Part 1 of 3
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Tonight, Harm Carter is told a tale of mechanical menace and human tragedy.
The Skinner Co. Network
183 - The Murder Plague: Buggy, Part 1 of 3
[music] Welcome to Flashpulp, episode 183. Tonight, we present the murder plague. Buggy, part one, the three. This week's episodes are brought to you by the Flashmulb on Facebook. Like discovering a clown car under your bed. A clown car full of hugs. Find it at http/on.fb.me/mmolqc or click the link at flashpulp.com. [music] [music] [music] Flashpulp is an experiment in broadcasting freshpulp stories in the modern age. Three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight, Harm Carter is told tale of mechanical medicine and human tragedy. The murder plague. Buggy, part one, those three. Written by J.R.D. Skinner. Art and narration by Poconax. An audio produced by Jessica Mee. [music] [music] [music] [music] [music] [music] [music] [music] [music] [music] [music] [music] A strenuous rescue from the sharpshooter and the sort of sleepless unrest you'll get when someone is attempting to assassinate you. Left us fatigued and eager for unconsciousness. Once we'd extensively thanked our slabbed-arm liberator. A strongman, Newton, had set up a small camp alongside a creek. The site was entirely sheltered from the road by a thick wall of trees. And we took turns sleeping, bathing in the mucky water and keeping a watch for any roaming infected paranoia who might suddenly pop out of the bush like a game of rabid whack-a-mold. After a quartet of raggedly snored symphonies, we gathered at the edge of the brook and by the moon's glow did some accounting. Jeremy, Minnie and I had little to offer beyond the empty gun I'd taken from Tyrone, where as Newton displayed an array of tin stews, a bright blue high-powered flashlight, and a functional knowledge of the area. It certainly appeared that we were getting the better part of the deal. I thought, said Jeremy, that all the houses around here were booby traps. If so, where'd you find the cans? You had to get those somewhere. Why were you sleeping on dirt? More than looking a gift horse in the mouth, it seemed to me that the lad's tone was smacking the nag and the teeth. But I'll host answer it before I was able to say so. "Let me tell you a story," said Newton, laying his massive frame out on the grass. Like I said, back before the engine quit, there were twelve of us. We all knew the situation. We'd stolen...borrowed, the bus hoping to ride it straight to the military blockade. Everything was easy peasy until...he paused then, tossing a stone into the river. I remember it, because I knew it was a sign that he was truly agitated. No hardened survivor of the murder plague, who isn't distracted, makes unnecessary noise. I don't want to go through the whole list, but after some politics, some infections and some poor choices, came down to me, Pam and Larry. It wasn't so long ago that they were the ones sitting here. Anyhow, they got hungry, and we started arguing. They were pushing in to try looting another place, but that was mostly how we'd lost the other night. And I thought it was a better idea to just start walking, and hope for the best, or at least, a town. Now, there'd been this buzzing sound going by. It's hard to describe, sort of a souped up weed whacker. Of course, we'd avoided it, which was easy enough, since you'd notice it coming at a distance. It's always pitch blackout when it blows by. "You don't know what it looks like?" asked Minnie. It was a strong question, but she'd proposed it in the softest tone I'd heard from the team. Now, I'd rather think she'd taken quite a shine to our Hercules by then. Less approving was the scowl on Jeremy's face. "Well, no, I figure if I can see it, it can see me," Newton replied. My point, though, is that we'd noticed it a bunch, but, despite it only showing up when it was night, those two idiots thought they'd go out to hunt Grub and Dark. There it was a bit of a goof, but Pam had her head on pretty straight, generally, and I argued with her for quite a while before they left. I watched their backs disappear into the trees, and I was alone for the first time since the outbreak. The minutes dragged on. I lost track of how long they were gone. I started sweating, pacing, and generally freaking out. Hours later, I heard Larry laughing. It was pretty far off, across the road still, but he was celebrating with that annoying chicken chapel of his, rubbing it in that they'd found treasure. However annoyed I might have been at the jerk. I was eager for a little grub in my belly. Then came the shriek, that maniac yard-equipment sound. I don't know what happened. Maybe they thought their luck might hold, or that was a patrol of some sort? Maybe they couldn't tell how much faster it seemed than before. In any case, it ended with them screaming. Larry kept asking for help relentlessly, but Pam was just crying and squealing. She didn't even sound human. I thought that the roaming buzz saw noise was leaving, but it was just giving itself running room. It came by at full tilt, then, well, then there was nothing. Silence. When the sun came up, I went looking. Bits of them were spread out over a good half mile of the pavement. I found a duffel bag with those stew cans in it, next to Larry's severed hand. The bugs had already done quite a number on the stump. On that note of goal, he understandably stopped the recital. But Jeremy leapt into the gap with a question. You must have driven by this spot in the Escalade. I didn't see a pupil smear anywhere. He spent a good portion of the day tidying, and vomiting. You may have noticed the duffel wasn't amongst my contributions. He pointed over the stream, a sandy patch behind a cluster of immature spruce. I hadn't noticed that until then that churned the area's oath appeared. But I was pleased with my inadvertent choice of slumbering on the bank furthest from the burial side. [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]