Punks Versus Zombies - episode 39 of the post-apocalyptic zombie serial
Welcome to episode 39. Last time the group raided an abandoned police station...
The van lurched over cracked asphalt as they rolled into the outskirts of St. Louis. Tommy stared out at the ruined cityscape, his gut churning. Skyscrapers jutted like broken teeth against the smoggy sky, their windows dark and lifeless. Abandoned cars clogged the roads, picked clean by scavengers.
Tommy’s fingers twitched, aching for a bottle to ease the dread coiling in his chest. But he clenched his jaw, gripping his bat tighter instead. No more running. No more letting the others down. He had to face this head on.
Roxy white-knuckled the steering wheel. In the back, Zero and Jimbo rode in tense silence. Tommy could feel their eyes boring into him, the questions simmering under the surface.
Zero heaved a sigh. “We need to talk, Tommy boy.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Zero leaned forward. “Sorry? That’s it? You’re supposed to be leading us, watching our backs. But you’re so caught up in drowning your demons you can barely stumble straight. We can’t count on you like this. Can’t trust you.”
The words cut deep. But hadn’t he said the exact same things to himself a thousand times? He was weak. Selfish. A piss-poor excuse for a so-called leader.
Jimbo clapped a heavy hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Dude…you’re hurting. We all are. I get it. But pickling your liver won’t fix it. That promise you made, the straight-edge code, those Xs on your hands. Remember why you chose that. You’re better than this.”
Tommy sucked a breath through his teeth. His throat burned. The tattooed Xs seared his skin, accusing. It would be so easy to dive back into that blissful oblivion, to tell them all to go to hell. But he couldn’t run forever. Those blackout nights ended in blood more often than not—if not his, then someone else’s.
“Alright.” He met Jimbo’s gaze, then Zero’s. “No more bottles. No more excuses. I’m here, fully present. Won’t let you down again.”
“Guys…” Roxy brought the van to a stop and leaned over the dash to frown at something up the road. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Maybe we should try our luck somewhere on the fringes instead.”
Zero shook his head. “No. We’re running on fumes and prayers already. This is our best shot at supplies. We stick to the plan, but we play it smart.”
The hangover still pulsed behind Tommy’s eyes, but a sudden clarity cut through the fog. He turned to the others, crossing his arms. “Roxy’s right. We’re not doing this.”
Zero’s eyebrow arched. His fingers drummed against his rifle stock. “The city’s our best shot at restocking ammo and supplies. We need this.”
“No. It’s too much of a gamble. Every time we hit a major metro, we’re walking into a kill box. Too many zombies, too many angles for an ambush. The risk ain’t worth it.”
“Oh, so your grand plan is to just keep driving until the gas and food run dry?”
Tommy shook his head. “We’ve got enough rations and water to last a few days. That buys us time to find a safer spot to scavenge. Maybe hit some suburbs or small towns.”
Zero’s lips curled back from his teeth. “And what about firepower, huh? We try to fight off a horde with our current arsenal, we’re screwed. I’ve got a few dozen rounds left. That’s a spit in the ocean, Tommy boy.”
Tommy couldn’t shake the memories of Denver. Flashes of snapping jaws and grasping hands. Of Dee. Of Spike. Of Nix.
Roxy glowered at them. “Enough. Both of you. We vote.” Her gaze cut to the others. “All in favour of taking the risk and scavenging the city, raise your hand.”
Zero’s arm shot up. He glared around the circle, daring anyone to defy him.
But he stood alone.
Laila hugged herself. Jimbo stared at his boots, shoulders hunched. Roxy just looked exhausted.
“Then it’s decided.” She sighed, rubbing her temple. “We keep driving, find somewhere off the beaten path to resupply.”
Tommy let out a breath.
Zero’s nostrils flared as he cursed under his breath. “When things go sideways, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Roxy cranked the key. The engine coughed, sputtered, then growled to life.
As the city blurred by, Tommy’s thoughts whirled.
Had he done the right thing, pushing them away from the city? Or had he just condemned them all to a slower, more brutal death?
His fingers itched for a bottle, for that liquid numbness.
But he clamped down on the craving, grinding his molars.
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