Part 1 of 1
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Tonight, Ruby and her companions enter a small town, only to discover that not everything within is dead.
The Skinner Co. Network
166 - Ruby Departed: Fences, Part 1 of 1
[Music] Welcome to FlashPulp, Episode 166. Tonight, we present Ruby Departed, Fences, Part 1 of 1. [Music] This week's episodes are brought to you by the FlashPulp Facebook page. The most trusted name in FlashPulp podcasts. To join, search in Facebook for FlashPulp, find the link at flashpulp.com or direct your browser to http colon slash slash bit.ly slash cbk yv2. [Music] Sunday through me, my hours are stumbled out. Here is the shadows I live with are stumbled out. [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 and her companions enter a small town only to discover that not everything within is dead. Ruby Departed, Fences, Part 1 of 1. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, Art and Variation Biopoked Acts, Audio produced by Jessica Mank. [Music] July 31st, don't know why I've had thrill around my mind lately. I mean, beside the shambling, decaying, obvious, had a weird dream last night, has been chased between some townhouses. I think it was probably around where I met the general, and I got pinned in a dead end. It was looking like the local rotters were going to make me lunch, in the eat me sense, not the preparer club sandwich sense. When all 20 or 30 of the zombies started dancing, shoulder jerk, shoulder jerk, double hand claws up, the whole friggin' thing. Anyhow, I woke up early because of it. I was sacked out on the floor by the entrance, had a snack in the dark and listened to the other snoring. It was nice to hear something I used to get so easily annoyed by. I was feeling a little bad about the corpse molester we'd evicted, but just because you're alive doesn't mean there isn't a limit to my patience. Kind of forgot how claustrophobic the inside of a closed structure can be. At night it's still mighty warm, and with the windows buttoned up, air circulation sucked. I was glad when the sun broke, and we were ready to hit the road. It would have been awesome to start the engine and go flying down the highway, but even if it had gas, there were too many abandoned, well mostly abandoned, cars on the way. The chance to think gave me some ideas. We strolled into a little town, well, a cluster of houses with a few stores, and half of those were shuttered well before the apocalypse, and had nothing to loot but dust. There were maybe two blocks worth of bungalows running to the east, and I figured we'd take a quick peek. I wasn't comfortable with the lack of weaponry in the parker's hands, although I also wasn't terribly excited about handing a shotgun to hormone-addled Mikey. Plenty of open space for running, followed by low fences, made for an easy time of losing the straggle of decomposing farmers we'd built up behind us as we looked around the tiny neighborhood. It was probably the ease of moving along that let me drop my guard. I was surprised to hear someone shouting, "Weren't the zombies that ate your dog? It was me! Had him with some horse radish!" Then there was a gunshot. I was pleased to realize he wasn't talking to us, less so when I couldn't find cover quick enough for him not to notice our approach. The lawn we'd come to, and the place across the street, were littered with bodies. Ronnie, a big dude with a beer-gut and a rifle in his hand, said, "Hi!" "Um, hey?" I replied. "Sorry about that, but having it out with the neighbor." "Mmm, bad blood. Did he die, and you're finally relieving some frustrations on his corpse?" He looked at me funny then, so I added, "I'm not judging." "Nah, he's as live as we are. He's just a bastard." That's when he invited us in. Things were starting to look crowded on the street, and it wasn't like he couldn't have gunned us all down by then anyhow, so we agreed. This house was obviously decorated by his wife. There's a lot of lamps with lace fringes on the shades, porcelain kittens on every flat surface, and slogans on every pillow. After a few minutes of small talk and introductions, I had to ask, "Did you really eat his dog?" "Nah, the zombies swallowed him." Then Mikey said something about not realizing that they'd eat dogs, and Ronnie replies, "Sure, they'll eat anything that's meaty." One more and I seen a deer that'd come from the woods looking for some food. Dumb thing caught its rack on McKinley's Christmas lights. Hell knows why those are there, considering the season. Anyhow, five of 'em got up on 'em, and it wasn't long before they had 'em down. I could see 'em with flank dripping from their mouths, and the buck still thrashing. I changed the subject, asking after the decor, but he changed it again. He doesn't seem to enjoy discussing himself. You folks hungry? Of course we were. I have a bunch of meat in the garage, built a smokehouse in the back, draws 'em like flies when I'm using it, but it's a solid little shed, and at least it keeps 'em away from the front door. I followed 'em to make sure it was animal. It had obviously once had four legs, and frankly, that was good enough for me. It took a little while to heat on his wood stove, but he made a stew with it, and it was as if I were consuming the courage of a 19th century coastal fisherman. Extremely hearty. We'd wasted most of the day talking and eating when Dalton yelled, "Everyone get down!" At this point in my life, ducking to hide is a habit as natural as breathing, or pooping. We all got quiet for some reason, but after a few seconds, Ronnie asked what exactly we were avoiding. The old guy across the street was out on his porch with a revolver. "Oh, I see how it is," grabbing his rifle, Ronnie made for the door. Outside he yelled, "Go on now! These good folks don't want none of your nonsense." There were three gunshots. When he came back in, he said, "Coop, toilet, paper, and my tree. I wonder how long he's been sitting on the idea, waiting for a good enough distraction or one of my hunting days." I might have deserved it a bit, though, after the dog comment. I asked, "Did you kill him?" "Nah, we ain't got enough bullets to waste on each other. Besides, if I wanted him dead, I've had plenty of chances to plug him. You fire a few warning shots, but generally they end up hitting whoever happens to be stumbling by." "Hm. Anyhow, now he's offered us places to sleep. I guess me and Olivia are sharing his daughter's old room, in the basement, which was half-turned into storage when she took off for college." Ronnie hasn't mentioned her name. "I'm going to head upstairs and see if there's any stew left." "Oh. In the morning, he wants us to all go out and throw sponges full of paint at old men McKinley's front door." Crazy buggers. Flashpulp is presented by HTTP colon slash slash Skinner dot FM. The audio and text formats of Flashpulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution, non-commercial 2.5 license. "I'm going to get out of here." "I'm going to get out of here."