Breaker Whiskey

View Top 200 Chart

Back to Rankings Page

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:

081 - Eighty-One Nov 13, 2023

Show notes

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

Alright, your most recent message. Let’s talk about it.

“Collision point in Denver”

Birdie, what the hell?

[click, static]

You can’t just leave a message like that and not follow up. We’ve talked about this. I know that our communication capabilities are limited but this is completely absurd. “Collision point”?? What does that mean?

Maybe I should stop expecting things from you. Maybe you simply being there, being someone to talk to, is enough. Maybe it isn’t fair to want answers on top of that.

But the least you could do is stop sending me fucking cryptic messages that I can’t do anything about.

[click, static]

Then again, if Denver really is that dangerous somehow, I guess I did do something. I drove around. I guess you did me a favor.  It doesn’t feel like a favor.

[click, static]

Because…collision point…collision is a fucking weird word to use. If some kind of bomb had gone off, I don’t think that’s the word you’d pick. So what’s colliding? In order for a collision to happen, there needs to be some kind of…what, an immovable object and unstoppable force, right? Or two unstoppable forces, I guess?

And that—well, that would imply other people. You can’t have some kind of momentous force without something putting it into action. And the most likely catalyst for something that would be dangerous enough to avoid would be…other human beings.

So if you’re telling me that Denver has other people and you’re trying to warn me off them—Birdie, I don’t care if they’re the worst kind of apocalyptic barbarians. They’re people. And I want to see them. If you’re just trying to manipulate me or—or hoard me for yourself somehow, well, I’ve had enough of—

[click, static]

It’s not too late for me to turn back and go to Denver. It’ll never be too late for me to turn back.

And I don’t know that you’ve given me a good enough reason not to.

[click, static]

[beeps]

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

Santa Fe

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

080 - Eighty Nov 10, 2023

Show notes

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

I think…um, I’ve been on edge. All week, ever since I left the Stanley.

Maybe it was driving past Denver that set me off, set me thinking about Harry again. You ever gonna tell me what the hell that was about? You ever going to respond to any of the bonkers transmissions I’ve sent in the past week or so?

[click, static]

I’d…I’d really like to come see you, Birdie. The loneliness of this—of this weird stilted conversation of ours—it’s…profound. A profound loneliness. The kind that’s so deep I’m worried if I leave it in my bones for any longer it’ll just stick to them like tar, never to be scrubbed clean.

This isn’t what I signed up for. I came out here because I wanted to see things yet, but mostly because I wanted to see other people. Harry knew what she was doing—she didn’t want to leave and she didn’t and she knew that would mean being alone. Even if I’m the one who eventually drove off, she might as well have handed me the keys.

If I met you, I don’t think I’d miss her as much as I do. I miss her like you miss…a loose tooth that you’ve gotten used to poking with your tongue, that you’ve learned to eat around. And then you finally go to the fucking dentist and get the thing fixed or torn out and it’s better, you’re not in pain anymore, but it’s also…strange. You got used to shaping your life around this terrible, protruding sharpness and now it’s gone and suddenly your tongue feels too big for your mouth.

I don’t know how to eat anymore. How to talk, how to bite down, how to fill the space where that tooth was. It’s just…a hole.

[click, static]

Whiskey out.

[click, static]

Collision point in Denver

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

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

079 - Seventy-Nine Nov 09, 2023

Show notes

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

Hey Birdie. I’m, uh, I’m on route to Santa Fe, now, I guess. It’s a place I’ve always wanted to go—it’s supposed to be beautiful, and cultural, and it’s very much on my route, so…  Not that I have a route. I have to stop following invisible rules. Just because it’s the next major city on the highway I’m currently following doesn’t mean that—

(sighs) Harry fucking loves Santa Fe. She’s been a bunch of times. I guess they have—had—a pretty vibrant art scene out there and she used to talk about how gorgeous it was, how delicious the food was, how much she’d like to show me—

[click, static]

Actually, maybe I don't want to go, I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to see it with—

[click, static]

No, no, I should go. I’ve never been. I haven’t traveled very much and basically never for the purposes of leisure—a trip taken for the sole purpose of eating and drinking and looking at extraordinary things, that’s…

…well, I guess that’s what I’m doing now, kind of. Even if it…feels different.

