Punks Versus Zombies - Episode 43 of the post-apocalytic zombie survival saga

Welcome to episode 43. In our last episode, Tommy and the survivors broke down and had to find a fuel pump relay...

The sun hung low on the horizon as the van navigated the cluttered highway leading into Columbus.

Zero wrestled the steering wheel, his eyes darting between the abandoned vehicles littering the road.

Roxy leaned forward from the backseat, her brow furrowed. “We’re not going to make it back to my place before dark at this rate.”

Zero grunted, swerving to avoid a stalled pickup truck. “We need to find a place to set up camp for the night. I don’t want to be driving in the dark, not with the headlights drawing every dead-head and scavenger for miles.”

Roxy frowned. “I don’t know. We’re so close. If we push through, we could be sleeping in real beds tonight.”

Tommy shook his head. “Zero’s got a point, Rox. It’s not worth the risk. We’re all exhausted. We need to rest, regroup.”

Jimbo leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I’m with T on this one. I don’t fancy getting stranded in the middle of the night with a busted axle or worse.”

Laila remained silent, her gaze distant as she stared out the window.

Roxy sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Alright, let’s put it to a vote. All in favour of finding a place to camp for the night?”

Tommy and Zero’s hands shot up, followed by Jimbo’s. After a moment, Laila raised her hand.

Roxy scowled, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Fine. But I still think we should keep moving.”

Jimbo reached over, placing a hand on her knee. “I know you want to get home, Rox. We all do. But we’ve got to play it smart, you know? Better to lose a few hours now than risk losing everything.”

Roxy held his gaze for a long moment before sighing, the fight draining out of her. “Yeah, I know. I just…I hate this. Feeling like we’re so close, but still so far away.”

Tommy nodded, his chest tight. “We’ll get there. But Jimbo’s right. We’ve got to be smart about it.”

Zero slowed the van as they approached an abandoned gas station, its windows dark, its pumps standing silent. “This could work. Decent visibility, solid walls. We could fortify the inside, set up watch rotations.”

Tommy peered through the windshield, his eyes scanning the darkened interior of the station. “Looks quiet. But we should do a sweep, just to be sure.”

Zero brought the van to a stop, killing the engine. “Agreed. Tommy, you’re with me. Roxy, Jimbo, watch the perimeter. Laila, stay with the van, keep the engine running in case we need to make a quick getaway.”

They piled out of the van, weapons at the ready.

Tommy fell into step beside Zero as they approached the gas station, his bat held loosely at his side.

The door was unlocked, swinging open with a soft creak as Zero shouldered it aside. They moved through the interior, flashlight beams cutting through the gloom.

The shelves were mostly bare, no doubt picked clean by scavengers. A few scattered wrappers and empty cans littered the floor, crunching beneath their feet as they swept the aisles.

The back room was empty save for a few scattered papers and a metal desk. Zero checked the corners, his rifle held at the ready, but there was no sign of life, living or undead.

“We’re clear.”

“What do you think?”

“It’s secure enough.” Zero lowered his rifle. “Let’s get the others.”

They emerged back into the main room, giving the all-clear signal to the others waiting outside.

Roxy and Jimbo helped Laila inside, while Tommy and Zero set about barricading the doors and windows with whatever furniture they could find.

Once the station was as secure as they could make it, they set about making camp.

Jimbo rummaged through their supplies, coming up with a few cans of beans and some crackers.

Roxy laid out the bedrolls in a tight circle, while Laila sorted through their medical supplies, taking inventory of what they had left.

They ate in silence, huddled around a small camping lantern.

The beans were cold and the crackers were like sawdust in Tommy’s mouth, but he forced himself to eat, knowing he needed the energy.

As the last of the light faded outside, Tommy stood, stretching his arms above his head. “I’ll take first watch. The rest of you should try to get some sleep. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

The others murmured their agreement, settling down onto their bedrolls.

Tommy grabbed his bat and made his way over to the window, peering out into the darkness.

Behind him, he could hear the soft rustling of fabric as the others shifted and settled.

Jimbo and Roxy were whispering to each other, their voices too low for Tommy to make out the words. But he could see the way they gravitated towards each other, the casual intimacy of their touches confirming his suspicions about their relationship.

He felt a pang of something like jealousy, or maybe just longing.

It had been so long since he’d had that kind of connection with someone, that easy comfort and affection.

He thought of Niamh, of the way she would curl into his side as they lay in bed together, her head resting on his chest. The way she would smile at him in the mornings, her hair tousled from sleep.

God, he missed her. Missed Sean. He missed them with an ache that went soul-deep, a constant throb in his gut.

He forced himself to look away from Roxy and Jimbo, to focus on the task at hand. He couldn’t afford to get lost in memories, in might-have-beens.

The night wore on, the silence broken only by the soft sounds of sleep and the occasional distant moan of a dead-head.

Tommy paced the length of the gas station, his bat tapping a restless rhythm against his leg.

