Slay Ride: A fast-paced and frighteningly funny Christmas survival horror by L.A. Birchon

Author:L.A. Birchon [Birchon, L.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oxgate Books
Published: 2023-11-28T00:00:00+00:00

13

‘Can’t they see it?’ Steve says. ‘They’re running right into danger.’

‘Which one is it?’ the bus driver says.

Nish strains his eyes to see. In the dark everything that’s not snow is little more than a black outline. The figure, stumbling and flailing over the ice, is too distant to be distinct. Is that a cassock or a skirt? Even their relative size is impossible to judge as the vast snow-covered expanse flattens perspective.

The runner won’t know they’re headed head-long into a trap, that’s for sure. Having recently made the journey himself, Nish can confirm they’ll be too focused on staying upright to notice the stag patiently waiting for them to draw close.

‘Blast, I should have brought my field goggles,’ huffs the Colonel.

‘Look – there’s another one!’ The bus driver is getting quite excited, straining not to shout. ‘They both made it!’

There is indeed a second runner, coming round from the rear of the pub. The second figure is more sure-footed, more minimalist in their motions, their silhouette a darker shade of black. Seeing the two together, Nish is sure that the Reverend is bringing up the rear. The big man moves with a muscular momentum, past where the beer garden’s picketed fence must be, and out into the wide open space of the green.

The bus driver gasps. ‘The deer got out of the pub…’

The pub is a squat snow-covered shape, with the faintest flickering glow from the windows closest to the log fire. There is a black blot on the pristine coating of its roof – the gaping hole where the creatures tore their way into the building. And there, bounding wide of the pub with giddy grace, is one – no, scratch that – are two stags.

As he watches, the first takes a wide course around the beer garden, bounding with the frisky vigour and fey charm of the Babycham mascot. There is something irrepressibly magical about the deer. Nish has to remind himself that he’s watching an armoured killing machine the size of a plough horse.

The second stag takes a course directly through the beer garden and crashes straight into something solid that sends it flying face-first into the snow in an ungainly tangle of antlers and legs.

The unharmed stag skids to a halt and watches its blinded fellow struggle to stand. It glances towards the figures flying in the direction of the church and lets out a low resonant tragic note that carries into the night air. It bounds back to the stricken stag and begins nuzzling.

‘Got that one right in the eyes,’ the Colonel says triumphantly.

‘What do you call a blind reindeer?’ the bus driver blurts.

Colonel Mustard looks her up and down in the same way a lord of the manor might occasionally notice his serving staff. ‘Shush now. Our vegan friends won’t find that sort of rough humour very funny.’

The bus driver mouths the word sorry at Nish and Effie like a truculent a five-year-old who’s opened their presents before Christmas Day.

‘You need to do something,’ Miss Scarlet says to the Colonel.

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