If I really could send a postcard, I’d put one right in the mail for her from…whatever Santa Fe’s most famous museum is. Show her what she’s missing. Show her what she could be doing if she would just stop—

[click, static]

That—that was our last fight. Well, our last huge fight. I think I—I maybe mentioned that we weren’t talking all that much the last few months before I left and that’s true. What we did say to each other wasn’t particularly civil, but it was all…inconsequential. Bitching to each other about house chores or making snide comments…

The fight that led to that cozy atmosphere was—it wasn’t about Santa Fe, specifically, but about…the outside world. I wanted to—well, I wanted to do this, what I’m doing, right here. What I’ve been doing, for the last four months. And she…

[click, static]

She wanted to stay inside. She wanted to protect us from the world by keeping us from it. Even though we had every reason to believe that we wouldn’t get caught if we ventured further out. And I tried to convince her, I tried to explain that even if there were other people out there, clearly we wouldn’t be a priority. I tried to make her see that the likelihood of running into anyone who even knew who we were or what we did was so slim, but she just…

She dug her heels in, like she always fucking does. She’s intractable when she wants to be, and trust me, she wants to be a lot. It’s what made living with her such a fucking nightmare. Everything had to be just so and she would be so condescending when I didn’t get the temperature of the tea right or whatever the fuck it was and the most infuriating thing is that I know she didn’t actually care if I did it right, she just enjoyed riling me up, wanted to pass the time somehow, wanted to exert control over whatever she could, which I get because I was the same way with the endless house repairs, which drove her insane because she wanted to build a home and “how can you turn a house into a home when you treat it like the Winchester mystery house!” That’s what she’d say. “Not even the spirits would put up with the constant work.”

It’s good. Yeah, it’s good that I got out of there. Because I haven’t been to Santa Fe, I hadn’t been to Colorado, I haven’t seen the Pacific. She has. She’s done all of that. She could stay inside and be content and root where she was planted or whatever but I need sunlight to grow and I tried to tell her that. I tried to tell her that I couldn’t see a future for us if we stayed stuck—

[click, static]

Jesus christ, I’m—I don’t know what I’m saying. She really…she drives me up a wall and I miss her and—

[click, static]

I—I’ve gotta—

Whiskey, signing off.

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

078 - Seventy-Eight Nov 08, 2023

Show notes

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

Okay, maybe I’m not doing great. I can’t get his face out of my head. The way he looked as he was leaving, suitcase in one hand, other hand on the doorknob, turning around like he forgot something. Turning around like he wanted to say goodbye to me. But that doesn’t—

[click, static]

I’m trying to…focus on other things.

I took a branch from the national park back in Wyoming—I know you’re not supposed to do that, but it was on the ground, it’s not like I took it off a tree. So I feel like it’s okay.

But I was thinking I might whittle it into something. I haven’t whittled in fucking ages, but I used to be okay at it and it’s not like i’ve got any materials to build miniatures.  What do you think, Birdie? What shape should I carve this little piece of wood into? A bird? Make a little keepsake that I can give you when we meet?

Yes, I said when. I’m deciding to hold out hope. I think I saw a ghost the other morning, so nothing is impossible for me anymore. Here I am, moving about the world, totally alone, and surviving. Thriving, one might say, despite any midnight breakdowns I may or may not have had.

They said it couldn’t be done—that leaving Pennsylvania would be the end of me. But it’s not. I’m sitting on the hood of my car on the side of the highway in Colorado, whittling a stick from Wyoming into a bird for an anonymous friend who only communicates in dots and dashes.

The impossible happens every day. And I’m not dead yet.

