Punks Versus Zombies - Episode 51 of the zombie surival saga

Welcome to the penultimate episode of Punks Versus Zombies. In our last episode Tommy and Roxy were captured by the military...

Tommy jolted awake, his heart pounding, his skin slick with cold sweat. For a moment, he was disoriented, the darkness pressing in on him from all sides. But then the events of the past few hours came rushing back, and he remembered where he was.

The military transport. The soldiers. The officer’s cold, assessing gaze as he ordered them taken into custody.

He sat up, his muscles aching.

Beside him, Roxy stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She looked as exhausted as he felt, her face pale and drawn in the dim light filtering through the small window. “Where are we?”

Tommy shook his head. “I don’t know.”

The transport lurched to a stop, the engine cutting off. There was a moment of silence, then the sound of heavy boots on metal as the soldiers began to disembark.

The rear doors swung open, flooding the compartment with harsh, artificial light. Tommy squinted against the glare, his hand coming up to shield his eyes.

“Out,” a gruff voice said. “Both of you. Now.”

Tommy and Roxy exchanged a glance, then climbed to their feet. They stepped out of the transport and into a world of concrete and barbed wire, of armed guards and spotlights.

The base was a hive of activity, soldiers moving with precise, purposeful strides, vehicles rumbling past laden with supplies and equipment. Medics hurried by, their faces obscured behind masks.

A soldier approached them. “You two, come with me. We need to get you processed and cleared.”

Tommy opened his mouth to protest, to demand answers, but the soldier cut him off with a sharp gesture. “Save it. You’ll be briefed once we’ve determined you’re not a threat.”

The soldier led them across the compound, past rows of tents and prefabricated buildings. They passed through checkpoint after checkpoint.

At each stage, the security grew more stringent, the guards more heavily armed and wary. By the time they reached the final checkpoint, Tommy felt like a prisoner being led to execution.

The soldier ushered them into a stark, brightly-lit receiving area, all white tiles and stainless steel. A military officer stood waiting for them. “Separate them. Full decontamination protocol. I want them checked for bites, scratches, any signs of infection.”

Tommy’s stomach clenched. “Wait. You can’t just split us up like this. We stay together.”

The officer’s gaze flicked to him, his expression unchanging. “We have to be sure you’re not a threat.”

Tommy opened his mouth to argue, but before he could speak, a pair of soldiers stepped forward, their hands closing around his arms.

He tried to pull away, but their grip only tightened.

“Tommy!” Roxy called after him as soldiers hauled her away. “Tommy, don’t let them—”

But her words cut off as she was dragged through a door and out of sight.

“Where the hell are you taking her? You can’t split us up like this!””

“Keep moving, sir. It’s for security purposes. You’ll be reunited with your friend once we’ve determined you’re not infected.”

Tommy wanted to fight, but he knew it was useless. Instead, he let the soldiers lead him away.

They took him to a small, brightly-lit room filled with metal tables and racks of equipment. A team of faceless technicians stood waiting for him, their hands gloved and their eyes hidden behind protective goggles.

“Remove your belongings,” one of them ordered, his voice muffled behind his mask. “Step forward. Remain calm.”

Tommy hesitated, his fingers clenching around the straps of his backpack. It was all he had left, the last remnants of his life before the world had gone to hell.

With a sigh, he shrugged off the pack and handed it over, watching as the technicians emptied it onto the table, sorting through the contents with clinical efficiency.

They patted him down next, their hands roving over his body with impersonal thoroughness. They checked his pockets, his waistband, the soles of his boots.

When they were satisfied, they led him to a medical tent, a cavernous space filled with the beep and hiss of machinery. Doctors and nurses moved among the rows of beds, their faces obscured behind masks and face shields.

A doctor approached him. She gestured for him to sit on a nearby exam table.

She shone a light in his eyes, checked his pulse and blood pressure, palpated his lymph nodes with gloved fingers. “Any history of illness or injury? Any allergies or medical conditions?”

Tommy shook his head, wincing as she probed at a particularly tender bruise on his ribs. “No. Nothing like that.”

She nodded, making a note on her clipboard. “And have you had any exposure to infected individuals? Any bites, scratches, or other wounds?”

He hesitated, his mind flashing back to their countless battles with the undead. To Jimbo, dragged down and torn apart before him. “No. No bites or scratches.”

The doctor eyed him, but didn’t press the issue. She took a blood sample, the needle biting into his arm with a sharp, fleeting pain. Then she stepped back, stripping off her gloves with a snap. “You’re clear. We can’t take any chances.”

