Part 1 of 3
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Tonight, even as he nears the edge of the homicidal madness that surrounds him, Harm Carter’s travels come to a sudden stop.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP238 - The Murder Plague: Responsibility, Part 1 of 3
[Music] Welcome to FlashPulp episode 238. This evening we present The Murder Plague, Responsibility, Part 1 of 3. This week's episodes are brought to you by the Penn Dragon Variety Podcast. [Music] Hey girl, you know how I like it when you talk about your fantasies and your science fictions on the Penn Dragon Variety Podcast. [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, even as he nears the edge of the homicidal madness that surrounds him, harm Carter's travels come to a sudden stop. The Murder Plague, Responsibility, Part 1 of 3. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, Art and Narration Biopoponix, and audio produced by Jessica Met. [Music] [Music] Having a toddler in the cab of the truck considerably lightened our moods. Although I will admit, it may have also been the fact that her lack of desire to murder us was proof that there was an antidote for the sickness. I made good time behind the wheel, and was again thankful for such an orderly catastrophe. If there were eyes staring out from the occasional clumps of housing, they would content enough in their paranoia to let us pass, and we saw no other moving vehicles. The GPS was guesstimating that we were two hours from the military blockade when our little companion broke her silence. "Orange!" she said. I was surprised at such a clear voice coming from such a grimy face. "What?" asked Baldy. "Orange!" repeated the girl. In my daughter's youth, Kate and I would make the long trip to the cabin in two stints. We'd swap at the halfway point, and each take a swing at keeping Rebecca happy. Six hours can be an eternity to a child, but she couldn't be bothered with movies, and she didn't care to hear a story, or cuddle her faithful sidekick, Baron Koala. All Becky wanted to do is play "I Spy". I took a quick inventory and pointed out that there was a brightly coloured plastic fob emblazoned with the name of a trucking company on our scavenged keys. She nodded, and I'd be expectantly. Instead of searching for a suitably shaded object, I asked her what her name was, but there was no chance to answer before the truck lurched. Now the only thing my father ever did quickly in a car was break. If I was unfortunate enough to be in the passenger seat at the time, he would always try to ease my whiplash by putting a hand out in front of my chest. Never actually touching me, but almost there, just in case the belt should somehow suddenly cease to exist. As if his thirty miles an hour of momentum might pitch me through the window. When we hit the caltrops, I found myself doing the same thing to our young passenger. It did little good when the tyres on the driver's side went gummy, and the rig began to slide. A telephone pole halted our forward momentum, abruptly. I don't know that I became unconscious, but there are certainly a few seconds I can't count for. Eventually I noticed that Mr. Baldy was shouting something, and hammering at his door and attempt to escape. It was only locked, but he was too stunned to realise. The girl's survival was a bit miraculous, but I could tell that her right arm was in no condition to be used by the way she was holding it, and a tears on her cheeks. As I unbuckled, Baldy finally found the proper button, and his exit swung wide. It was then that I began to wonder if he was attempting to get us killed. I lost sight of my acquaintance as he stepped away, but I could clearly hear the response he received. A stranger said, "I am Sheriff Weaver. You will immediately vacate the vehicle and lie down on the ground with your limbs spread." The instructions were followed by a flop, which I suspected was Baldy's face approaching the pavement at an unpleasant speed. "There's an injured child in here," I said through my cracked window. An official sounding shotgun ratcheted, and Weaver's draw replied, "The kid can stay standing up after you're out." My legs were kicked from under me as I descended from the sideboard, but the take was left alone to stand and weep. Frankly, despite my rat-faced ally's complaints, was treatment, and the sobs of the little one, it was somewhat reassuring that we weren't executed by the Sheriff after he determined there weren't any armed menaces within our former transport. As he completed his inspection, he let us retake our feet, and Baldy lifted the wailing preschooler. I recall wondering if he was using her as a shield. Once we were face to face, as opposed to face to boot, Weaver seized the opportunity to clarify the situation. We'll be welcome together for a while, so you should be aware that I am here to help. Be warned, however, that if you do not allow me to assist you, I will be forced to shoot you. [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]