Every shadow seemed to hold a threat, every creak of settling wood a potential warning of danger. His nerves stretched to breaking.

The shelves loomed over him in the darkness.

On a whim, he ducked behind the counter, his fingers skimming over the detritus. Old papers, empty cans, a handful of tarnished coins. And tucked into the far corner, a glint of glass caught his eye.

He reached for it, his hand closing around the neck of a bottle.

He pulled it out, squinting at the label in the dim light. Vodka, the cheap stuff that burned going down and left a sour taste in your mouth.

Tommy’s heart kicked into a higher gear, his mouth suddenly dry.

It had been so long since he’d had a drink, since he’d felt that familiar warmth spreading through his veins, the blessed numbness that came with it.

He should put it back.

But God, he was so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of being strong, tired of the constant, gnawing fear.

Just one drink, he told himself. Just one, to take the edge off, to quiet the screaming in his head.

He could control it, keep it from spiralling out of hand.

Everyone else was asleep.

No one else needed to know.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he unscrewed the cap, the sharp scent of alcohol wafting up to fill his nostrils.

He raised the bottle to his lips, hesitating for a fraction of a second.

Then he tipped it back, the vodka searing his throat as it went down.

He welcomed the burn, the way it chased away the chill that seemed to have settled into his bones.

One drink became two, then three.

The world started to soften at the edges, the constant hum of anxiety in his chest easing, replaced by a warm, floating sensation.

He wandered the aisles of the store, his steps unsteady, his bat dragging along the floor.

He hummed tunelessly under his breath, snippets of Clash songs, half-remembered.

He was so lost in his own head, in the comforting haze of the alcohol, that he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until it was too late.

“Tommy?” Jimbo’s voice was rough with sleep. “What are you doing?”

Tommy whirled, the room spinning around him. He blinked, trying to focus on Jimbo’s face, but it kept slipping away from him. “Jimbo, hey.” His words came out slurred. “I was just…I needed a little something…”

Jimbo’s eyes fell to the bottle dangling from Tommy’s hand, his brow furrowing. “Oh, dude. Where did you even find that?”

Tommy shrugged. “Under the counter. Hidden treasure, right?”

Jimbo shook his head, stepping forward and plucking the bottle from Tommy’s fingers. “This isn’t treasure, dude. This is poison, and you damn well know it.”

Tommy’s face fell. “Don’t…don’t tell me what I know. You don’t get to judge me, Jimbo. You haven’t been through what I’ve been through.”

“No, I haven’t. But I know pain, Tommy. I know what it’s like to want to drown it out. But trust me, that road doesn’t lead anywhere good.”

Tommy slumped back against the shelves. “I’m just so tired. Tired of being scared all the time, tired of not knowing what’s coming next.”

Jimbo set the bottle aside, moving to stand beside Tommy. He rested a hand on his shoulder, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric of Tommy’s shirt. “I get it, T. But this? This isn’t the answer. You’re stronger than this. You’re better than this.”

Tommy shook his head, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Am I? Because from where I’m standing, I’m a pretty piss-poor excuse for a leader. For a father. I mean, what kind of man abandons his family in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse?”

“You didn’t abandon them.”

“I did. I left them to play a stupid, stupid tour. I should have been with them. I should have been there, and I wasn’t? What kind of man does that make me, huh? Abandoning his family for some stupid dream?”

“The kind that’s trying his best to get back to them. The kind that’s willing to do whatever it takes to keep them safe. That’s who you are, Tommy. That’s the man I know.”

Tommy sniffed, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I just…I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

Jimbo squeezed his shoulder. “You are. You’re one of the strongest people I know. And you’re not alone in this. You’ve got us. We’re all in this together, dude.”

Tommy let out a shaky breath, some of the tightness in his chest easing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have let myself slip like that. It won’t happen again.”

Jimbo gave him a small smile. “It’s okay, dude. We all have our moments. The important thing is that you don’t let them define you, that you keep pushing forward.” He glanced around the store. “Why don’t you try to get some rest? I can take over watch for a bit, let you sleep off the booze.”

Tommy hesitated, the thought of closing his eyes, of letting his guard down, sending a flicker of unease through him. But his limbs felt heavy, his head fuzzy. “Yeah, okay.” He pushed himself off the shelves, swaying slightly as the room tilted around him. “Thanks, Jimbo. For…for everything.”

Jimbo clapped him on the back, steering him towards the bedrolls. “Anytime, dude.” He helped Tommy settle down onto his bedroll, pressing a bottle of water and a handful of crackers into his hands. “Here, try to get some of this down you. It’ll help with the hangover.”

Tommy took a sip of the water, the coolness soothing his raw throat. He nibbled at a cracker, his stomach churning.

Jimbo stood, grabbed his golf club, and headed for the window. “Get some rest, T. Things will look better in the morning, you’ll see.”

Tommy let his eyes drift shut, the exhaustion of the day, the alcohol in his system, dragging him down into a dreamless sleep.