Tommy nodded, his throat tight. He understood the need for caution, for vigilance. But the idea of being trapped here, cut off from the outside world was almost too much to bear.

The soldiers led him out of the tent and across the compound, past more checkpoints and guard stations, more rows of identical buildings and tents.

They took him to a small, bare room, little more than a cell with a bench along one wall and a barred window set high in the opposite wall. “Someone will come for you soon.”

Tommy stepped inside, his heart sinking as the door swung shut behind him, the lock clicking into place.

He sank down onto the bench, his head in his hands, his mind spinning.

Where was Roxy?

What were they doing to her?

And what about Niamh and Sean?

If the camp at Fairmount Park was gone, if the city was lost…what hope did he have of ever finding them again?

How had it come to this?

How had everything fallen apart so quickly, so completely?

He thought of Jimbo and Zero, of Dee and Spike and Nix and Kim, of Laila and Micky.

All the friends he had lost, all the people he had failed.

But he couldn’t let it consume him.

He had to stay strong, had to keep fighting.

For Roxy, for whatever slim hope remained.

He sat in the silence of the cell, his eyes fixed on the window, his mind racing with plans and possibilities.

Time dragged on.

His stomach growled, his throat dry.

He tried to distract himself, shifting on the bench, running his hands through his hair, but the discomfort in his gut was relentless.

He stood, the movement making his head spin.

He couldn’t sit here any longer.

He started pacing, his boots scuffing against the floor, the sound almost rhythmic in the silence.

One, two, three steps to the wall, turn.

One, two, three steps back to the door, turn.

His body was in motion, but his mind was stuck, circling the same worries over and over.

Where was Roxy?

What were they doing to her?

What if she was infected?

What if she didn’t pass their tests?

He could hardly stand to think about it, but the thoughts were insistent, pounding in his skull with every step.

He reached the door again and stopped.

The room felt smaller than before, more claustrophobic.

He pounded his fist against the door. “Hey! Is anyone out there? I’m starving! I need water!”

He waited, his ear pressed against the door, hoping for some response, any sign that someone was listening.

But there was only silence.

His breath came faster, his chest tightening.

He banged on the door again, harder this time, his fists slamming against the metal. “Come on! I know you can hear me! Let me out of here!”

Nothing.

He slumped back against the door, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, his head resting against the cool metal.

His eyes drifted to the barred window.

Time blurred again, and Tommy didn’t know how long he sat there, staring blankly at the window, his thoughts spiralling.

The lock clicked.

He scrambled to his feet.

The door swung open, and a soldier stepped into the room. “Follow me.”

With a heavy sigh, Tommy nodded and stepped forward, his body aching.

The soldier turned and led him out of the room, down a dimly lit corridor.

As they walked, Tommy’s thoughts returned to Roxy. He had to find her. He had to make sure she was safe.

But for now, all he could do was follow.

They came to a stop outside a nondescript door, indistinguishable from the dozens they had already passed. The soldier swiped a key card, and the lock disengaged with a soft click. He pushed the door open and gestured for Tommy to enter.

“Your quarters. You should get yourself cleaned up.”

With a nod, Tommy stepped over the threshold and into the room beyond.

The door closed, leaving him alone once more.

A single bed stood against one wall, its plain blanket and pillow crisp and unwrinkled. A table and chair occupied the opposite corner, a closet tucked beside them.

He crossed to the small bathroom. A sink, a toilet, a shower stall.

He turned on the faucet, watching as the water flowed clear and steady, steam rising from the heat.

How long had it been since he had seen running water, since he had felt the simple luxury of a hot shower?

With trembling hands, he stripped off his filthy, bloodstained clothes, letting them fall to the tiled floor.

He stepped into the stall, the water cascading over him in a scalding rush.

For a long time, he simply stood there, his eyes closed, his face tilted up to the spray.

The heat seeped into his aching muscles, washing away the grime and sweat.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, mingling with the water that streamed down his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed himself to feel anything beyond the numb, relentless drive to survive.

But now, the emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

Grief, guilt, fear, and despair crashed over him in waves, leaving him shaking and gasping under the spray.

He stayed there until his skin was raw and wrinkled and the tears had run dry.

He turned off the faucet and stepped out, taking a towel from the neat stack on the shelf.

As he dried himself, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror above the sink. He barely recognised the man who stared back at him—gaunt, bearded, and hollow-eyed, his skin pale beneath the scrapes and bruises. At least the tattoos remained the same.

Gone was the cocky, self-assured punk he had once been. In his place was a stranger, a broken shell of a man with nothing left to lose.

He turned away, unable to bear the sight of his own emptiness.

