Breaker Whiskey

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Fiction
**Breaker Whiskey**

BREAKER WHISKEY is an ongoing, daily microfiction podcast exploring one woman’s journey to find additional survivors in an America made empty by an unknown event in the late 1960s. In 1968, two women find themselves in rural Pennsylvania during what turns out to be some kind of apocalyptic event. By the time they discover that everyone else is gone, it’s too late to figure out what happened. Despite not liking each other at all, the women work together to survive, until six years later one of them sets out on her own, driving around the country to find other survivors. This is her, calling out to anyone who might listen. BREAKER WHISKEY is made by Lauren Shippen and recorded on a 1976 Midland CB Radio. Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey.

Latest Episodes:

161 - One Hundred Sixty One Mar 04, 2024

Show notes

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

“You are the stone”.

[click, static]

Does that? Does that mean what I think it means? That…that all of this—what the world is now, the lack of people, Leann—are you trying to tell me its all my fault?

How could—how does that even work? If—if this really is about something I did…I mean, fuck, I don’t know what to do with that. Even though it’s something I’ve thought about, something I’ve worried about, I never actually believed I had that kind of power.

Is it…is it because of…?

[click, static]

Jesus, why am I asking you? I haven’t even told you what I—

Wait, okay, if I’m the stone, I’m the one who made a ripple that somehow dragged Leann into all of this, then how do you fit into this, huh?

And by you I mean both you morse code lunatics. Are you connected to me somehow? I mean, you must be, right? Except you seem to know what’s going on here, even if you won’t tell me, so are you…

I mean, are you—

(laughing)

[click, static]

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

160 - One Hundred Sixty Mar 01, 2024

Show notes

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

“There are others. Some connected, some not”. That’s what you said.

[click, static]

Fuck, why am I still listening to you? You and Birdie both, you know just how to play me, know when to give me just enough tantalizing information that I find myself sitting by the radio, just waiting for your next transmission.

It’s…(laughs) I’ve had this completely out there thought every now and then that you—one of you—is actually Harry after all. I don’t know if it’s just because she’s now my only reference point for people that aren’t me, or if it’s the psychological mind games, but there are just some moments…

It’s ridiculous, I know it is. Not only because of the information that you’ve both given me—I mean, some of it might be crap, stuff that Harry could’ve made up, but the coordinates sure as shit were real. It’s not just that though, it’s that…

I don’t think Harry is that cruel. She liked to play with emotions, that’s for sure and certain, but she wouldn’t…she wouldn’t get my hopes up like this, over and over again. Or, I mean, she did do exactly that a lot over the last fucking decade but—

Harry wants there to be other people just as much as I do. She might not admit it, might be too scared of the potential consequences to go and seek answers out herself, but she doesn’t like living in this world anymore than I do. She just…she’s just convinced herself that it’s penance. That being trapped with me, forced to look at me every single day but never—

[click, static]

You know, that’s what she said to me in that last big fight? One of the things she said anyway. That it was torture, for her. Sharing a space with me, orbiting around each other like planets on a collision course. But it was karmic justice, that she would have to be in the gravity well of the one person who has the best reason to never want to speak to her again if she told the truth.

And, of course, she was right about some of it. I didn’t want to speak to her after she told me the truth. Especially since I’d finally told her the truth, the full truth that’s made every day since I met her a kind of slow burning agony—

[click, static]

Anyway. Harry wouldn’t mess with me, not in this way. She wouldn’t give me false hope, not when she’s holding onto her own with bloody fingers.

So maybe if I can figure out the cause, the—the stone that caused the ripple for lack of a better way of putting it—maybe then I can figure out where those waves might have gone. And maybe on the other side of that ripple is other people.

[click, static]

[beeps]

You are the stone

-.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . / - .... . / ... - --- -. .

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

159 - One Hundred Fifty Nine Feb 29, 2024

Show notes

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

Okay, this sucks.

[click, static]

Not talking about where I’ve been driving…it sucks. I want to talk about what I’m seeing, the landscapes, the funny town names, the strange roadside attractions. But I worry that if I do, I’ll easily give myself away and then…

Well, I’m not sure what I expect the worst case scenario to be, but I’m getting…paranoid again. A bit how I was when we first escaped. A bit how Harry always is.

