"Okay," said Animal, "you make a fair point. Another option is we unblock the door and fight our way down the stairs; they're really narrow, so we'd only have to deal with one zombie at a time."
"True, but once we'd cleared the stairs we'd still have the problem of making a break for our bikes. Also, we have the additional problem of what we kill the zombies with; this is Wrexham, Clwyd, not Compton, California and, although we might be Bikers With Attitude, we are sorely lacking in AK47s."
Animal unzipped one of the many pockets in his leather jacket and rummaged through for a moment before removing his hand proudly displaying a multi-blade penknife. "I've got this."
"Excellent," said Lemmy, clapping his hands together, "if a zombie has a stone caught in their shoe, or needs a bottle of Chardonnay opening, we're sorted."
Animal opened the largest of the blades; it was two and half inches long. "The quickest and easiest way to the human brain is through the eye. One stab with this and bish-bash-bosh, dead zombie?a more dead zombie. I walk in front, killing zombies and you stay behind me shielded from any harm."
"That's very heroic of you but let me get this straight," said Lemmy. "You want to attack the zombies with your boy scout's machete, stabbing each of them in the eye perfectly every time, without fail?"
"It could work."
"What if you miss? It only takes one bite from one of those mothers to turn you into one of them and then I'd have one more zombie to fight. An armed one?well, kinda armed."
Animal lowered the unimpressive blade. "Yeah, I see what you mean, Lem, and I'd feel really bad eating you, zombie or not."
"Glad to hear it, mate, and careful where you are if you ever say that out loud again. Any other options you can think of?"
"We sit tight and wait to be rescued."
"I must admit, that has some appeal to it," said Lemmy, "but there's no guarantee that'll happen. We don't know how far this?thing has spread. It could be localised in Wrexham or it could be global. Maybe the army will come in and sort it out, send a helicopter to winch our asses off the tower, but if this is a Day of Judgement scenario?well, we're screwed. Even if the door holds we will eventually die of starvation."
"Or dehydration?" said Animal.
"We're in North Wales, Animal, we're more likely to drown than die of thirst."
A pensive silence fell over the friends for a few moments before Animal spoke again. "There is a fourth way out."
Lemmy looked at his friend, who's face had a 'you know what I mean' expression on it. "No," said Lemmy. "You can't mean?"
"Why not? It would be death on our terms," said Animal, "meeting the Reaper face to face like men."
"You think we should jump?"
"I'd hold your hand, if it would help?"
"No! I don't want you to hold my hand," said Lemmy. He began to pace a circuit of the tower.
"Think about it, Lem," said Animal, turning his head to follow Lemmy's circular perambulation, "it would be quick?and more dignified than being ripped apart. Or worse, getting bitten and becoming one of the zombies, roaming forever hungry and unable to die."
"Unless someone shoves a penknife in your eye," said Lemmy.
"It's only an option, Lem."
Lemmy strode purposely into Animal's personal space. "Do you really think this is an option? We toss ourselves off?"
Animal smirked. "Well, I only offered to hold your hand but if that would make you feel braver?"
"What if we don't die? What if we only cripple ourselves and still get eaten alive, or worse still get bitten, turn into zombies but can't move?"
"Whoa, slow down, mate," said Animal, gently pushing Lemmy back a pace, "you're thinking way too much about this. If we go off head first, we're bound to have a clean kill."
"And how do you think we manage that?"
"It's a well-known fact that wherever the head goes the body follows. All we need to do is get naked."
"Get naked?!"
"The weight of our boots alone could affect the arc of our fall."
"Can't we just take our boots off then?"
"I suppose?"
Lemmy undid the zips on his boots and stepped out of them. In two strides he was on the top of the tower wall gripping one of the hexagonal turrets with his right hand, for balance. "Are we doing this or what?"
Animal removed his boots and joined Lemmy, his head scanning across the horizon. "I still think this is a stunning view."
Lemmy's eyes were fixed looking down. Down at the swarming sea of the undead and the hard, cold concrete below their scurrying feet. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Animal?"
"It's an idea, mate."
"And this is the best option?" said Lemmy, his throat dryer than a nun's dreams.
"It's an option."
"You're not bloody helping, Animal!"
