Part 3 of 3
Read the full text, as well as the show notes, at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, Harm Carter finds himself caught between a crazed sheriff and an armoured combat vehicle.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP240 - The Murder Plague: Responsibility, Part 3 of 3
[music] Welcome to FlashPulp, Episode 240. This evening, we present The Murder Plague, Responsibility, Part 3 of 3. [music] This week's episodes are brought to you by Lifestyle Jazz. Hi there, I'm James Williams, inviting you to listen to Lifestyle Jazz. Lifestyle Jazz is a new contemporary, modern and smooth jazz show on the Lifestyle Pod Network. It's hosted by me, James Williams, and each show you can enjoy a half hour of some of the best jazz around. So let me invite you now to visit us on our website where you can subscribe to the podcast, look at who we're playing, and listen to a few shows. I look forward to seeing you soon at LifestyleJazz.com. [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, Harm Carter finds himself caught between a crazed sheriff and an armored combat vehicle. The Murder Plague, Responsibility, Part 3 of 3. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, Art and Narration by Popenax, and Audio-produced by Jessica May. [music] [music] [music] Mr. Baldy's first instinct seemed to be to fold a sheriff into the apartment building. But in a rear fit of reason, he instead turned to me and asked what I thought we should do. As he spoke, the girl in his arms began to squirm. While I considered my response, the armored vehicle turned onto the roundabout fronting the tower. As it slowed, its roaming weapons ceased its circling patrols and focused its accusing finger directly at us. I was quite familiar with the model of transport, as my final army posting had been warming the interior bench of just such a buggy. I knew it required at least one driver and one gunner to be operating as it was, and a homicidal crew wouldn't last long in so tight a space. It was oddly comforting in a way, but my thoughts had taken an odd path. I was increasingly convinced that I was at risk of never being able to find my way back to Becky, or worse, that these men would harm her. If they could. Despite my concerns, I said, they aren't infected. We waited until they'd rumbled to a halt in the guest parking space that must have once been regularly occupied by pizza delivery cars. Once stopped, the Beatles recessed loud speaker wind briefly, and a voice that could be no older than 21, asked, "Is this the entirety of your group?" I wondered briefly if he was reading from the same sort of suggestion car that we used to be issued, the kind filled with helpful phrases for dealing with exotic locals. Although I suspected his was something closer to a flowchart for dealing with the murderously insane. Boldy replied, "There's another guy, but he took off when you came around the corner. He still hadn't learned the value of important information, so I added, and he's crazy." To which the youth behind the armour replied, "Yeah, that'll happen." Before he could find the next step on his chart, we even made his reappearance some five floors up. Actually, he may have been on the balcony a while. It was really only a scream of, "Give me back my mother, you thieving bastards!" that drew out our attention. Despite his statement, he wasn't in much mood to bargain, as he made clear by tossing two flame-top bottles onto our visitors' chariot. Although the impact of the Molotov cocktails through glass and liquid flame in every direction, we'd kept our distance from the imposing transport, and it saved us from injury. Unsurprisingly, however, the driver wasn't terribly impressed with the sheriff's guerrilla recycling effort, and the vehicle's engine roared with his displeasure. He had little sympathy for the building's once well-maintained decorative flowerbed as he pulled away from the pavement and found the quickest route back to the road. As they ran, the things cannon tracked upwards, but the violence I anticipated never arrived. They simply drove off with a flaming roof. For a moment, science descended, and then the toddler returned to weeping, boldly looked as if he were ready to join her. We couldn't see Weaver, as we'd sheltered under the lip of the lobby canopy, but it was difficult to forget that he was up there. Must have been the girl that drew his attention, as he suggested we ought to come out where he could see us. To move forward into the open seemed a sure way of relieving ourselves of the burden of the world, but I didn't much like the idea of retreating into the potential house of horrors that the apartment building represented. The longer we took in thinking about it, the more I became sure the sheriff had retreated from the balcony and would be arriving behind us shortly. I panicked briefly, feeling as if I were on a rapidly deflating life raft, and the clatter returned. It wasn't like the original, cautious approach, watching the abrupt turns I cringed at the brutality their seat belts must have been absorbing. They paused on the street, swung backwards, and sent their tail barreling in our direction. Until the last second I wasn't sure if they would stop short of running us down. As it was, we were forced to step back as their rear hatch split wide. The owner of the young voice reached out with waving hands while shouting "Get in, get in!" from behind his full body hazardous materials combat suit. I'd like to say that in a moment of clarity, I pushed Baldy in the child inside and ran, because I thought I was a danger to them. It's not true though. I did it because I was convinced the stranger in the black suit would permanently take me away from Becky. I did it because the sickness had taken hold. [Music] FlashPulp is presented by FlashPulp.com and is released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. Text and audio commentaries can be sent to Skinner@Skinner.fm or the voicemail line at 206-338-2792, but be aware that they may appear in a future flashcast. We'd also like to thank the Free Sound Project found at freesound.org. For a full listing of effects used during the show, as well as credits for the users who provided them, please check this episode's notes at flashpulp.com. And thanks to you for listening. If you enjoyed the show, please tell your friends. [Music] [Music] [Music]