Part 3 of 6
Read the show notes at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, Ruby finds herself on trial.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP262 - Ruby Departed: Wasting Time, Part 3 of 6
[Music] Welcome to FlashPulp, episode 262. This evening we present Ruby Departed, Wasting Time, Part 3 of 6. This week's episodes are brought to you by Hume Speaks. One Man, One Dream, One Massive Space Game. Find it all at http/humbspeaks.tumbler.com [Music] [Music] FlashPulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age. Three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight, Ruby finds herself on trial. Ruby Departed, Wasting Time, Part 3 of 6. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, Art and Narration Biopoponix, and Audio produced by Jessica May. [Music] Really early August 6th, could I kill Rachel if I had to? She's certainly looking like she could kill me. She was waiting at the gate when I got back. She was surprised and almost happy to see me. Then her face went hard. I'm not sure how much opportunity I have to write. It sounds as if there's still plenty of arguing going on. First, number 79 was a woman who'd somehow managed to not lose her thick-rimmed glasses as she fumbled across the countryside. Her puffy jacket was either dark gray or white and extremely dirty. It was hard to tell in the dark. I'd seen her coming for a while and had been hoping to avoid her. I'm sorry lady, whoever you were. But I was out of breath and you were too persistent. Now I'm in the quarantine shed again. This time, it's more of a jail cell, and the angry eyed Rachel is with me. She's holding her flashlight on her left hand and her one hit in the right. Well, to start the start, after letting the flood pass, we finally made it to Winchester. We didn't want to stick to the road and risk overtaking the stumblers, so the drummer took us along the farmer's fields and threw a few thickets. The sun was at full power, and the shades seemed to evaporate before we could reach it. There weren't many stragglers, at least. I guess they'd mostly been attracted to the parade. Winchester is a small village, with a population of smidge under 3,000. I know because, as we were passing the welcome sign that says so, I couldn't help but picture them all lined up in front of me, waiting for a turn with Bethany. As I was fretting over the unlikely event of a single file apocalypse, however, Dalton's mine was apparently obsessing on a John Deere dealership. With the help of a big blue dumpster and a stack of wooden skids, we scaled a sprawling beast of a grocery store. On the far side of the roof, we were only a parking lot's distance from the pharmacy we were headed for, and, though I wasn't thinking much on it, the dealership was also just a fence hop and a ditch jump away. It was decided the majority of the group would stay put and cover the exit route, while two of us ran in for the penicillin and some other supplies. The drummer and Mr. Big John nominated themselves, then immediately departed before I could argue. Hilarious that they want me to show them how to scavenge, but won't trust an outsider not to fuck things up. Well, I guess they might have had a point there. We weren't supposed to be doing heavy shopping, but they'd come prepared with extra empty bags. There weren't any shadows to hide in, so we baked in the heat and watched them creep across the pavement. Eventually, Dalton muttered that he wanted to check something out, and then he stepped onto the awning over the carte corral and took off. I stalled a few minutes, but sure he would get himself killed if left alone. I finally followed, and so did Olivia and the shy boy. The idiot already had the tractor running by the time we made it into the two-bay garage attached to the little white sales office. He hadn't bothered to cat the huge gas can he'd found, though, and he hadn't noticed the open-mouthed man with the backpack spray tanks that was shambling through the door. I don't know if he was an exterminator who died on the job, or if he intended on using the hose as a weapon, but it didn't seem like a flamethrower or anything. Just something a John Goodman-looking insect killer might wear. When Dalton did spot the stranger, he gunned the engine in panic. The big machine didn't squeal away, exactly, but once it was moving forward, it wasn't stopping. The thing is, it was still plugged into some long, dead maintenance equipment, and it began pulling a cart full of electronics behind it. The buggy hit the bug hunter, and his leg got twisted under the front wheel, causing the thing to tip. The wiring refused to give, and the whole mess started grinding along, leaving a trail of pest controller face. His tanks punctured, and the dragging metal on cement caused sparks. The first explosion wasn't huge, more of a "pop" really. But the heat of the day, and the upended gas can, did the rest. I'd taken a few steps onto the greasy cement, trying to do something about the sneaky dead guy, but I could see the direction of the flames and the river of fuel, and I moved back towards the sales office. Instead of following me, for some reason, Olivia and the fake scimitar kid, right behind her, tried to make it to the door that had led in the exterminator. I didn't see if they were successful, but as I was jumping the waiting area's cheap plastic chairs, there was a rumble at the rear of the building, another explosion, but still not a movie bang. Smoke was pouring from the garage, but I could hear Dalton shouting at Big Jaw in the drummer, and I was able to make out the green hulk fleeing the rapidly filling parking lot. The problem, of course, is that we weren't the only ones who had been headed to the grocery store. In the brief period we were inside, the wanderers had arrived from the far side of the pharmacy. I was left no choice but to briefly climb the "safeish" part of the burning building, so that I could plan my exit. I hoped to catch sight of Olivia the boy, but after checking my sketch map, it was only an ankle-risking leap and the smell of cooking meat that carried me clear of the moaning supper crowd. Then, it was a long run back. The chief's debate continues, loudly. I don't know if I should take the weight as a good sign or not. I can hear the proceedings in a muffled sort of way, but we're far enough away that I can also listen to the night calls from the crickets and cicadas in the surrounding fields. Unfortunately, it's a bit marred by a rotter at the north corner of the fence who won't stop knocking to be let in. Normally, he'd probably have received an answer by now, but I suppose everyone's busy. Anyhow, it was dark when I arrived, but if I hadn't chance following the roads, I wouldn't have made it till morning. There was already a meeting in a way, and a chief had pulled together the majority of the farm's occupants in a ring around Dalton, the drummer, big jaw, and the machinery they'd absconded with. Despite my late arrival, we moved into the circle just in time to hear the chief say, 'Yeah, idiots! What would we want with a feckin' tractor?' If the noise wouldn't raise the dead, the juice for it would have us dragging our arses about the countryside like a stopped-up dog on the kitchen carpet, put that bloody thing in neutral, and pull it around back of the baron. There was something in the shift of people's body language as they noticed me, like I was infectious. Did Dalton blame me for the fire, for his own daughter's death? Before I could ask, they tossed me in- wait, things are suddenly quiet. Here come footsteps. I guess I'm on. 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. ♪ ♪ Sunday has blew me in my hours of stumbling. ♪ ♪ Here is the shadows I live with are stumbling. ♪ (upbeat music) (dramatic music)