Punks Versus Zombies - Episode 47 of the post-apocalyptic zombie survival saga

Welcome to episode 47. In our last episode, Tommy and the survivors reached Pittsburgh and returned to Zero and Jimbo's homes...

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the highway as Tommy guided the van towards Philadelphia. They were so close now.

Behind him, the others were quiet. Laila stared out the window, her face pensive. Jimbo and Roxy huddled together, their heads bent close in conversation. Zero sat in the passenger seat, his eyes scanning the road ahead.

They had been making good progress, despite the occasional detour around blocked roads or abandoned towns. But as they approached the outskirts of West Chester, the highway began to clog with abandoned vehicles once more.

Tommy slowed the van, weaving between the cars. Lone zombies shambled along the shoulder, their faces slack and empty. He swerved to avoid them.

A horde of zombies burst from the treeline. They swarmed towards the van, their rasping moans filling the air.

“Hold on!” Tommy stomped on the gas, the van lurching forward. But the zombies closed in around the vehicle, their hands scrabbling at the windows, their bodies thudding against the sides.

Tommy gritted his teeth, trying to ram through the horde. But the van shuddered and groaned under the impact, metal shrieking as it crashed into an overturned semi.

For a moment, Tommy sat dazed, his ears ringing, his vision blurred.

The zombies’ moans cut through the haze, jolting him back to reality.

“Everyone out!” He grabbed his bat. “We have to run!”

They piled out of the van, their weapons already in hand. The zombies pressed in from all sides, their faces contorted with mindless hunger.

Tommy swung his bat in a wide arc, feeling it connect with solid flesh. Beside him, Laila lashed out with her tyre iron, caving in skulls with brutal efficiency. Jimbo and Roxy fought back to back, their weapons flashing in the fading light.

“We need to draw them away!” Zero slammed his rifled butt down on a zombie’s skull. “Get them to follow us, give us a chance to get back to the van!”

Tommy nodded, his mind racing. He scanned the highway, looking for a way out, a path to safety. “This way!” He gestured with his bat. “Let’s head to the overpass!”.”

They broke away from the van, abandoning their supplies, their precious cache of guns and ammunition. All except Zero, who clutched his rifle tight to his chest.

Tommy ran, his feet pounding on the asphalt, the others following behind.

Every step sent a jolt of pain through his ankle. But Tommy gritted his teeth, pushed it down.

The zombies stumbled after them.

The overpass loomed ahead, a narrow strip of concrete and metal that stretched out over the highway.

Tommy put on a burst of speed, his lungs burning, his muscles screaming.

He reached the top of the embankment and whirled around, his bat held high.

“This is our best spot to fight,” Zero said. “Use the higher ground to our advantage.”

Zombies scrambled up the bank towards them.

Tommy swung his bat down, feeling it connect with something solid.

Beside him, Roxy let out a wordless battle cry, her machete slicing through the air, each swing leaving a trail of severed limbs and shattered skulls in its wake.

Zero dropped to one knee, his rifle snapping up to his shoulder. He sighted down the barrel, his eyes narrowing, his breath coming slow and steady.

He squeezed the trigger, the sharp crack of the shot echoing across the overpass.

A zombie’s head exploded in a spray of gore, the body crumpling to the ground.

Zero lined up his next shot, his movements calm and methodical.

Laila and Jimbo fought as if in a trance, their weapons rising and falling in a relentless rhythm, tearing through flesh and bone with brutal efficiency.

Tommy lost himself in the fight, his world narrowing to the swing of his bat, the burn of his muscles.

He struck out again and again, each impact jarring up his arms, each zombie that fell only to be replaced by another.

The air was thick with the stench of decay, the coppery tang of blood, the acrid smell of gunpowder.

Sweat poured down Tommy’s face, stinging his eyes, but he blinked it away, refusing to let his vision blur, refusing to let his guard down for even a second.

“We need to move!” Tommy shouted, his voice hoarse and ragged. “Back to the highway, now!”

The others didn’t hesitate, didn’t question. They fell back as one, their weapons still flashing, still cutting through the ranks of the undead.

Tommy brought up the rear, his bat smashing into the faces of any zombies that got too close, buying the others precious seconds to retreat.

They reached the edge of the overpass, the highway stretching out below them.

Tommy risked a glance over his shoulder, saw the horde surging forward, their moans rising.

Ankle throbbing, Tommy forced himself to keep pace with the others, his bat clutched tight in his hand, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement.

Tommy glanced back as zombies poured off the overpass, their bodies hitting the ground hard.

Some staggered to their feet, their milky eyes fixing on the fleeing survivors, their jaws snapping with mindless hunger.

Tommy half-limped, half-ran until the moans faded into the distance, until the only sound was the pounding of his own blood in his ears.

He stumbled to a halt, his chest heaving, his vision swimming. He looked around at the others. “Is everyone okay?”

Roxy nodded, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Yeah, we’re good.”

Zero grunted his agreement, his rifle still held at the ready.

Laila and Jimbo leaned against each other, their chests heaving, their faces drawn. But they were alive, and that was all that mattered.

Tommy took a deep breath, forcing himself to stand straight, to push down the pain and the fear and the bone-deep weariness. “Let’s get this van back on the road before the dead-heads regroup.”

Tommy moved quickly, retracing his steps back towards the wrecked van, his eyes and ears straining for any sign of the horde’s return.

As he approached the overturned semi, the crumpled front of the van came into view, wedged against the larger vehicle’s undercarriage.

Smoke wafted from the crushed hood, and the windshield was a spiderweb of cracks.

Zero moved ahead, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he circled the wreck, eyes roving over the damage. He crouched down, peering underneath, his hands probing at the twisted metal.

Tommy watched on, hardly daring to breathe, clinging to a desperate hope that somehow the van could be salvaged.

Zero straightened up and shook his head. “It’s no good. Frame’s bent to hell, engine’s shot. We’re not going anywhere in this.”

Roxy kicked at a tyre, cursing under her breath.

Laila closed her eyes, her shoulders slumping.

Jimbo just stared.

Tommy looked out over the highway, at the distant city skyline. Philadelphia. It had never seemed so far away, so utterly out of reach.

But what choice did they have?

To stay here was to die.

To go back was unthinkable.

The only path was forward.

Tommy swallowed hard, tasting bile at the back of his throat. He turned to the others. “We need to keep moving, We stick to the plan. We get to Philly, we find my family. We survive. Let’s gather what we can, and move out.”