current, apparent apocalypse and the fact that his best friend had just shot him in his batting shoulder, Mossy was in reasonably good spirits.

“I guess I really am like Inspector Riggs in Lethal Weapon now, eh Jacks?” Jackson smiled. Before he could respond however, Sammy’s ‘change’ had already begun. He doubled over in searing pain with one hand holding him up and the other hand tightly gripping his hair.

“Jacks, I think we’ve got a problem, boi!” Shouted Obvious-Lee, pointing at Sammy who was now kneeling silently, staring at the floor.

“Has he changed?” Asked Milo. Picking up a cricket ball from the bench behind him. Sammy slowly lifted his head, with glowing red eyes staring straight at Jackson.

“Nevermind!” Screamed Milo, launching the ball at Sammy’s head. Unfortunately, the ball flew straight past him into the wall behind.

“You never could hit the stumps!” Shouted an injured Mossy from the floor. Sammy leapt up from the floor, and pounced at Jackson. Jackson gripped his neck as tightly as he could so he wouldn’t be able to bite. Sammy was strong however, in his new, undead form and his head got closer and closer to Jackson’s neck. Milo realised that he now needed to step up for his brother. He picked up his bat and took the biggest swing at Sammy’s shoulders, sending him flying out of Jackson’s grip and into the changing room door.

“Shoot hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim!” Yelled Jackson, backing away on all fours.” In that moment, Bridgey lifted his gun and shot a bullet straight between Sammy’s eyes, killing whatever he had become.

The group sat silently, staring at their former team mate. The scene flashing through their minds as if they were watching a replay. Jackson decided that the silence needed to be broken.

“That’s it, I’m getting out of here!”

Zombies Stop Play Pt 5

Friday, 13th June 2014

18:00,Swalec Stadium, Cardiff

Jackson jumped back into Mossy who was creeping close behind him.
“Easy!” Whispered Mossy to a clearly disturbed Jackson.
“Did you hear that? There’s something out there? I think it just, threw something…” Jackson was shaking. As big and brave as he was, and tried to be for his team, nerves were starting to get the better of him.
“Relax man!” Said Mossy, looking into Jackson’s eyes. “I’ve seen you swing a cricket bat, you swing it pretty damn hard!” Jackson smiled. The more he listened to Mossy’s strong South African accent, the more he was able to pretend that he was in a Lethal Weapon film. “Remember, if it growls, has red eyes and looks like it’s been microwaved then swat that zombie piece of s**t for six. Got it?” Mossy’s prep talk was just what Jackson needed. He gripped his bat even tighter and charged out onto the balcony. As he initially suspected, there was indeed an ‘infected’ player standing over a corpse. Essex’s tall, lanky twelfth man Toby Carver. Carver’s mouth was dripping with blood and he had what looked like a head in his left hand. He tilted his head to the side slowly and stared straight at Jackson.
“How many are there Jacks?” Shouted Mossy from behind the doorframe.
“Two.” Spoke Jackson in a quiet voice. “One walking dead, one dead dead.”
“Is the dead dead one going to come back to life like the others?”
“I very much doubt it. I think it’s the Essex physio. Although it’s hard to tell without his head actually attached to his body.” Throughout his entire scene description to Mossy, Jackson did not move his eyes from the two dark red spheres of the twelfth man. “I’m gonna have to kill Carver now. In that second, Carver dropped the half-eaten head of the Essex physio and leapt towards Jackson. He was about to swing his bat at Carver’s head when he heard a deafening bang in his ear. Bridgey was standing just behind him with a smoking shotgun aimed at the enemy.
Carver’s head lay in bits, scattered over the balcony. All three men turned to Bridgey who slowly lowered his gun.
“Look who decided to come to the party!” Said Jackson, fist-bumping his quiet but new-found action hero team mate.
“I’ve got your back boys. Now let’s get over there and check their room. I think their door is open…”

Bridgey’s shot had shattered the fence separating the balconies so the boys were able to creep quietly over to the Essex changing room. Jackson peered round the door to see 2 of the Essex players, shaking in the corner of the room, one gripping his cricket bat and the other holding his crutches, ready to attack the next thing to come through the door. There were three or four bodies scattered around the room, all with flattened heads. Jackson needed to get their attention but shouting wasn’t an option. Their changing room door which lead deeper into the pavilion was blood-spattered and ajar. Jackson took a step into the changing room and quickly put his finger to his lip, hoping they would realise he wasn’t one of them. Robin Van der Westhuizen, or Westie to his team mates, the injured South African Essex all-rounder threw his crutch at Jackson in panic, not realising he wasn’t there to attack. The crutch hit Jackson in the ribs resulting in an almightily yelp and the 6ft 4 bowler crashing against the wall and to the floor in agony. Mossy, Milo and Bridgey quickly ran in to see to their friend. Westie soon realised his mistake and hopped over to Jackson who was doubled over in pain.