[click, static]

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

077 - Seventy-Seven Nov 07, 2023

Show notes

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

The stupid thing is, with all the weirdness at the Stanley, I didn’t even take a look around Estes Park that much. And it looked like it is beautiful.

Sure, I got a lot of beautiful lakes and mountains in Wyoming. And it’s not like I can’t come back if I really want to.

But I don’t think I’ll be staying at the Stanley again.

I forgot to tell you—when I was driving out of Wyoming, right near the highway was this enormous statue of a rabbit with antlers. One of those jackalopes, I think it’s called. Some weird Wyoming legend. I don’t really get it, but it’s kind of cute—a little antlered bunny.

[click, static]

Where do people come up with this stuff? Bigfoot, the loch ness monster, jackalopes…and how do these ideas gain so much traction with the public? I mean, I know there’s actual myth and legends from different cultures and religions but that’s not what these are. These are…these are made up by somebody who tells their friends, you know? But what makes it so that those friends want to share it with their friends and so on and so on? How many potential monsters are out there ready to become myths and are just being held back by the fact that their creator just doesn’t have very many friends?

[click, static]

Do you believe in stuff like that? The…legends, the urban myths? Ghosts?

I never really did. I like a good ghost story as much as the next person, don’t get me wrong, but it never struck me as…real. There’s way too much evidence to the contrary and I always felt that if any of it was real, no matter how rare it was, surely it would be unavoidable to hear about. Surely there would be real evidence. If people were experiencing real ghost encounters, there’s no way we’d all go about our business as if everything was normal. People aren’t that good at keeping secrets.

[click, static]

But now…after everything that happened…

There still isn’t hard evidence. How much can I trust my eyes really?

There was already so much about the world that I didn’t understand before this and now I understand even less. And I fear I’ll never fully understand anything ever again.

So, I guess, sure, why can’t jackalopes be real? Nothing about this whole place, this whole country, driving around it, feels real. Nothing about my life feels real.

[click, static]

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

076 - Seventy-Six Nov 06, 2023

Show notes

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

Breaker, breaker, this is WAR1974 calling out from Route 36, heading South.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to Denver. I’ll drive right past but…I assume that’s okay? You still haven’t told me anything about why I should avoid it, so—

[click, static]

I think—I think my last transmission probably cut off. I was in the hotel, in that room, Room 217, talking on the CB somehow when all of a sudden, whatever phantom power had been keeping it going just…died.

The moment it did—in the exact moment the radio went dark, not a second before—there was this flicker. The man that I’d seen, the—the ghost? Hallucination, whatever. He appeared again, just for a moment. By the door. Suitcase in hand, looking over his shoulder as he put his hand on the doorknob. He was looking around the room like he was expecting to see something. And for that one second, I could’ve sworn that he saw me.

That’s impossible right? I mean, the whole thing is impossible. The weird feeling, my CB turning on by itself, with no power hookup, seeing a person who isn’t there…none of it makes sense.

And he looked…he just looked like a normal person. He wasn’t dressed in, I don’t know, old timey clothes, he didn’t have chains around his arms or gashes in his face or any of the things you would expect to see on a ghost.  He didn’t look like a ghost.

[click, static]

God, am I a person who has opinions on what ghosts are supposed to look like now?

Anyway, I’m doing better now that I’m away from there. It was—it wasn’t scary exactly—

[click, static]

Alright, no, it was fucking scary. But it was scariest when I was in my room alone that night, not when I followed the feeling and saw the apparition the next morning. That was just—

That was walking into the wrong room and seeing another hotel guest checking out. That’s all it was. Except there were no other guests. There’s never any other guests at any of the places I stay. And maybe…maybe he never checked out.

[click, static]

I’m glad to be putting that place in my fucking rearview.

[click, static]

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

075 - Seventy-Five Nov 03, 2023

Show notes

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

So I…I followed the feeling this morning.

