The Punisher: Surviving the Night of the Living Dead
by Poseidon Productions
Wednesday August 23rd, 1989
Pennsylvania Countryside
6:30 PM
It is a very clear and pleasant day in the back roads of Pennsylvania, it is a reasonable 75 degrees outside and there was not much traffic out on the road. On said road, a black 1985 Ford Econoline van drove at a brisk pace, the occupant looking to get back to his destination as fast as possible. In the driver seat is a tall white man with short black hair, facial stubble from not shaving for a few days, and cold blue eyes that seen much horror in his life. The man is wearing a black undershirt, blue unbuttoned collared shirt over it, faded blue jeans and black combat boots on. He is in incredible shape, weighting a muscular 195lbs on a six foot, two-inch-tall frame, a lifetime of dedicated training saw to that.
To those who happened to drive past him and catch sight of him, he seemed like just an ordinary man, if somewhat intense. However, he was no ordinary man. He is Frank Castle, the vigilante known to the media as the Punisher, probably the most wanted man in New York City and on the FBI Top Ten Most Wanted. Usually, he operated out of New York City, putting the fear of God into the criminal underworld there. He occasionally goes outside the city for other missions. Frank is coming back from a mission in the Pacific Northwest, taking care of some white supremacist militia that had been killing minorities.
Frank had been driving for hours now, trying to get back to one of his safehouses in New York. The van he was driving wasn't his usual ride, the highly armored and advance Battle Van. It was just an ordinary van he took to the west coast in order to blend in. He had been lucky and had a stash of weapons in California that he had an ally transport to the area the militia had been operating in. The only weapons he had on him right now was a Marine issue KA-Bar knife sheathed in his boot and a Colt M1911A1 pistol in a shoulder holster.
Frank glanced down at the gas gauge; he had a little less than a quarter of a tank left. Just as he saw that, his belly rumbled, Frank realized that he hadn't eaten in a since yesterday. Luck would have it that he is nearing a CrossRoads Gas Station and Convenience Store. The vigilante pulled into the closest pump and exited the van. Almost instantly, he got a bad feeling, in his years in both the Vietnam War and his war on crime, he got a sixth sense that warned him of danger. He looked around instinctively, his cold blue eyes searched the area for any threats. All he noticed was the stillness of the area, like no life was anywhere.
Frank decided to go into the store to see if anybody was there. He made his way swiftly through the door and what he saw was like someone had been a fight in here, most of the shelves were knocked over, the contents spilled all over the place. Frank instinctively drew his M1911A1 from his holster and made his way toward the cash register, once he made it there, the first thing that hit him was the smell, one he was familiar with.
The smell of death.
Frank looks around the back of the desk and sees what is making the smell. A body of an old African American man is lying face down in a pool of quickly drying blood. Frank saw that the man had been bitten multiple times, like he had been set upon by dogs or something.
Frank was still processing what he was seeing when he heard the bell ring to signify a customer had come in. He slowly turns his head to see a twenty something woman, white with brown hair, wearing a tank top, jeans and flip flops standing by the door. Frank bad feeling went into overdrive seeing her. He noticed two things, her graying skin like she is dead and the huge wound on her shoulder, near her neck. For the first time in a while, Frank was stumped on what to do.
"Hello?" Frank said out of nowhere, his voice deep and with a growl.
Once the woman heard his voice, her head turned and Frank got a good look at her eyes, lifeless and her irises graying over. Her lips curled up into a snarl before letting out a pained groan and shuffling her way towards Frank. The vigilante quickly snapped his pistol into position, aiming at the woman's chest.
"I wouldn't," Frank warned the woman.
The woman didn't react to his warning, her lifeless eyes just bore into Frank's and continued towards him, her arms stretching out to grab a hold of him. Frank hesitated for the first time in a while, he had no idea if this woman was just crazy or if something else was afoot. As the woman closed in on him, Frank took his large size twelve boot and kicked the woman in the chest when she got into range, sending the woman crashing backwards, tripping on a shelf and falling on her back.
A sudden snarling groan alerted Frank, his spins around only to see something that is impossible, the dead cashier crawling over the counter. His face and clothes covered in blood and his eyes, similar to the woman, are graying over. Something was going on, something way bigger than Frank could possibly imagine. He turned and ran out of the store, catching a glimpse of the woman getting back to her feet and continuing her pursuit of her target.
Frank ran to his van and got into the driver's seat but before he turned on the engine, he reached into the back of the passenger side and pulled out his emergency bag. He pulled out four more magazines for his M1911A1, with another one already in his pistol and one in the chamber, that gave him thirty-six rounds on his person. He pocketed the magazines, and he turned the key over to start the engine, but he only got engine having trouble turning over.
"Just my fucking luck," Frank thought to himself.
A sudden thud on his passenger side window made Frank to look over and he saw a teenage boy staring at him, trying to break the window. He had the same lifeless eyes and gray skin; it was the fact he was missing half the skin on his face that got Frank's attention. Frank looks over to the driver side, to see the woman and cashier have exited the store and are making their way towards him. Frank decided to abandon his van, he wasn't going to try and get it started when he had hostiles on him. Before he left his van, he pulled out a small handheld radio from his emergency bag.
He exited the van, only to hear a cacophony of snarling groans, if Frank had to guess, more of those things were on the way. Lucky for him, he was able to run past the two things from the store with reasonable easy. He looked back to see several people coming from the other side of the van, men, women and most worrying, kids, coming around his van.
When he made his way a fair distance, Frank turned on the radio, cursing himself for not listening to the radio in his van while coming in gas station. He wasn't much for music these days, so he usually never bothered to turn it on. He only had this one just in case he needed it. Soon he got a signal, it was faint, but he got the voice of a woman on the other end.
"This is not an emergency; a wave of violence has swept across the East Coast of America. Large groups of catatonic cannibals have been rioting in major cities and across the countryside. It is said the those bitten will die and return to bite as well. If a loved one or others has been bitten, isolation is necessary. Authorities have said to stay inside and wait for rescue. The governor has just declared martial law with federal assistance to come soon, if you feel compelled to leave your home, rescue stations are being set up, we will be broadcasting the locations soon."
Frank knew that he was going to be in for one long night.
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AUTHOR NOTE'S
Here is something I always wanted to do, A fic about Punisher surviving a zombie outbreak, and what better way to do that with the one that started it all, Night of the Living Dead. Just to be clear, I am basing it on 1990 remake directed by Tom Savini.
The date, August 23rd of 1989 is directly lifted from the 1990 remake (which was filmed in 89 and released in 90.) At one point, I thought of having this a crossover with the 89 Punisher movie with Dolph Lungdren, set after the 89 Punisher movie but decided to do an original Punisher. Also, this is a MAX-like version of Punisher, if this was a 616 one with superheroes and the like, Frank probably wouldn't bat an eyelash at a zombie.
And I'm going to get this out of the way now, I will not take anything Marvel or their little retcon puppet Jason Aaron as cannon, so Frank's wife isn't some gold-digging evil bitch in any of my stories. Seriously, fuck Marvel.