Part 5 of 6
Read the show notes at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, Ruby encounters a force even more terrifying than the zombies that hunt her.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP264 - Ruby Departed: Wasting Time, Part 5 of 6
(upbeat music) - Welcome to Flash Pulp, episode 264. This evening, we present Ruby Departed, Wasting Time, part five of six. This week's episodes are brought to you by Hume Speaks. Please be patient while your universe is constructed. Then find it at httpcolon/humespeaks.tumbler.com. (upbeat music) (dramatic music) (dramatic music) (dramatic music) (dramatic music) (dramatic music) Flash Pulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in modern age. Three to 10 minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight, Ruby encounters a force more terrifying than the zombies that hunt her. Ruby departed, Wasting Time, part five of six. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, art and narration by Opoponax, an audio produced by Jessica Mitchell. (upbeat music) (dramatic music) Dusk. Sorry, this'll be a bit messy. I'm writing while I walk, and the smoke is starting to sting my eyes a bit. Olivia's alive, well, mostly. If I had the skill to saw off her arm, I would. She's lying on top of a sleeping bag laid over a bunch of jars and bottles, which can't be terribly comfortable, especially considering the massive goo and crisp that is her arm, but it's getting her around. Theoretically, I'm going to the farm with the wanderers. I think the intention is a goodwill gift, although they may just want to be rid of an invalid. Whatever the case, I feel like I owe her the escort. It's a much slower pace than I'm used to. It feels like we're leisurely strolling through the apocalypse. The girl who was pushing the cart introduced herself as Geneva Faye. She's a solid woman, with a little more meat left on her than most of her malnourished compatriots. Friendly, but not overly so. I guess she's with two guys, both named Pete. Secretly, I call them blonde Pete and brunette Pete. To their credit, they own some of the few heads of hair that I can identify by color, as the wanderers are generally coded in a layer of mud and road dirt. The Pete seem nice, but while Geneva and I take turns pushing Olivia, they ramble about the group, moving from conversation to conversation, or hovering at the edges in hopes of spotting something easily elutable. They've been this way before, though, so they aren't expecting much. Still, I saw blonde Pete shading his eyes to peek into a Honda Civic parked in a gravel driveway, and some quick work with a rock when I'm half a can of roasted peanuts. I shared some of my bottled water to help wash down the salt, and they weren't shy about drinking. Between gulps, Geneva Fay said, "It's feast or famine, really. "Some nights, we eat 'til our stomach's ache, "and sometimes we go a day on nothing but pocketland "and rolls of mentos scavenged from shot zombies. "We push what we can, "since we're stuck with so many carters anyhow, "we figure we may as well carry a bit more of home around, "but it's never enough when we're on the walk." The wanderers have grown a weird little culture of their own. They call the people pushing shopping carts or big baby strollers, carters. Geneva and the Pete's hold the same sort of disdain for them that hipsters used to level at soccer moms. They're pushing a buggy of their own, but it doesn't happen to contain any children. Geneva says there are now three parts to their lives. Being on the walk, sleeping, and voting. Apparently, once they get to a location and gather what they can, anyone with an idea on where to head next can make the suggestion. When everyone gets tired of shouting, pleading, reasoning, crying, and haggling, the destination with the majority of the vote is where they go. My impression is that they've lost a few friends to differences of opinion, but generally, everyone marches, if only because they don't want to be suddenly alone. In an attempt to ignore Olivia's moaning, I asked about the stories I've heard. We're like any fairly large group of people. Some of us are dicks, but the rest are pretty decent. I've seen people do some heinous things while trying to stay alive. Things I certainly wouldn't do. But these times aren't exactly bringing with high fives and fist bumps. As Brunette Pete pointed out, however, it's very difficult to hold a proper debate when your opponent's eyes are being eaten. So quick decisions can be an issue. They've made efforts to shake their fanbase a few times, but have either failed or had to call the plan off at the last moment due to unexpected complications. They once tried to blow up a bridge behind them, but the two guys who were supposed to set off the charges were overrun before they could push the button. A carter had straggled too long. They've also tried simply setting the road behind them on fire, but the dead have always found a way around. The problem is really the distance between the two crowds. There's no margin for safety. Those leading the pack, generally the liveliest, the least injured, and the ones without children can easily find sheltered for the more sickly elements of the herd. And thus, they're afforded a sort of protection. I guess there are also fellows with sticks and revolvers. They try to shatter skulls from a distance or push the deceased safely away, but they'll shoot a chambler if they have to. They don't like the noise, though. We've been talking a lot to keep our minds off the fire. When the wanderer's left, Winchester was already a single mass of blaze, and the wind has picked up since this morning. So it's been eating trees, dry grass, and farmhouses, while crawling in a northeastern direction. Our direction. There's a nod of maybe 20 people who are trailing, despite being at their absolute top speed. And just behind those folks are the rotters. It feels like a ridiculous slow-motion race, and the smoke is getting thicker. I've seen a few corpses trip into the ditch, only to wonder if they'd make it up before the grass was burning beneath them. It's getting too dark to write, but the sky behind us is red and angry. Could I run off and leave these people to slowly be fed into the flames or smothered by the smoke? It may not come to that. Maybe I've got an idea. Maybe. (gentle music) FlashPulp is presented by flashpulp.com, and is released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. Text and audio commentaries can be sent to skinner@skinner.fm, or the voicemail line at 206-338-2792. But be aware that they may appear in a future flashcast. We'd also like to thank the Free Sound Project, found at freesound.org. For a full listing of effects used during the show, as well as credits for the users who provided them, please check this episode's notes at flashpulp.com. And thanks to you for listening. If you enjoyed the show, please tell your friends. (dramatic music) ♪ And as gloomy as my hours are stumbled ♪ ♪ Here is the shadows I live with are stumbled ♪ (upbeat music) (upbeat music)