[Dial Up Noise]

Sung in the key of Dr. Jean’s ‘Guacamole song’.

@friendlyferalgrandpa

Scavenging grocery stores tended to teeter on the edge of pointlessness, these days. Most of the food that haven’t been taken was now little more than piles of ash held together by artificial preservatives and sheer will, crumbling at the merest hint of a touch. August nevertheless scanned the sparse shelves, probing, picking at the remnants with a bony, flaking, yet still careful hand. There was always something, he told himself. Even if it was barely edible any more. 

The ghoul sighed as he reached for a rusted-up can. He hated how necessary this had become. When the caps ran dry and they couldn’t afford to buy food with enough left over for Floyd’s schooling, he would scav for it. Dig through some ass-old supermarket and pray the ceiling wouldn’t flatten him as soon as he sneezed. Walk by hordes of ferals who’d set up shop inside, because of course they fucking had, and try not to throw up. 

He shuddered to himself as one of the creepy, groaning bastards shuffled by, ancient flyers fluttering in his wake. Then again, it was better than the alternatives. It was better than starving. 

A sudden creak of the front door made him start. He dropped the can. He stared. 

Sneakers stomped on dry paper and kicked old tin cans, careless to the alerted, moaning ghouls within. A few of the more proactive ferals made for the front door, only to stop once they rounded the corner of a wooden shelf. Aggression turned to confusion, and then apathy as the few individuals who had moved to neutralize the invading threat bumbled off to their respective dirt piles.

Tabasco let out a breath, her heart pounding, though she really should have known better than to barge into an unknown location that had ghouls wandering around the front. For a split second, she was sure they were going to attack. She had come here with a premeditated strategy and it had worked on the ferals outside---so maybe she had been a bit bold. It seemed to have worked though!

The rubber zombie mask she’d pilfered from some old, derelict curio shop disguised her visually, while the staggered gait she adopted to blend in seemed to label her as ‘ghoul’ to the ferals. All in all, it was a pretty insensitive disguise, but Tabasco thought herself very clever.