I did find something today that I don’t think would give away much, because I’m sure this isn’t the only one that exists but…it’s a tiny little church. Like, tiny tiny. Basically just an altar and enough room for a few people to stand. What on earth is this for? The world’s smallest parish? Private prayer? They’re certainly not filling the pews on Sunday, there aren’t any pews.

It’s overgrown, like everything else, and it’s even more lovely because of it. Like it's not a house of worship for god, but for nature. As small as it can be so as not to intrude on the free landscape around it.

I have very rarely thought about what my imaginary wedding would be like, mostly because, well, I never really thought I’d have one. Not only for the obvious reasons, the, you know, legal reasons, but because even if it was allowed, or we just wanted to do it for us, fuck whatever the law or the church says…I don’t know that I ever really thought I’d find someone for life. And then, when I did meet somebody who—

Well, there were other problems, weren’t there?

But if I were to have a wedding ceremony, even just for the hell of it, I certainly never would have picked a church. But I think I could see a wedding happening here. A tiny white chapel, surrounded by green, just big enough for the people you trust the most. Pocket-sized and private.

It’s a silly thought. I doubt they ever had weddings at this chapel. Most people want a lot of people at their weddings, a big celebrations. This church couldn’t hold all of that.

[click, static]

I just want to be able to share this with someone. For finding the other survivors to finally become easy. For there to be others to find.

[click, static]

[beeps]

There are others. Some connected, some not.

- .... . .-. . / .- .-. . / --- - .... . .-. ... .-.-.- / ... --- -- . / -.-. --- -. -. . -.-. - . -.. --..-- / ... --- -- . / -. --- - .-.-.-

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

158 - One Hundred Fifty Eight Feb 28, 2024

Show notes

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

I feel a little bit like I can breath again, being back on the road. Even though I never slept in Leann’s house, I spent a lot of time in there, at all hours of the day, and it got…oppressive. Even after days of the windows being open, fresh cold air coming in, it still…

Well, I’m happy to be out of there.

[click, static]

I think I can safely say that ghosts aren’t real. Or at least, Leann’s ghost was nowhere to be seen. I’m glad that her…spirit or whatever it might be isn’t stuck here, but it really doesn’t help me understand what the deal is with Este’s Park or the Denver photos.

The Denver polaroids…I keep looking at them, trying to find more anomalies, trying to make out the finer features of the faces, but nothing reveals itself. They just start to look odder and odder the longer I look at them. Like everyone is…wearing a costume, or something. Like everything is just slightly off.

They still don’t seem like ghosts. It feels more like…looking through a window, into somewhere else. Standing in the doorway of Dorothy’s home, all sepia-toned and shadowy, and looking out into the colorful world of Oz. Except I can’t step through. I’m just stuck inside.

Maybe the camera is revealing something I can’t get to. Maybe…maybe I really am dead after all, behind some veil that makes me invisible to the living world. Maybe the man I saw in Estes Park wasn’t a ghost at all, but a living man, surprised to see me, a ghostly figure in his otherwise normal hotel room.

[click, static]

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

157 - One Hundred Fifty Seven Feb 27, 2024

Show notes

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

I know I said I wasn’t listening anymore, but you’re the one who knew Leann existed in the first place so…not that I’m going to take your word for it, but:

If I understand what you’re telling me…Leann was just collateral damage of some bigger ripple. Which, yeah, thanks for stating the obvious. Clearly something bigger than all of us happened and we’re the suckers that got hit by the waves. So does that mean that everyone else…drowned?

Leann didn’t do anything, she’s not connected…and all I can think is that I am connected. Is that what you’re trying to say?

Not every ripple affects every pond in the world. Obviously, some things are big enough to destroy everything, the meteor killing the dinosaurs. But maybe…maybe it’s not about everyone being bowled over by a wave, but about certain people in a certain pond…not connected directly but swimming in the same soup…maybe those people are all here because of some rock that got thrown into that pond.

Jesus, that makes no fucking sense. And even if it did make sense, it wouldn’t help me figure out what the fuck pond I’m in.

[click, static]

I am heading out today. Getting away from North Dakota, leaving Leann in peace. I don’t think…I don’t think I’ll be telling you where I’m going. If anyone out there—any other survivors, real human beings who want to talk to other human beings—if any of you hear this, tell me where to meet you and I’ll drive to you. But I don’t think I’m going to be detailing my own movements, at least for a while. All of this…none of it feels right. I’m not taking any chances that aren’t necessary, not anymore.