"Look, mate," said Animal, "I've had a great time. I rode my bike all over North Wales, and today I even got to see the grave of the bloke who invented the lock in my front door. All the while spending time with my best mate. If I was given the choice of the day I'm going to die, this is the one I would pick."
"You have picked it, you knob."
Animal smiled. "I know you're scared, mate, so am I," he said, resting a hand on Lemmy's shoulder, "but think of all the good times we've shared, all the laughs." Animal chuckled. "Remember that time at the top of that waterfall?"
"Pistyll Rhaeadr."
"Yeah, Pistol Rider, that was a laugh."
"Not sure a Youtube video of you with your trousers 'round your ankles is a laughing matter. A police matter, maybe."
"I had to cool down somehow, mate; it's one hell of a sweaty climb to the top of that hill in leather kecs," argued Animal. "Besides, I had bills on."
"Yeah, your famous squirrel patterned ones with the 'hands off my nuts' warning. You'll never live that down. Four hundred thousand hits, that's had."
"Ah, that's no big deal."
"It was only posted yesterday."
"Really? Cool. I'll miss the internet." Animal took in a deep breath.
Lemmy could feel his body shaking. It was taking all of his resolve not to fall off the wall, let alone jump. The wind, whistling past his ears, seemed to be filled with ghostly voices urging him to jump one second and then pleading he should step back onto the safety of the tower roof the next. The impressive roll of the Berwyn Hills faded from view to be replaced by a vision of his laughing sons, all wrestling for the right to throw a playful punch into their father's arm. They soon vanished, like so much steam, to be replaced by his wife, floating like an angel, her smile inching closer until her lips touched his forehead with a kiss and she whispered: 'Come home safe to me?' before she too '?and when are you going to finish decorating the spare room?' was lost '?instead of pratting round with your mates on motorbikes' to the breeze.
For longer than Lemmy could remember, he had assumed he would die on his bike; going out in a blaze of glory like a Viking on his long ship funeral pyre, pulling a wheelie up to the Pearly Gates and high-fiving St Peter as he blasted into Heaven doing 'the ton'. Yet, here he was preparing to take his own life by turning himself into jam on the cold, damp pavement 136 feet below; nothing but a wet splat made from the fruit of the cowardice bush. "This is wrong," he muttered.
"Okay," said Animal, deaf to his friend's quiet verbal doubt. "After three. One?two-"
Lemmy slapped his hand on Animal's chest. "No! We are not going like this." He stepped back onto the tower roof, bundling his mate with him.
"I really will hold your hand, if it'll help, Lem?" said Animal.
Lemmy grabbed Animal by his leather lapels. "We're bikers and we're going out like bikers. Grab your penknife, Animal, it's time to take out some zombies."
"You do know I've only got one knife, Lemmy, what are you going to use?"
"I'm going to use my rage, mate?my rage and my helmet."
"Epic!" shouted Animal. "Er, should we put our boots back on first?"
Reshod, Lemmy and An
imal stood at the door to the tower. "You ready?" said Lemmy.
Animal twisted his feeble blade through the air to demonstrate his deadly carving technique. "Locked and loaded, bro." He nicked the tip of his own nose with the blade.
"Maybe we should both use our helmets."
Animal put his penknife away. "Good idea."
Both men got a firm grip on their helmets. With an affirming nod of their heads, the bikers relieved the headgear of their barricade duties and opened the small door to reveal the zombie at the head of the queue, grinding its teeth with anticipation. Lemmy smacked it in the face with his skid lid and it fell backwards causing the tightly packed line of undead to begin to topple like dominoes. "Quick," said Lemmy, "keep their momentum going." He added a kick to the chest of the falling zombie, which hastened the descent of the stack of ex-humanity. The nightmarish forms tumbled and spilled down the narrow spiral staircase, with Lemmy and Animal close behind the receding tide. "We're nearly at the bottom," said Lemmy, "be ready to make a run for it."
Animal nodded, his tension laden, laboured breath robbing him of his voice.
The cascade of bodies came to a standstill; Lemmy and Animal ran up the fallen pile and leapt into the main body of the church. The bikers stopped for a second and surveyed the scene; zombies that had been milling round aimlessly all turned their attention to the interlopers. "It's do or die time, mate," said Lemmy.