Somehow, I managed to fall back asleep last night. I didn’t sleep well—I don’t remember any of my dreams, but I think they were nightmares. They must have been. Because I woke up and that feeling wasn’t gone.

That feeling of dread. Of something standing, just off to the side. And it still doesn’t feel like mine which—that doesn’t even make any sense to me so I can’t even imagine what it sounds like.

I keep a little running calendar in a pocket notebook—not that dates are important, but it’s helped me feel a little more sane over the last six years. Today is Halloween. I’m sure there’s some kind of joke in there, but I don’t know what it is.

[click, static]

Why did you tell me to stay out of Denver, Birdie? Does it have something to do with what’s happening to me now? I don’t believe in ghosts, or hauntings but—

[click, static]

Room 217. That’s where the feeling took me. That’s where I am now. I’ve been walking around with the CB and—

I wish I could tell you how this worked. But I left my room on the top floor and just started walking. It was like playing a game of hot and cold. Stepping slowly down long hallways, waiting for the dread to get worse. Following the dread all the way down, the feeling growing stronger and stronger like a screeching sound that gets so loud it almost buckles your knees.

Like tuning a radio. Searching through the static to find a frequency you can click into.

The CB is still on. It—it doesn’t make any sense. I’m holding it, completely detached from any source of power and it seems to be—I mean, it’s working. The light is on, all the frequencies seem to be receiving, even if it’s just static. I don’t know if it’s sending any signals out but—

How is this happening? Someone explain this to me.

And it…it changed. As I walked, the static changed in time with that feeling in my gut. Like my hand was on the dial, turning, turning, except it wasn’t. It wasn’t picking anything up—just static—but the static changed. Like it’s responding to something here. Like it was waiting to be in the right place.

Room 217. That’s where the static cleared. That’s where the feeling led me and it’s—

[click, static]

It’s just a room. An ordinary room.

There’s nothing here.

[click, static]

I thought—for a moment, I thought—

[click, static]

When I walked in—all the curtains were drawn, it was dark. Hard to see anything beyond what was illuminated by me opening the door.

I saw a man. Dark hair, beard. Packing a suitcase. As ordinary as the room he stood in.  The door swung shut behind me and he vanished. But I could have sworn that, before he did, he looked at me. Like he was surprised by the sound of the door. Like he could hear it.

I checked the whole room. Threw open the curtains, checked every channel on the radio.

But no, there’s nothing here.

There’s—

[sudden dead air]

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

074 - Seventy-Four Nov 02, 2023

Show notes

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

(heavy breathing)

[click, static]

(whispering)

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But I…I woke up a few minutes ago, heart pounding. I don’t know why.

[click, static]

There’s nothing…wrong. I looked out the window, there’s no figure in the trees, the door is locked, the entire hotel is empty, I checked. I wanted to be sure that there weren’t any wild animals that had gotten in, or any hazards that could lead to a fire or—

This hotel is somehow even bigger on the inside than it looks from the outside. Or at least, it feels bigger. Its winding and rickety—charming in the daytime and now that it’s dark…

No, it’s still charming. It’s charming. It’s just a historic hotel in a vacation town and the only reason I’m feeling like this is because I spent a whole week sleeping outdoors and now that I’m back in what passes for civilization these days, everything is off.

It did make it easier, coming into the mountains. Getting out of the feeling that the world stretched on, endless and empty—it was the right choice. But now I’m claustrophobic. Nothing fits in my body correctly anymore. Like I’m Alice in Wonderland, and at first I took the potion that made me too small and now I’ve taken the one that makes me too big and nothing fits. My bones hurt, my chest is tight, and my vision is blurry, like I’m looking through a window streaked with oil.

And I woke up, all of a sudden. That doesn’t happen to me. I’m a good sleeper—I wake up to sounds, but even when I do, it happens gradually. I arrive at consciousness by degrees. When enough of my brain is awake, I decide if I need to get up and figure out what the hell the sound was, and if I don’t, I fall back asleep easily.