[click, static]

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

156 - One Hundred Fifty Six Feb 26, 2024

Show notes

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

There’s nothing for me here. All I’m accomplishing by staying is intruding on Leann’s privacy and making myself lonelier.

I don’t believe in the afterlife. Or, at least, I haven’t as a general rule. But Leann did. She believed in God, believed that dying was just an inevitable next step in a long journey. Toward the end, she welcomed death, even if she was beginning to have doubts about where she was ultimately headed.

I think it’s unavoidable, in circumstances like ours. Thinking of hell, I mean. Whether you truly believe in it or not. I didn’t read all her final entries over the radio, it didn’t feel right when…well, I don’t know if it was a fever or if everything just finally got to her, but her last words didn’t make a whole lot of sense. I felt strange enough reading them, I wasn’t about to broadcast it.

But it was obvious where she thought she was going next. And that makes me so…she didn’t deserve to go out thinking that. To die alone, so full of fear. No matter what kind of person she was.

Not that there’s any evidence to suggest she was anything other than a good person. But she wondered this plenty, and I can’t help myself from wondering either—

What did she do? To find herself here, in this terrible hollow shell of a world.

What did you do, Leann?

[click, static]

[beeps]

[click, static]

L did nothing. Not connected. Ripple big.

.-.. / -.. .. -.. / -. --- - .... .. -. --. .-.-.- / -. --- - / -.-. --- -. -. . -.-. - . -.. .-.-.- / .-. .. .--. .--. .-.. . / -... .. --. .-.-.-

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

155 - One Hundred Fifty Five Feb 23, 2024

Show notes

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

“September 12th, 1974. I am not well. The last few years have been harder on my body than I ever expected, but I’ve made it through, against all odds. But it seems to finally be taking its toll.

I do not know what it is that ails me, but I know it is serious. I am faint and weak, and though I have no appetite whatsoever, I do my best to feed myself. But it becomes harder and harder each day. Writing just these few sentences has already taken more energy than I can fathom, but I have to finish these thoughts before they flee my mind forever.

I’m coming home, Harry. It is my deepest and last wish that I should see you again, but there is a secret fear inside of me that I won’t. I know where you are. You went into the arms of the Lord in Heaven above when you went to your eternal rest and it was always my plan and solemn vow that I would join you there one day.

But what kind of loving God would do all of this to a devoted servant? Why would He leave me here without you, without our girls, without a friendly face in the world, if not to punish me for something I’ve done. I once thought that this was a test, a trial to show my strength and devotion to the Lord, but there is no glory in the death that stands in my doorway now. I do not feel like a martyr upon the cross. More like a sinner cast onto coals.

What have I done to deserve this hell? There’s a rattle in my lungs and a fog in my head most moments I am awake, but I think it is the loneliness that is killing me once and for all. I’m so sorry, my love, I tried to be strong for you, to be brave, but I cannot bear it any longer.

If I have failed in my test, I am sorry for it. But I have to think that hell is full, and warm, and that that might be better than this place.

[click, static]

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

154 - One Hundred Fifty Four Feb 22, 2024

Show notes

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

"February 2nd, 1974. The winters are getting harder and harder. It isn’t so much that the storms are worse, but that there is so much more unpredictability to them. I know the weather patterns of my home like I know my own name, but I hadn’t fully appreciated just how reliant I’d become on the Farmer’s Almanac.

There is also the matter of my age. I feel the cold so much more now, and long even more for the warm comfort of my dear Harry.

Oh, Harry, what has happened to us? There are days when I curse your name for leaving me when you did, for condemning me to this life alone. For I was alone even before this purgatory I’m in now. Now, I can pretend that our girls are out there still, living off the land just as we taught them, and unable to contact me. I can imagine that they are happy. But when you died, I knew you were gone forever and that I would forever be alone in the world from then on. What is my life without you?

On days in which my head is clearer, I find myself thanking God that you went when you did. I can be selfish at times, and I want you with me more than anything, but I am glad that you do not have to live with this uncertainty and fear.

I’m tired, Harry. I want to see you again, my love.”

[click, static]

I don’t know—I don’t know why I read that one aloud. There’s nothing in it that—

I’m so sorry, Leann.

[click, static]

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

153 - One Hundred Fifty Three Feb 21, 2024

Show notes

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

“June 10th, 1972. The crop is looking better this year than ever. I believe I have this whole gardening process down pat now. I think I may need to expand my icebox this winter, as it’s looking like I’ll have too many vegetables to eat on my own. Between the produce I’ll be able to freeze and the game I expect to hunt this summer, I should be even better prepared for winter than I was last year.

