Part 1 of 3
Read the full text, as well as the show notes, at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, with the Parkers in tow, Ruby finds herself on an unexpected new leg of her journey through the moaning undead.
The Skinner Co. Network
202 - Ruby Departed: Snowball, Part 1 of 3
[music] Welcome to FlashPulp episode 202. Tonight, we present Ruby Departed, Snowball, part one of three. 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 e-books can be so expensive. Don't I know it, but in these tough economic times brought on by poor political and economic decisions from 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. If you'd like to read a great story and save some money to, then enter this code, E-T-3-J, at Smashwords to get discount on the story Fetch by Scott Roche. Flash Pope is an experiment in broadcasting fresh Pope stories in the modern age, three to ten minutes of fiction, brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight, with the parkers in tow, Ruby finds herself on an unexpected new leg of her journey through the moaning and dead. Ruby departed, Snowball, part one of three, written by J.R.D. Skinner, art and narration by Opinax, and audio produced by Jessica May. August 1st, after lunch. I seem to be the earliest riser of the group, so I use the opportunity to explore the house. I didn't want to be creepy, but it's easy to guess the psychology of a dead guy - tougher to know where the humans are at. The personal touches are mostly family photos, and not much else. So far, Ronnie is what he appears - hunter, father, hillbilly. Had another round of protein for breakfast, I silently danned Leatherhead, and swallowed hard. I've never quite believed the atheist and foxholes saying, but I guess there are no starving vegetarians where there's fried meat on the table. Before we ate, though, we crept outside, the rotting crowd had thinned during the night, so we ran like hooligans and tossed sponges full of paint from the street. McKinley, the old coot across the road, noticed as we went pounding off giggling. For a few moments, I was fourteen, and it was Halloween. Breakfast and chatter stretched on till noon. The parkers told their story, and Ronnie filled the air with conversation that I only realized in retrospect was entirely empty. I know quite a lot about the dead folks around here now - as useful as that will be. Perhaps I can convince the corpse of Maud Elkins - formerly Montgomery and Wilson previous to that - to bake me one of her delicious apple-cobblers. Wait, there's some kind of ruckus outside. Later. Seventy-four was in her fifties - blonde highlights of her brown hair that should have probably been gray, and out dashes horn rim glasses which swung from a librarian-style corridor she staggered. Maybe it was just me, but she had the look of a lady who used to smile a lot. Momentum often makes the first one easiest. Ronnie had managed to plug two others by then, so I was pretty close to our intended rescue. The singing behind him was distracting, but I could hear him apologizing to his targets by name before each shot. That small-town life, I guess. Number 75 fell on her intended rescue - teenager, maybe fifteen, pasty, black t-shirt with a faded screaming skeleton playing a guitar. There was some text too, and I'm sure it would have clarified what metal band he was into, but I didn't have the time. Bethany tapped him above the right ear and it was the end of him. Number 76 got it while Ronnie was flipping the machine upright. Big guy, white wife beater under an unseasonably warm plaid jacket, three days stubble and slow-looking eyes, upwards jab through the inside of his mouth. It was all because of McKinley. He was on his goddamn lawn tractor, looping between the stumblers like a go-kart driver. Tough to know what he was trying to accomplish. He won't stop screaming. He was doing well until he got too close to the ditch beside his driveway. The mower went over sideways, and he caught his foot beneath it as the engine died. The blade swung heavy, but it's still hanging on at the ankle. We watched the whole thing happen from the living room, staring at the peep holes drilled through the bay windows plywood covering. The first thing our host said was, "Oh shit!" Everything is, McKinley had been showboating, and he had a bit of a parade chasing him. They were close, and his survival odds were slim. "Let's go!" He didn't wait to see what we'd say. He grabbed his gun and made for the exit. So I said, "Olivia, I need you to get out there and start screaming, singing, whatever. Get their attention." And Dalton replied, "No daughter of mine is risking your safety so stupidly. He's practically already dead as it is!" Kimberley put a hand on her husband's shoulder and gave Olivia a stern stare. I'd left Bethany by the door, and there was no more time to linger. The barricades made the place stuffy, and it was sort of nice to hit the lawn and feel the sun on my face while moving as quickly as my legs would carry me. I was surprised to find Olivia right behind me. Girl knows all the lyrics to "You're so vain." Even under pressure. "We're in the bed of Ronnie's pickup." He says there's a commune nearby. "Well," he said, "Cult." Then said they weren't really a cult. Then he looked at McKinley's tourniquet and hand waved us into the truck. "15 minutes down the back roads," he said, and then he cranked some hunky-tonk bullpucky and hasn't answered any questions since. It can't be long now. 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. [MUSIC PLAYING] [MUSIC PLAYING]