Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 116: Finally, Returning Home

Two days passed.

Substation Echo was no longer just a survivor camp—it was a functioning military substation. The drills had started as scheduled. Shadows rotated in and out, training soldiers how to use the new rifles, operate the cremation units, and calibrate the radar kit. The civilians were still wary, but the mood had shifted. They had structure now. Routine. A sense of something larger than survival.

Phillip stood at the southern helipad, helmet in one hand, radio clipped to his shoulder. Lieutenant Rosales approached him with a tablet tucked under his arm.

"Schedule's been followed to the letter," Rosales said. "Weapon inventory matches. Body disposal drill ran twice. No issues."

Phillip nodded. "Good. What about the civilians?"

"Curious. Cooperative. A little spooked about the drones that were flying overhead, even though they can't see it, but they're adjusting."

Phillip looked toward the center of the camp. One of the Reaper drones had lifted off an hour ago, circling quietly above them now like a mechanical hawk.

"Any infected movement within five clicks?"

Rosales shook his head. "There are but they are too far away from us."

"Keep it that way."

Rosales stood at attention. "Understood, sir."

Then, he turned his head to Villamor who was silent ever since the conversation between the two.

Phillip gave him a nod. "You've got command here while I'm gone. You know the protocols."

"If a Goliath or any other dangerous variant that we don't know shows up, we evacuate. If we can't handle something, we call it in."

"And you burn every corpse that drops. Every time."

Villamor nodded. "Won't forget."

The Black Hawk's rotors spun up again as Phillip climbed in. He gave one last look at the camp—soldiers running drills near the barracks, engineers working under the solar panels, a civilian handing out soup to tired guards. It was functioning.

It was holding.

The helicopter lifted off, leaving a spray of dust in its wake.

Back at the refinery, the landing pad had already been cleared.

Thomas was waiting by the edge of the tarmac when Phillip stepped down from the chopper. His jacket was half-zipped, and he looked like he hadn't slept.

"Welcome back," he said.

Phillip dropped his duffel beside him. "Substation Echo is operational. Villamor has it under control. Integration's complete."

"Anything stand out?"

"They're rough, but responsive. They'll follow orders. Civilians are adjusting to the new pace. They've got gear, schedule, and comms. They're on the grid."

Thomas nodded once. "Good. We need to keep expanding that line."

Phillip fell in step beside him as they walked toward the command building.

"Any movement while I was gone?"

"Small herd passed east of the complex. Reapers picked it up. Redirected one drone to guide it toward the flooded district. No engagement."

Phillip raised an eyebrow. "And the variants?"

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"No sightings. But we both know it's only a matter of time."

Inside, the command room was humming with quiet chatter. Analysts sat behind glowing monitors, scanning drone feeds, listening to comm chatter, and logging patrol data. A digital map of Metro Manila filled the wall—pins marking supply routes, safe zones, and confirmed variant sightings.

Phillip stepped forward, set a folder down on the table.

"New camp drone codes. Updated burial protocols. Ammo requests, signed. They'll need another 10,000 rounds by next month."

Thomas gave a tired nod. "We'll get it to them."

Phillip paused. "They're holding, but they won't last against a major breach."

"Which is why we are watching over them. Now, my job here is done and so are you. We will return to the MOA Complex tomorrow, Overwatch has arranged us a transport."

"Finally," Phillip said with a tone of satisfaction. "I missed it there."

"So am I. The quality of life is far different here."

"I bet that's not the only one you are missing sir," Phillip said with a smirk.

"What are you talking about?" Thomas said, glancing at him with a side eye.

"You know what I am talking about sir," Phillip teased.

"What do—" Thomas realized, it was the girls. He sighed. "Oh Phillip, bringing that up in circumstances like this."

Phillip chuckled. "Anyways sir, another topic. I think, given that we have a surplus of survivors in the MOA Complex, I suggest some of them be integrated into our forces. You know, we have to use every manpower we can get and not be overly reliant on your system."

"That's a good suggestion," Thomas acknowledged. "I'll think about it once we return home."

Thomas gave a small nod, then turned his attention to one of the nearby terminals. The screen displayed a live feed of the MOA Complex's outer perimeter—clean, fortified, and busy. Even at this hour, personnel were patrolling the barricades, some in Overwatch gear, others still wearing salvaged uniforms from the early weeks of the outbreak.

"Transport's scheduled to pick us up at 0900," he said. "We'll be back in the Complex before noon."

The next morning, as promised, two Black Hawks arrived to ferry the command staff back to the MOA Complex.

By midday, the transport touched down on the upper helipad of the Complex.

Thomas and Phillip stepped out into the sunlight.

The walls were tall. The flags were up. The noise of a functioning base echoed off concrete walls.

"It's good to be back!"

***

December 20th, 2024.

And outside the outer gates, just beyond the barriers, a group of survivors stood in silence—watching.

"That's the place."

"That's the place," one of them said quietly.

The group consisted of about a dozen people—men, women, a few teenagers, and even a toddler strapped to a mother's back. They looked worn out. Sunburned. Dusty. One man leaned on a crutch fashioned from scrap metal. Another clutched a backpack to his chest like it was the last thing he owned.

They stared through the outer fence at the towering walls of the MOA Complex. They didn't shout or wave. They just waited, eyes fixed on the fortified structure in front of them.

One of the younger women finally broke the silence. "You think they'll let us in?"

Nobody answered.