It is incredible how much there is to hunt now. It feels as if the deer are walking right up to my doorstep, offering themselves up to be eaten. There is no one else to scare them away.

Once again, I find myself contemplating leaving North Dakota and seeking out other survivors. The radio has continued to yield no results. Neither have the regular trips I make to Bismarck. Nothing around me has changed except for the seasons and the unencumbered growth of the land beginning to overtake the roads.

But I am no longer a young woman, and I feel that age in my bones more and more every day. What if I were to set out only to have an accident on the road, or run into bad weather or, worse, some danger that lurks out there that I can’t yet imagine? What if I find no trouble, but also no way to survive either? I’m afraid to leave my home for too long. It would only make sense to travel in the warmer months, and I can’t neglect my garden for too long. But then I look over the abundance I have and think that it is terribly selfish of me to have all of this to myself. Too many vegetables to eat and people out there who may have empty stomachs.

I’ve decided, at least, to get the old signal fire going again. It was a right pain in the hiney to keep up those first few months, but now that every other part of my life is turning like a well-oiled wheel, I don’t think it will be too much of a burden to keep up. Perhaps this time someone will see it.”

[click, static]

So that’s how she was surviving—planting and hunting. She writes about some looting as well—that’s what she calls it, but I don’t think it’s looting if there’s no one to commit a crime against—but that’s mostly for supplies and equipment. So…just like us, it seems. It turns out she doesn’t just know how to do all this stuff because off her job, but also because of her father and her husband. It sounds like she and her husband both grew up living off the land. I found an old photo of what I think is Leann’s childhood home, and it looks like a one-room cabin. I doubt it had running water, let alone electricity. This house that she was living in probably felt like more luxury than she needed. I know what that feels like.

And she was trying to contact people. I doubt a regular shortwave radio from North Dakota could have reached Pennsylvania, but then again my morse code friends seemed to have figured something out. If I had just put my foot down, insisted that we get a radio going…

There’s no point in wondering “what if”. But I still hate that she was out here, trying to reach out, while we were holed up in that stupid fucking house, blocking out the world.

[click, static]

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

152 - One Hundred Fifty Two Feb 20, 2024

Show notes

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

I—I found her diary. And it…well, it feels wrong, it is wrong to read it, but I’ve done a lot of wrong things to survive, and this feels like just another for the pile.

She didn’t write in it very often, at least not after 1969. There are some entries before the incident, just mundane life stuff that I didn’t do much more than skim. It isn’t relevant and I don’t want to violate her privacy more than I have to.

So it’s best to focus on the entries from ’68 on. At first, it seems like she didn’t notice that something was wrong—it seems like her life was pretty isolated to begin with, spending most of her job outside, on her own, living alone and talking on the phone every two weeks with her daughters.

Her husband—he’s been dead for a few years it looks like. Or, god, nearly a decade now, I guess. A few years when this whole thing started. His name—

(a dark laugh) You won’t believe this, but his name was Harry. Boy, was that a shock to the system when I read the words “Since Harry passed”. I felt like I was going to faint for a moment before I remembered where I was and what I was reading. I had to take a break for a while after that.

I’ve had to take breaks a few times. Just reading about someone else’s life is…

I’ve flipped through the journal, and the last entry looks like it’s from a few months ago, with only a few entries each year the last few years. I guess that makes sense. I know I would have very little to write about if I had kept a journal the last five or so years. That first year, sure, but since then…well, not much happens.

I guess that isn’t true for the last six months. A lot has happened, even if it doesn’t feel like it—I’m barely closer to finding anyone or understanding anything than I was when I started, but compared to the small, monotonous existence of Pennsylvania, my head spins when I think about everything I’ve done since I left.

I have been keeping a journal of sorts, I guess, in these broadcasts. I don’t even know who I’m talking to anymore, but you’re getting almost every thought, any substantial event that takes place. If that’s not a journal, what is?

But just like all these transmissions I’m making, I don’t expect Leann’s journal to hold many answers. If she’d known any more than what I did, surely she would’ve figured something out, would’ve left this place, would’ve—would’ve lived.

Then again, maybe she knew exactly what happened and decided she was better off alone. I’ll just have to read and find out.

[click, static]

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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