Animal grinned and gripped his helmet more tightly. "Well, let's do then, Lem, let's do big time." With a battle cry he ran forward and struck the nearest zombie full in the face with his aptly named full-face helmet, the fiend arched backwards and fell to the floor motionless. "Strike one!"
The two men swung their helmets back and forth, up and down; like drunken samurai cutting a swathe through unarmed peasants. "This is easy," said Lemmy, laying low another zombie.
"I know," said Animal, hefting his booted foot into an unprotected groin. "And kicking them in the goolies works just as well as smashing them in the head?didn't know zombies swore so much though."
"Don't worry about that, let's just get out of here."
Lemmy and Animal battled on and, as their fury intensified, the zombies became reticent about attacking which, in turn, quickly turned into a rout of the army of the undead. "They're scared of us, Lem."
"Of course they are," said Lemmy. "Who wouldn't be scared of two pissed-off, badass bikers swinging their helmets?"
Lemmy and Animal rushed through the open doors into the grounds of St Giles', preceded by a wave of zombies that were shouting warnings to their kin outside. Rotting faces turned to take in the commotion at the church's doors, before they too joined the rush to escape the wrath of the leather clad heroes.
"This is our chance, Animal," shouted Lemmy. "Get to our bikes."
The men sprinted to their downed rides, the zombies parting before them like a broken zip on a pair of jeans. Dropping their helmets, Animal and Lemmy, lifted their bikes back onto their wheels and inserted keys. Seconds later they had thrown their legs over their saddles, fired the machines into life and were riding through the open wrought iron gates that marked the boundary of St Giles' grounds.
As they rode down the paved street to safety, Animal spoke. "Erm, Lem, did I just hear someone shout, 'Cut! Cut! Who the hell were those two dickheads in my scene'!?"
"Don't say another word, Animal," said Lemmy, chewing on his bottom lip.
"You don't think that was a..."
"I'm tired of Wales, mate, I think we should give it a miss for a while," said Lemmy. "What do you reckon to spending next weekend in the Lake District; or the northern most tip of Scotland? Or maybe we should lay low for a while?"
by Alec Sillifant
Merseyside
TONNAU TIR
Gwrandwch ond am funud ar fy llais;
pwy neu beth yr ydwyf, ond yn Sais?
Mwy na thinc o dafod estron, nage wir?
Gwedd na fydd yn gwywo cyn bo hir;
mwy na thinc sy'n dweud nad Cymro ydwyf i;
dieithryn draw o'r dwyrain; dyma fi.
Ond be' 'di'r ots am fro, am fan y byd?
Ond pobl 'dyn ni oll, yr un i gyd,
carcharwyd gan enedigaeth a ffin,
er gwaetha' call, ffolineb, ffalster, rhin.
Dw i'm eisiau bod yn rhan o'r rwtsh di-baid,
yn gwarchod pymtheg llath ithfaen a llaid.
Byddwn yn well rhyw ddi-genedl ddyn;
perchen i neb, i fod ond fi fy hun;
dinesydd felly, dyn o'r ddaear gron...
ond mae 'na harddwch yn y gornel grwca hon;
mae rhywbeth yn yr hwyliad haul a glaw
ar eu hynt ar hyd y gorwel di-ben-draw.
Mae rhywbeth yn y bedol werdd a thlos,
bugeilio'r praidd cymylau at y nos.
Dw i eisiau bod ar frig y tonnau tir,
ym machlud mis Mehefin, coch a chlir;
neu hyd yn oed yn glwt i fynd ymlaen,
anniben a di-sylw, hongian ar y draen.
Taflaf odlau fel hen hadau yn y gwair,
cerddi gwelw ar y gwyntoedd, fesul gair;
fyddaf yn rhan o'n pobman, ein pob dim?
Rhyw ronyn o'n gorffennol? Wn i ddim;
ond mae'r bryniau 'ma yn lloches nawr i mi
ac yn fama mae fy nhragwyddoldeb i.
gan Les Barker
Wrecsam
Slow and Steady Wins the Race
"Doo da doo da doo," tooted Barri the bugler. "Bore da," he announced.
"It is with a sad heart that I announce the final day of this, our tenth medieval festival at the magnificent Chirk Castle. Dating back to ?"
