Part 3 of 3
Read the full text, as well as the show notes, at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, Harm Carter discovers the truth regarding the interior of an apparently occupied former place of commerce.
The Skinner Co. Network
192 - The Murder Plague: Open Hours, Part 3 of 3
[Music] Welcome to FlashPulp, episode 192. Tonight, we present the Murder Plague. Open Hours, Part 3 of 3. [Music] This week's episodes are brought to you by the Shrinking Man Project. [Music] Doc? Laura, hi! Oh my God, I almost didn't recognize you. You've lost so much weight. Oh, thanks. I've been working on it. You look great. What's your secret? You know, everyone keeps asking me that. I'm just doing it with diet and exercise. The only real secret seems to be getting your head on straight before you get started. I actually started a podcast about it. About getting your head on straight. Sort of. It's about my weight loss and about the ways that people trip themselves up with the attitudes that they have going in. I do episodes every week talking about what I've had to deal with and every couple weeks I throw in some philosophy. The idea is to help someone else figure out what they need to do to make it work out for them. That sounds pretty cool. What's the podcast called? It's called the Shrinking Man Project. The URL is theshrinkingmanproject.com. I'm trying to keep it simple. Well, it certainly seems to be working for you. Flatterer. More. More. [laughter] [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 discovers the truth regarding the interior of an apparently occupied former place of commerce. The Murder Plague. Open Hours. Part three of three. Written by J.R.D. Skinner. Art and narration by Opoponax. An audio produced by Jessica May. [music] My left leg demanded I back out of the doorway. But my right insisted that I lunge for the girl in an attempt to save her from whatever lurked in the store's interior. While I was still mediating, most of my decisions were made for me. A pair of retirees stepped forward with hunting rifles at the ready. "There's only two of them," Grandma said over her shoulder. While she launched into a staged whispered argument with someone beyond my line of sight, her partner indicated that I ought to move closer to many, and out of range of the entrance's sensor. I complied, although I must admit, that I was keeping an eye on the teen's knife hand. "Where's the other?" asked Grandpa, waggling his barrel with practice and assistance. Given his stance, I guess he was, at some point in his past, a fellow graduate of Uncle Sam's two-booted finishing school. "Well, that's a complicated question," I replied, trying for a tone several notches' intention below his own. "He's dead. I left him moments ago around the corner with a fairly large hole in his neck. Now, while I realise that does not immediately bode well for my companion here, I should say, and her defence, that she's never appeared infected, and that she's under quite a lot of stress lately. The rifleman harumphed. Haven't we all?" With a gasp, Mimi took in a double lungful of air, preparing, I thought, for a protracted scream. "She did not." "Listen," she said, turning on me. "I appreciate your trying to help, but I did not leave a motherf***er dead in this parking lot, because I'm under quite a lot of stress." That grabby bastard went from my zipper as soon as you were out of sight. I'm not sick, and I'm not just in a shitty mood. It could have happened while I'd been riding a bringbo unicorn in Candy Land, and I would have done the same thing over, twice!" She realised then that she was punctuating her remarks with thrusts of her still bloody blade. Neither Graham's nor I could muster a reply. "Come here, hun," said the silver-haired woman, shouldering her weapon and wrapping an arm around the go. They disappeared into the dim interior of the store, and I followed. Behind our greeters stood a second line of defenders, a motley bunch awkwardly holding looted wares from the Sporing Goods department. They seemed relieved to be able to lower their armament and unfired. The mass of open space had been transformed into a small-covered shanty town. Most of the racks were repurposed into makeshift tents, their skins a collage of pin-together t-shirts and sweaters, or billowing-layered sheeting, or top-plastic tops. From beneath many peer the eyes of children, or the occasional mutt. I couldn't help but notice that even if he'd slung his gun, Pappy, you were sticking close. "Am I wrong in thinking you spent a little time overseas?" I asked him, figuring I'd rather be chaperoned by an acquaintance. "Nope." "What they discharge you at?" "Lieutenant." "Why'd you stay home?" "An injury." Given his apparent adaptation over discussing personal