Part 2 of 3
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Tonight, Ruby finds herself upturned, and surrounded by the shuffling legs of the undead.
The Skinner Co. Network
203 - Ruby Departed: Snowball, Part 2 of 3
[Music] Welcome to FlashPulp episode 203. Tonight we present Ruby Departed Snowball, part 2 of 2. [Music] This week's episodes are brought to you by Scott Roche. [Music] Hey Marsha, what are you doing? I'm reading a book on my Kindle. What? Those ebooks can be so expensive. Don't I know it. But in these tough economic times brought on by poor political and economic decisions for previous administrations both Republican and Democrat as well as the current administration, we need a little help and that help comes in a little money saver called a coupon. Really? Cool. Tell me more. Well, I got this coupon to Scott Roche's horror story fetch that can be found on Smashwords. All I had to do was enter that code at the checkout and wham, bam, thank you Scott Roche. Send me that code, will you Marsha? I want to save money and read an awesome story too. Gosh, does Scott Roche have more stories? He has a ton of short stories, compilations and a novel at Smashwords. I've read them all and everyone is excellent. You should get them all too. [Music] If you'd like to read a great story and save some money too, then enter this code E-T-3-J at Smashwords to get discount on the story fetch by Scott Roche. [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 upturned and surrounded by the shuffling legs of the undead. Ruby departed. Snowball. Part 2 of 3. Written by JRD Skinner. Art and narration by Opoponax. An audio produced by Jessica May. [Music] Evening-ish. We were treed. Things appeared to be getting better at first. McKinley had shut up because he'd passed out and we were moving at a good speed, considering the route. I was concerned about the time we'd had to waste arguing the rest of the parkers into the truck, but seeing the married couple holding each other had sort of given me the warm and fuzzies. We were on a side road, not a dirt track, but not paved either, when the apocalypse found a new gagged pole on us. Hanging from one of the electrical lines by a yellow nylon rope was the slowly liquefying corpse of a large man in overalls. I don't know how long he'd been there, but little Mikey said he'd seen similar pictures on the internet, and that it was likely they're at least a week. Neither of his parents seemed terribly impressed to discover the depths of their son's medical knowledge. Got a weird smile from Ronnie, though. That short conversation happened while we were cruising by. Thing is, we didn't want to stop because the meat piñata had intracted a crowd of 14 dead revelers who were patiently awaiting decay or sudden descent to provide a meal. I'm sure it's 14, because later, I counted them twice. Still inside of the mob, we came to a barricade. Ronnie yelled, "We can get around it if we scoot into the ditch a bit." He didn't wait for a second opinion. We felt it in the back before it happened. The weight shifted, and we knew we were about to capsize. Olivia grabbed hold of McKinley's other shoulder, and it was only because of it that the old man and I weren't crushed. Luckily, due the angle of the incline, it was a slow flip. Didn't help the pickups drive ability much, though. After a moment, Dalton and Ronnie crawled from the passenger side door. Our former driver said, "Damn, we were so close!" Saburin's crossing, our destination, is supposedly just five minutes drive away at this point. Hoorah! I bit my tongue and started shuffling with McKinley, but he was a heavy bugger. It was fastest to have Dalton, Olivia, Ronnie, and I all holding a limb. Dalton drew the short straw and was in charge of the gory stump end. I didn't envy him. He was behind me, but all I could picture was the bit of sinew keeping the foot on, stretching at each jounce we gave him while crossing the field. It was the most direct route, Ronnie said, but it wasn't easy. Unconscious people are heavy. The complaints started with Dalton, but it was obvious we weren't going to make the distance. We were slowing down, and the moaning parade wasn't. There was a bit of arguing. Mikey suggested we drop McKinley, and everyone told him to shut it. At the center of the grass was a squat, but wide oak. Ronnie says a lot of the farmers keep one to give their cows shade. It didn't provide much height, but it was enough, and the massive bent trunk allowed us to hoist McKinley fairly easy. He was definitely still alive. You could hear him breathing, but I'm wondering if he'll have two dislocated shoulders should he ever wake up. While we heaved in copious amounts of oxygen, the last of the stragglers arrived and started to wave their arms in the air like they just didn't care. Well, actually, I guess it was more like they cared a lot. Ronnie said, "The wander off if we wait, or less than a click from town, it'll be an easy walk once they're gone." I replied, "Not only will that idea murder McKinley here, it'll kill us as well." I've stared at the same bloody fistbanging against doors for days. I took a tally of how many there were. Then I did it again. "Stupidly," I said, "we don't have time for this. I'm going to go all James Bond and create a distraction. You need to get McKinley out of here. It might be slow work, but if I can keep this crew busy while you hustle across the field, you'll have an easier time on the far side of the tree line." Ronnie had a look of concern on his face, which I should have understood better. He mentioned it this morning. He's not an outside guy. He's used to being in his well-defended shack, hauling ass in his truck, or, at worst, meeting a lone stumbler in the woods. He'd never met a crowd while hunting, he said, and he'd always departed as quickly as possible after killing something to eat. "What are you going to do?" he said. "Make a bunch of noise." "No, I mean, once we're gone." "That's where I'm depending on you." "When you find your cultists, you'll have to come back, preferably in a tank, and save me." I had a momentary thought, as I dropped down, that I might snap my ankle as I landed. Would the parkers have the gumption to run while I was acting as a buffet? I hit the turf soundly. If I outlived this madness, I'd plan on writing whatever remains of the Adidas Corporation, a solid letter of support. Number 77 was the only rotter close enough to be a threat at the time, as I'd crept onto the longest limb. A tall woman, with gapped teeth, a bob haircut, and an apron on. Somehow, she'd retain the thing after losing her shirt, but she still had her severe gray slacks, which makes me think she wasn't role-playing a naughty chef when she died. A quick shove to a teen, and I was clear. It was a much easier trip without a patient to tote, and I made good time in returning to the truck. The angle it was at made it odd to enter, and it was a bit challenging to stay upright while walking on the slanted roof. I closed the door just in case, and set Bethany on my knees, her blade pointed in the direction I'd come from. Then, I started leaning on the horn. Most of the posse turned immediately, and with a little persistence, I was able to tempt all but one of them. But the escapees weren't escaping. I had to duck to manage a view, but even at that distance, I could see it happening. Kimberly was freaking out. I couldn't hear the words, obviously, but she was into it enough that her branch was swaying. Dalton was attempting to calm her, and Ronnie simply looked towards me and shrugged. He should have at least had the bloody decency to make it try for town and help. Now the mob is split about evenly. How many will it take feebly kicking at the window to make it shatter? How long? It's getting too dark to write. Sleep's going to be tough. I tried so hard, Ben. 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 numbered ♪ ♪ Here is the shadows I live with are numbered ♪ [MUSIC PLAYING] (upbeat music)