Part 2 of 6
Read the full text, as well as the show notes, at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, Ruby once again moves through the ranks of the shambling dead.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP261 - Ruby Departed: Wasting Time, Part 2 of 6
(upbeat music) - Welcome to Flash Pulp episode 261. This evening we present Ruby Departed, Wasting Time, part two of six. This week's episodes are brought to you by Hume Speaks. All Hume wants to do is give you the entirety of space. Is that too much to ask? You can let him know how much you appreciated at http colon slash slash humespeaks.tumbler.com. (upbeat music) (vocalizing) (upbeat music) Flash Pulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age. Three to 10 minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight, Ruby once again moves through the ranks of the shambling dead. Ruby Departed, Wasting Time, part two of six. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, art and narration by Pope and Acts, audio produced by Jessica May. (upbeat music) August 5th, 4.58 a.m. According to the broken clock on the wall, but probably closer to just after lunch. Before we left this morning, a woman I'd never seen before appeared from the depths of the chief's bungalow. She was very drunk. We'd gathered at the tall bars of the black iron outer gate, me, Dalton, Olivia, the shy boy guard who had so many questions about Bethany, the moustachioid drummer who I now think of as the chief's right hand man and a big jawed fellow with a homemade sword that I don't really know. Our watchers stayed home, which is nice. I like Rachel, but this is the first time since before the quarantine that I've been further than five feet away from the nearest person. And the zombie apocalypse hasn't done much for personal hygiene. Anyhow, the woman came to each of us personally. They'd been a hot night, and even though it was only shortly after dawn, I was sweating. The dew was evaporating, but the air remained thick with moisture and bug motors. I felt like I was breathing in a steam bath. "You've got to find my boy," she said. "Perhaps the wanderers have taken him. He's smart and strong and fast though. Couldn't have been caught by a hungry corpse." For the parkers and me, she added that he was 25 with straw hair and blue eyes. She didn't have to tell the locals. They'd actually known the missing, but she apparently gives the same speech when anyone roams off the property. With her message delivered, she stumbled back to her bottle. Watching her retreat, it was a bit tough to tell a difference between her shuffling and the stagger of the dead. The encounter certainly didn't help my attitude any, which was unfortunate as a breakfast discussion with Ronnie had already put me in a bad enough mood. While Rachel and I were dining on some fire-fried scrambled eggs and a few pickled beets, he came to sit with us. His guard is a bored-looking 18-year-old who would probably be king of his high school football team in a sane world. I haven't caught his name yet, however, because Ronnie has been avoiding everyone since we got here. Now, I have to admit, I kind of like the guy. He's maybe not a fellow I would have hung around and had a mojito with, but he seems to mean well. Still, he says, "makes sense for Papa Parker to go outside so he can prove his worth and get his family on good terms with the locals. But do you plan on hanging around here? I admire these folks and I appreciate what they've done for McKinley, but I'll be mosey in once that idiot is up and walking around. Me, maybe, but no more penicillin means no more McKinley. Ronnie, it's time for someone else to take a turn playing Samaritan. This was all a rehash of last night's discussion, really. The chief had revealed that he worried about the group's sword-swinging lawnmower approach to dealing with the shamblers, as it only works so long as they keep moving forward, which makes scavenging their greatest weakness. There's a loud portion of the crowd that was displeased with the idea of a joint venture. They'd rather just keep the fence buttoned and forget anything else exists beyond the corn, and they argued hard that McKinley was our problem alone. They were eventually talked down, though, and volunteers were asked to raise their hands. I think Dalton only allowed Olivia to come along to make her stop shouting in front of the crowd. I'm glad she's here, but it didn't leave me feeling like I had much choice, but to also agree. Anyhow, my point is, Ronnie says, "So why are you going?" We finished the meal in silence, and once we'd gone our separate ways, I heard Rachel muttering that he was a dick. Part of me wanted to argue, but the rest of me was annoyed with how his question had dug into my brain. While standing outside the gate, with the smell of whiskey being blasted in my face, and the heat dampening my neck, I was in no mood to be a good person. I just wanted to go home. There was a rotter directly outside. The first one to come back after cracker's morning stroll. It was Dalton's bug eyes and the shy boys hesitating hand that told me why I was coming. Because I'm all that's kept the parkers alive since our meeting on the highway. So somehow, I'm responsible for them. But maybe, if they can earn a safe place on the farm, I'll be rid of that responsibility. Number 78 pulled himself up straight just before Bethany intercepted his forehead. It was as if he wanted to die with decent posture. Brown haired and a bit punchy, he was wearing a plaid short sleeve shirt at a pair of chinos. He looked as if he'd been a dad. I hope it wasn't a family member who unsuccessfully tried to stab him in the neck, but an orange handled pair of scissors were hanging from a bloodless gash. Then came another long walk through gray countryside. Wow, I've written a lot more than I'd intended, but now we're in a small garage beside a ranch style home, watching the wanderers go by. There's so many of them. They remind me of the bombed out survivors from every war photo I've ever seen. It's easier to tell them apart from the cut of their grimy clothing than it is to identify their faces. Some wear t-shirts and some wear the remnants of suits that all are moving along the gravel road about the same pace, which is about a hair faster than the carcasses who trail behind them. And that's the thing. The living are really only the tip of the iceberg. At least three quarters of the parade is dead. Worse, some at the front are pushing shopping carts. And within those buggies, I saw way too many tiny pairs of eyes. I've been listening to the whispered stories from the drummer and Mr. Big Jaw. They seem to want to impress Olivia. They strike me as a little old horror, but I'm not judging. Still, their stories all imply the wanderers or thieves and murderers. And it comes across like they believe every outsider is the same. It's just time passing BS. And maybe I'm reading too much into it, but I'm certainly feeling less friendly. Thankfully, the putrid train is almost passed, but a few broken-legged stragglers are doing their best to catch up. Hopefully my first lesson, patience, will be enough to keep my companions alive. Dusk. Idiotic greedy jackass. If I ever meet you again, Dalton Parker, I will feed you through a deli slicer. I think Olivia and the shy boy are dead. Can't find the others. I'm separated, but I know Dalton returned to the drummer and his friend. I heard them shouting in his goddamn tractor from the other side of the smoke. Made it to the dealership roof, but the cooking meat is bringing in a hungry crowd. I'm trying for the farm. ♪♪ 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 is gloomy, my hours are stumbling ♪ ♪ Give it the shadows I live with are stumbling ♪ (dramatic music) (upbeat music)