topics, I decided to change my approach. "You keep pets?" "Yep." "The, uh, odor in here isn't exactly an ocean breeze, but it's not an internment camp either." And yet, I didn't notice any dogs wandering a lot. "How do you, uh, keep it so tidy?" We let him squat in a corner in the maintenance area, then bag it and collect it on the roof. Actually, we use it as part of our SOS for passing planes and helicopters. There's a herd of cats in the back, nearly feral now, I guess. We don't see him much, but we got a place we pile a litter deep. Helps keep the smell down. "So," I said, motioning towards his compatriot, whose arm was still draped over many. "Where we headed?" "The maintenance area," he replied. "We've got to shoot you, we'd rather than mess all in one place." "Oh, do you think that sort of thing will be necessary, then?" "Not my car, there'll be a vote." Pushing through a set of swinging double doors, we came to a semi-circle of folding chairs, sit on the bare and concrete of the stockroom. Half-dozen faces observed our entry, and they didn't appear friendly. They wandered in an explanation of our presence, and I gave an overview of our adventures, with occasional interjections from Minnie. I was careful to throw the weight of my opinion behind the girl's account of her crimson state, but I must confess, although I suspected she was healthy, I couldn't be sure. I did realize, however, that if the Inquisition thought her infected, it would put my own state under heavy suspicion. Once we'd satisfied their historical questions, a slight-faced man was a wreath of short hair ringing his bulb paid ass. So what are your intentions? Without hesitating, I laid out my plan. Well, if you're agreeable, I'd like to get a hold of the keys to that transport outside, and maybe a fill-up before I go if you don't mind, from what I can glean you in looking for a rescue. But Uncle Sam helps those who help themselves, detach the truck and let me drive it out of here. I'll ride it straight to the blockade, and my first priority will be to get a helicopter out here to pick everyone up. It was a long shot, but even if I had to settle for staying a while, it was my thinking that at least I'd have planted the seed. I couldn't have planned what happened next. Mr. Boldy stood. Carter, you always were in a loof bugger. Doesn't sound like you've gone any more off your rock than usual, though. I had to squint to recognize him in his unshaven state, but it dawned on me that this man had once been my neighbour. The previous time I'd seen him, he was fleeing his home, even while I attempted to save my own from burning. We'd never exchanged words, and frankly, after our last encounter, I'd rather suspected he'd murdered his family. He continued. We'd known for a while that someone would have to go. We'd push the crazies out once, but we can't risk their return. Or worse, he had infection running through the store. And the shelves are getting emptier every day. To be sure he doesn't forget his obligations, and to increase his odds, I'll go with him. The group moment consent. Some going so far as to reach out and touch his hands and thanks. "Sooner off the better," I said. Afraid any delay might lead to a sudden change of minds, or a call for a more trusted driver. Mini cleared her throat. "I'd like to stay," she said, pointedly not looking at me. "I'll find a way to earn my keep. I'm good with animals, so maybe I can help with the cats, somehow." "I won't lie. I felt a pain at the turn." As a gather debated, she faced me to explain. "You've been nice, but there's safety in numbers. And, well, after you left me with Newton... I'm not sure you're the best travel buddy." Before I could come up with a response, a small council came to a decision. "Fine," said Mr. Baldy. They'd already prepared suppliers in case of an emergency evacuation, and we were on the road within an hour. With a bit of experimentation in moving, then replacing the burnt van husks that acted as corks to the parking lot's exit lanes, I was feeling much more confident in my admittedly rusty regrangling skills. And it was some consolation to my wounded ego to see Mini wipe away a tear as we hugged our goodbyes. I couldn't know then how well the girl would actually make out, and I must say, as we departed, I felt some concern that I may have just left an infected killer amidst a gaggle of strangers, or a vulnerable teen amongst an unfamiliar horde. Still, it was my babysitter and I accelerated. It was difficult to argue with the pull of the engine, the blue sky, and the speeds achievable on the open stretches of deserted highway. 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. ♪ ♪ Sunday is gloomy, my hours are stumbled ♪ ♪ Here is the shadows I live with are stumbled ♪ (upbeat music)