In the closet, he found a stack of fresh clothes—simple sweatpants and a t-shirt, a plain hoodie and a pair of sturdy boots, military issue.

He dressed slowly, savouring the feeling of clean fabric against his skin.

When was the last time he had worn clothes that weren’t stiff with grime and sweat, that didn’t reek of blood and decay?

With nothing else to do, he sat on the edge of the bed, his hands dangling between his knees.

The room was so quiet, the silence broken only by the hum of the air conditioner and the distant, muffled sounds of the base beyond the walls.

It was a mundane sound, a reminder of the world that had been lost.

The world of electricity and running water, of safe homes and soft beds.

The world where people didn’t have to fight and scrabble for every scrap of food, every moment of rest.

But that world was gone now, swept away in the tide of the undead.

And in its place was this—this sterile, soulless limbo.

He reached for the water bottle on the bedside table and unscrewed the cap.

The water was cool and clean, and tasted of nothing.

He rose to his feet, pacing the small confines of the room. Four steps to the door, four steps to the window. Back and forth, back and forth, his mind racing with fragmented thoughts.

He tried to sleep, to shut out the chaos in his head. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw their faces—Niamh, Sean. Zero, Laila, Micky, and Jimbo.

Why hadn’t he done more?

Why hadn’t he been faster, stronger, smarter?

Why had he let them down?

He curled onto his side, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped tight around himself.

Sobs wracked his body, tearing from his throat in heaving gasps.

He cried for the world that had been lost, for the people he had loved and the life he had known.

He cried for Niamh and Sean, for the family he had failed to protect, for the future they would never have.

And he cried for himself—for the man he had been and the man he had become, for the choices he had made and the ones he hadn’t.

How long he stayed like that, he didn’t know.

Minutes stretched into hours.

Finally, as if from a great distance, he heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside.

He sat up when the footsteps stopped outside his door.

With a soft beep, the lock disengaged, and the door swung open.

A soldier stood in the doorway. “Come with me.”

The soldier led him through a maze of identical hallways, past door after featureless door.

Finally, they came to a stop outside a larger door, this one flanked by armed guards. The soldier swiped his key card, and the lock clicked open. “In here.”

Tommy stepped inside. The room was larger than his quarters, with a long table and several chairs arranged in the centre.

An officer in a crisp military uniform sat at the far end of the table, his face hard and unreadable. “Sit down, please. We have a lot to discuss. State your full name and purpose for entering the Quarantine Zone.”

Tommy swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Thomas Merrill. I was trying to reach my family in Philly. I didn’t know about any quarantine restrictions; we’ve been on the road since the outbreak started.”

The officer’s pen scratched across the paper as he took notes. “Describe the route you took to enter the zone.”

“We found a gap near an old maintenance tunnel.”

The officer’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “And you just walked in? Just like that? How did you manage supplies and evasion of the infected?”

Tommy shifted in his seat, the hard plastic digging into his back. “It’s been challenging.”

The officer’s lips thinned. “It’s alarming that civilians could enter a secure zone unnoticed. This speaks to a serious breach of our protocols.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Were you aided by anyone inside the zone or given information prior to your arrival?”

Tommy shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “It was just us. Bunch of punks evading the US military.”

The officer sat back, his fingers steepled in front of him. “Have you had contact with the infected? Any symptoms or sickness?”

Tommy’s throat tightened, images of Kim and Zero flashing through his mind. “We’ve been careful. Two of my group were infected. I fought when I had to, but managed to stay clear of getting bit.”

The officer made another note. “I see. And your group, how many are you? Who else is with you?”

Tommy’s shoulders slumped. “Originally? Ten, including me. Now…now it’s just me and another friend, Roxy. We lost a lot of good people along the way.” He swallowed hard. “I just wanted to get home. To find my family.”

The officer’s expression softened. “Your family? Who are they? What are their names?”

“Niamh and Sean. O’Reilly.” Tommy’s voice caught on the names, his heart clenching.

The officer wrote the names down. Then he closed the file, his hands folding on top of it as he met Tommy’s gaze. “Your information will be reviewed. Stay in the designated area until you are contacted. The safety of this zone and its operations are paramount. Your breach is…concerning.”

Tommy smirked. “It’s not really my problem, is it? I didn’t ask for any of this. I just wanted to find my family.”

The officer’s eyes hardened. “No, Mr. Merrill, it is very much your problem now. You and your friend have compromised the security of this entire operation.” He nodded to the guards, who stepped forward to flank Tommy on either side. “Escort him to the mess hall. The man looks half-starved.”

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