“Sorry mate, I thought you were one of them!” There was no love loss between Westie and Jackson. They had been rivals for years. Bars would empty to see Jackson bowl his 90mph deliveries at Westie – they were very equally matched which made for the perfect rivalry. Of course their differences were not just on the field. There was history between them. They were cricket rivals, love rivals, Twitter rivals and media rivals – frequently slating one another in interviews.
“Come on mate, who are you kidding? You could see I wasn’t a bloody zombie!” Said Jackson, rather angrily.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist!” Replied Westie. “It was an accident!” Bridgey turned to Westie’s team mate O’Toole who was still in the corner, staring out of the changing room door.
“Hey buddy, good to see you made it off the field!”
“Too many energy drinks for him earlier…” Interrupted Westie. “He needed a toilet break as soon as they started playing!” O’Toole continued to ignore Bridgey. His eyes were fixated on something.
“Mate, are you OK?” Asked Mossy.
“Not really…” Answered O’Toole in a quiet, shaky voice. “There’s something looking at me.”

“`SHUT THE DOOR!!!” Yelled Jackson. Mossy sprinted to the door and threw his entire body weight at it, feeling some resistance from the other side as it slammed. Milo and Jackson ran over to help keep it closed but the resistance got stronger. Something wanted IN!

Zombies Stop Play Pt 4

Friday, 13th June 2014


17:30, Swalec Stadium, Cardiff

The remaining Glamorgan team were silenced by what they saw. All but Jackson.

“Right, we need to think fast. Are we going to stay in here or are we going to try and get the hell out of this place? Either way we need to decide now.”
About five different answers came at once from his teammates. Jackson struggled to decipher each suggestion. The majority seemed to want to leave to get to their families but Mossy had other ideas.
“Are you boys crazy?” Yelled Mossy. “You all saw what one bite from the things can do! If we leave this room now, we won’t last five minutes!” Obvious-Lee picked up his shiny new Woodworm bat from the floor and took a few hard swipes at the air.
“You clearly haven’t seen me in the nets lately, bud! If these are zombies, I’ll take three heads off with one swing!” Jackson admired Lee’s spirit, but his confidence was severely misplaced.
“Come on boys, let’s be a little bit realistic shall we? You all saw how many strong men Tyrone Carter took out at the start. I know he’s a big, strong lad anyway but you can see what this disease does to people. They become faster and stronger… and for some weird reason develop a taste for people!” Tyrone couldn’t believe what he was actually saying to his team that he knew it needed to be said.
“I’m with Jackson on this one boys.” Added Mossy, putting a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “The door to our changing room is pretty thick and we can use our bats as weapons.” Bridgey quietly put his hand up.
“You don’t need to put your hand up mate, this isn’t school!” Laughed Jackson. Bridgey was the number 3 batsman for Glamorgan. He was quiet but brilliant, and a little bit of an academic genius, forever trying to shake off the nickname Ceefax.
“Anyone know if any of the Essex Camp in the changing room right next to ours are OK? I mean, did anybody see them on the balcony?” Jackson looked at Mossy. Bridgey had made an excellent point. They may be safe now, but they shared balconies, with only a small fence to separate them.
“Everybody shut up!” Jackson whispered. “If any of the Essex lot ‘turned’ in there and hear us in here, they could come for us. We need to do some reccy. Mossy, Milo, come with me, and grab a bat.
“You can borrow my Dad’s shotgun if you want?” The whole team glared at Bridgey in disbelief.
“Shotgun! What the hell are you on about Ceefax?” Asked Jackson, walking over to a shifty looking Bridgey.
“It’s my dad’s. We went shooting yesterday up the valley and I put it in my kit bag. I’ve just forgotten to take it out. I’m not a weirdo, honest!” Bridgey pulled the shot gun from out of his bag and went to hand it to Jackson. “Do you know how to use it?”
“I’m from the valleys, of course I do!” Replied Jackson with a smile. “But I’m not gonna be the one using it. You can come with us.” Bridgey’s face dropped. I’m the brains, not the braun! He muttered to himself under his breath as the walked towards the balcony.
“The rest of you stay in here, grab any bats, stumps, anything that you can use as a weapon.” Added Mossy, following Jackson, Milo and Bridgey to the balcony.

Jackson arrived at the balcony door first, which was still open. He was about to cast a glance round the frame when he heard a loud bang on the deck about 5 feet away from him…

Zombies Stop Play Pt 2

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…