"Get on with it!" muttered some of the crowd. They'd arrived early that morning to get a good seat in the gallery around the arena. Everyone was wearing their best Sunday clothes and the atmosphere was electric. The sun was glistening off the highly polished knight's armour and the coloured flags on the poles waved hello in the breeze.
"Keep your wings on!" ordered Barri. "I am honoured to announce our tug of war finalists. Ladies and gentleman, I give you: The Red Dragons and The Robins!" he proclaimed with an air of gusto.
The crowd let out a roar of approval and some even did the Robin's famous dance. In the distance, Dr Bumble was running as fast as his little fat legs could carry him across the wildflower meadow towards the arena. Towards Queenies' royal enclosure!
" Huh, huh, huh, Your Majesty, I am sorry to? huh huh " he panted.
"Carry on Dr. Bumble, has there been a small hiccup?" she enquired.
"No your majesty there's been a very big hiccup. You could say a hiccup of enormous proportion," he declared.
"Explain yourself Doctor," she ordered.
"If your royal highness would care to follow me, it might be easier for you to see for yourself," he requested, whilst bowing down as low as he could, regretting, for the second time, that day, eating a third welsh cake for breakfast. Dr. Bumble headed back through the Wildflower meadow with Queenie following him and the rest of the crowd following her!
Dr. Bumble lifted the flap on the Medieval Knights' tent and bowed again for Queenie to enter. The smell of beer honey mead took her breath away.
All the Tug of War team where in a pile on the floor like a row of toppled over dominos.
"I demand to know what on earth has happened here?' ordered Queenie.
The bee on the top of the pile sat up. "Good Majesty your morning, may I say, hic, hic?may I say, hic hic," he hiccupped.
"You're not able to say anything at the moment, and what is more, you are all not able to take part in the tug of war competition," she announced.
"The competition rule book states, rule 987b that any festival not having a winning team in the Tug of War competition cannot, I repeat can NOT attend the Regal Royal Welsh Show!" read Burt the Festival Official.
"Queenie what are we to do?" begged the crowd. Queenie thought for a moment. "There is one person who can help us with this dilemma. Stand still and
go inside and make your hearts go widgy and squidgy and ask for the wisest of the wise to come."
The bees loved doing this for two reasons. First they got to meet Vonnybee and second it always felt lovely spending time sending love inside to their own hearts.
The crowd calmed, and the air went, still. They waited and waited and then in the distance they could hear the familiar buzz.
"I can hear her," whispered Bamby Bee. "Well I thought I could but I can't now!" said Bamby who was confused.
They continued to listen and then they heard the faint distinctive sound of that famous hum heading their way. The sun shined brighter which revealed particles of dust like magic glitter floating down from the sky. There was a flash of light and Vonnybee appeared.
"Vonnybee, we seem to have a larger than larger hiccup, and we don't know how to fix it," explained Queenie.
"We have a case of a little too much pre-competition celebrations, me thinks," said Vonnybee picking up an empty honey mead beer can.
"I don't understand, the Red Dragons are teetotalers, they never touch a drop of Honey Mead not even at The National Eisteddfod of Wales," assured Chalky the team coach.
"There's no time for ifs, whens, and buts; let's get to work," said Vonnybee rolling up her sleeves. "Nursery nanny bee, I need 100 of your strongest youngsters to come with me, and Dr. Bumble, do you still have your hayfever detector machine from your doctor training days?" questioned Vonnybee.
" Erh, it's somewhere in the bottom of my medical chest. Why?" quizzed the doctor.
"No time to explain. Could you check everyone's shoes for pollen please doctor, I repeat: EVERYONE'S," said Vonnybee.
Vonnybee flew out of the tent followed closely by the 100 baby bees, that couldn't believe their first maiden flight would be behind Vonnybee!
In an instant, they returned carrying a medieval beehive skep basket turned upside down. Following Vonnybee's strict orders, they hovered over the drunken Red Dragons.
"On three, troops," ordered Vonnybee. "One, two, THREE and tip!" she yelled.
They poured cold hog roast fat on top the collapsed team!
The disgusting wet stinky swill shocked them up and on their feet in no time.
"They still aren't fit to compete," announced the coach.
"No, but I think you'll find these 100 nursery bees have earned the right to be the reserve squad. They can compete if, for some reason the team are not able to attend due to unforeseen circumstances," said Vonnybee.