There was no sound. There is no sound—this whole place is as quiet as a tomb. But I woke all at once; deep in sleep one moment, wide awake and springing out of bed the next. And still, there’s no sign of what jarred me from sleep.

Maybe I had a nightmare. If I did, I don’t remember it.

But I have this lingering sensation that something is wrong. And the feeling itself, it sits wrong in my body.

Does that make sense? The feeling is one of—of dread, I think, but it also—it doesn’t feel like mine.

[click, static]

God, that’s fucking insane. I sound totally cracked. I didn’t used to be like this, I don’t think. But first the tornado, now this…you must think I jump at every mouse and spider that I see. But I don’t. I worry about stuff, yeah, sometimes I feel anxious, but I don’t get scared. The only times I’ve gotten scared are the times that are appropriate—nearly getting caught, running for my life…the tornado, I think that was justified.  But nothing is happening. I’m sitting in a nice hotel bed, in a nice hotel, in a nice town, and it’s like there are claws hooked into my chest. Pulling. And not like they’re trying to rip out my heart, but like I’m supposed to follow.

I don’t know what I’m saying…

Maybe it’s a panic attack. Maybe it’s fucking heartburn.

But I can’t shake the thought—the one that’s been running through my head since the moment I woke up—I can’t shake the thought that this feeling, whatever it is, is not my own.

[click, static]

I didn’t find a generator or a battery last night. But when I woke up, the CB was already on. It’s…Birdie, it’s not plugged into anything.

But it’s on.

[click, static]

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

073 - Seventy-Three Nov 01, 2023

Show notes

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

I feel like I can breathe again. I’m in Estes Park, a beautiful little…resort town? I don’t know, it seems like a place the fancy muckety-mucks would come to. It’s tucked in the mountains, but not so far that I’m worried about Donner Party-ing it. There’s a gorgeous lake and a cute little downtown and this stunning great white building overlooking the whole place. The Stanley Hotel—it’s pretty old, according to the plaque on the front, and it’s enormous. And I’ve got it all to myself.

I haven’t actually gone inside yet. I wanted to radio you to let you know I’m okay before I settled in for the night. I’m taking the CB with me, but the chances of the place having power to plug it in…maybe I can grab a battery from a car parked out here, or maybe if I’m really lucky, they’ve got a back-up generator. We’ll see if I get lucky. If not, I’ll talk to you in the morning .

[click, static]

But for now, I’m okay. I’m not in Denver, and I’m fine.

I’m still a little annoyed with you if I’m honest, but as long as you get back to me soon with some answers, I’ll let bygones be bygones.

This is Whiskey, going dark.

[click, static]

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

072 - Seventy-Two Oct 31, 2023

Show notes

[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

I barely slept last night, thanks to you. I know you’re probably thinking, “yeah, Whiskey, you idiot, you slept in your car in October in the middle of Colorado, of course you didn’t fucking sleep”. And sure, I was a little cold, but I’ve got thermals. Mostly it’s the—you don’t realize it. Just how unnerving open spaces are until you’re in them.

It should be better, right? It’s not looking out on our backyard and seeing a figure amongst the trees. When you’ve got woods around you, the whole world becomes a series of shadows. Shapes and forms with dimension, ever shifting and hard to parse for how they blend together when the light changes. But you get used to the shadows. And they create a sense of place, a sense of being.

The openness of where I am—the infinite horizon and endless sky…you start to lose yourself in it. It was the same feeling I got in Lost Springs—because you can see everything around you, your brain starts playing tricks. What aren’t you seeing? Surely it’s impossible to perceive every object, every figure for miles and miles. Surely, there’s something just off in the distance waiting for you.

At least with mountains and trees, you know there are things you can’t see. You know where the shadows are. You know where not to tread.

[click, static]

I need to get out of here. Go toward the mountains, where the shapes are more discernible, the dangers more obvious.

Whiskey 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.