Part 1 of 1
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Tonight, Ruby finds herself facing down depression only to discover the holiday spirit amongst the undead.
The Skinner Co. Network
109 - Ruby Departed: Jingle, Part 1 of 1
[ Music ] >> Welcome to FlashPulp Episode 109. Tonight we present Ruby Departed, Jingle, Part 1 and 1. This week's episodes are brought to you by the launch of Netty Bites. [ Music ] 2011, the year of awesome. Game of Thrones on HBO, the first of a song of ice and fire. Books on TV. The Green Hornet and the Green Lantern out in movie theaters, along with Captain America in the very last Harry Potter movie. The first of the books and bronze series by T. Morris and Philip of Valentine. Another regular book, I think. You name it. 2011 is the year of awesome, and with that awesome comes a new podcast. Netty Bites. Pretty much whatever shows up on New Chassis Radar will show up in Netty Bites. Look for it in 2011. For more information, go to nimlas.org/blog. N-I-N-L-I-S dot org slash BLOD. [ Music ] [ Music ] Tonight, Ruby finds herself facing down depression only to discover the holiday spirit amongst the undead. Ruby departed, jingle, part one of one. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, art and narration by Apopodex, and audio produced by Jessica May. [ Music ] July 25th. Things have been rough, and I mean beyond the usual zombie apocalypse, jibba-jabba. After finally getting through the mess downtown, I thought it was all going to be smooth sailing, but these last few weeks have been ridiculous. I think my brain melted a little. I've been making good progress south, and the city was thinning out, but I was catching myself doing really dumb things, like slow walking and daydreaming about dad, or the cottage, or that time in grade four when Jimmy Coop pulled down my gym shorts, and I accidentally broke his nose. Things that are, frankly, irrelevant when I should be running and watching for rogue teeth. The problem is that there's nowhere to go, nothing to break up the misery. I run, I hide, I weep, then when the sun rolls back around, I run again. The houses start to look the same, and so do the moaning faces. Yesterday I was five blocks north of here, and suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder. Number 70 was a medium-built dude in a green bowling jacket, with a thick mustache and most of his teeth missing from something that must have happened after he was dead. It wasn't a problem to put him down, Bethany's blade fixed the issue before I even realized how bad it was. I'd just let one of them sneak up on me, and it was only luck that had brought his hand down, and not his infectious mouth. Worse, I nearly just poked him and moved on, without ever snapping out of the road trance I'd found myself in. Even though it was only noon, I knew I'd had it for the day. I climbed a bungalow and set out my blanket. I want to yell, or cry, or something, but all I could manage was a fifteen-hour nap. I can sleep through the moans, and if it'd just been moaning, I would have slept for who knows how much longer. I could hear jingling. Rubbing my eyes against the rising sun, I figured it would be difficult to locate the source amongst the crowd. I was wrong. I knew exactly who it was. I could tell by his Santa hat. After a moment, I noticed another behind him, and then two more undead cringles fighting over something gooey I didn't try very hard to identify a little further down the block. The trail went west, not south, but I couldn't help but wonder. At first, it was a slow trip. I fell on a trike that was buried in the weeds of an uncut lawn, and my expletives drew the crowd. I managed to hobble onto the house's carport, and had to wait for things to thin out, and for my ankle to stop throbbing. As I made progress, the concentration of claws grew thicker. I must have seen a dozen before rounding the last corner, and most of them still had bells around their necks. It's hard to say why, but every time I spotted one, my smile widened. By the time I came to the last stretch of my search, things were starting to sound downright festive. Other than the moaning. There were maybe thirty or forty of them. Most of the dead people on the street had been forcibly deputized as one of St. Nick's little helpers. Despite his hunting jacket and a head wound, I had a particular favorite at the center of the cluster that actually looked like a dead ringer for the jolly fat man himself. It seemed odd, but it was the night that really put me on edge. He was standing, watching me from the top of the strip mall plaza that squatted at the end of the road. "Hi!" he said, waving. He was smiling, and it was the honest simple smile of a fourteen-year-old Dungeons & Dragons geek. He helped me onto the roof, and after some introductions, he was giving me the highlights of his food supply so I could pick out favorites I might have been missing. His name is Gowen, seriously. He seems like a nice kid. I asked him about the armor. Apparently his parents run a costume shop, which included a set of real chain mail, slightly too large for him, but still good defense. His words were something like, "It really helps keep me safe, but it's also pretty heavy, so I can't really get far from the store without getting tired. They might not be able to bite me, but the last thing I wanted to be dog-piled by fifty of those fragrant fellows." I asked him about the santats and bells. I guess his parents have a big seasonal supply that was just sitting in the back. He seems to have a pretty sweet set up here, and there's plenty of canned food in a little euro deli at the end of the plaza, and a pristine convenience store just across the parking lot. When I asked him if he was afraid of looters, he showed me his sword. I think it's fake. Certainly didn't have any dried blood, goo or damage on it. I showed him Bethany, and he seemed impressed. We told each other our stories, and after explaining some of my recent problems, I asked him if he wasn't afraid someone was going to follow his trail of Christmas and take over his tiny Xanadu. Bill and Slack whimsy, he told me. If they come across one of my Santa army, they'll just take the opportunity to kill an easy target. I figure only folks able to worry. I wonder about something beyond themselves who follow the stumbling breadcrumbs back. I asked him if maybe he wanted to travel with me. No, I've got to protect the store. If Tasha, my sister, ever makes it back to the city, this is where she'll look for me. If she sends help, this is where they'll find me. He's almost done fire-heating a bunch of Lunchables pizzas, and then it's Twinkie time. I may get sick, but it'll be worth it. I can't force him to come with me. At least it'll help to know that here, waiting, I've got a friend. Flashpulp is presented by http colon slash slash Skinner dot FM. 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