Part 2 of 3
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Tonight, Harm Carter pulls into a roadside gas station, and must convene a jury of his peers.
The Skinner Co. Network
156 - The Murder Plague: Democracy, Part 2 of 3
[music playing] Welcome to FlashPulp, episode 156. Tonight, we present the murder plague, Democracy, Part 2 of 3. This week's episodes are brought to you by the NuttyBites Podcast. Wake up, go to work, work, come home, eat dinner, brought your brain out, go to bed, lather, rinse, repeat. Are you tired of an old home drum life, tired of things that just weigh you down and depress you? And you're rather just focused on things that are awesome. Tune in to NuttyBites, find out what's awesome, NuttyBites, nimlas.org/blog. [music playing] 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 pulls into a roadside gas station and must convene a jury of his peers. The murder plague, Democracy, Part 2 of 3. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, Art and Narration Biopoponax, and Audio produced by Jessica May. [music playing] [music playing] [music playing] Once back on the road, we were making good time on the highway when the escalates fuel light came on. I had to ask myself a pressing question. When the looting simply becomes salvaging. If trapped in the middle of a contagion that transforms friends and family into paranoia-acara-emocitals, is it an ethical issue to run off with a bag of fritos and a tank of gas? The reality, given my operation of a vehicle which I had borrowed from an acquaintance who my personally ended, was that I'd already made my decision. As such, and at the vocal insistence of my companion's bladders, I pulled over at a deserted parking lot of a gas-and-go. I tugged the keys from the ignition and made my way to the glass door, not terribly excited about the idea of being shot for plundering. I peered between the scratch ticket advertisements and followed it up by shouting for service. None appeared. My preference would have been to wait at outer moment, but behind me, I could hear my cohort stuck in an urgent two-step jig, so I gave the handler a tug. I was surprised when the entrance opened with a cheery bing. Up until that point, my fellow travellers had watched my prodding with trepidation and locked knees, but unwilling or unable to hold on any longer, Johanna pushed me aside to brave the interior. As she moved past the Doritos display rack, I shrugged and returned to the pumps. Across the pavement, I heard Tyrone let out a snort as he surveyed the scene. Jeremy was still at the vehicle as I twisted off the gas cap. His eyes seemed to be tracking a tennis game, taking place between the store's entry and the highway. Finally, he said, "I'm going around to the rear. Listen in case I need help." "Well," I replied, "I think you're probably a big enough boy, too." "Ha ha!" he interrupted. "I mean, I may start to yell if there's some sort of psycho thinking my need to piss is somehow a plan to slowly drown them." He trotted around the building's vinyl-sided corner. "I'd kill for a cigarette," said Tyrone. As the blocking numbers tallied the cost of the fuel, I had no intention of paying for. We watched Minnie, still dancing from foot to foot by the gas station's door. I seemed to be both busy placing silent bets with ourselves regarding her fortitude. I quit 35 years ago, but it seems like a waste of willpower, considering the state of the world. Gonna head in with me? Once my knees are stretched out, help an old man reach for a pack? He smiled at me. The only time I ever saw him do so. Still squeezing the handle, I thought of Johanna, and her hidden flask. "Suppose," I replied, "we make it to the military blockade. Maybe it takes us weeks, months even, but somehow we all managed to cross over. And better yet, there's a vaccine, or even a cure waiting." There you are, stretched out on a free army-caught, a hot meal in your belly, and you're thinking you've made it. Then the news comes down that the routine physical you just took detected a big black gob of cancer in your left lung. You don't want to be that schmuck, do you? There was an edge in his eyes that piqued my curiosity about his response, but I never heard it. That's when Minnie started screaming. Johanna had exited the store, and her floor print dress was now slick, crimson. Stepping in her direction, I tried to sus out where or how she might have been hurt. Jo had her arms out, almost as if to say, "but you look at this mess." Before I'd halved the distance, she turned towards the still screaming teen, and that's when the girl finally shut up. There's too busy swinging her fists to be slowed by unnecessary noise-making. As I pulled Minnie away, Jamie reappeared. Never wanted to rush to judgment, he shouted, "She's snapped!" "No, I haven't. There was a man back there. While I was sitting there, he suddenly burst through the door. I've never been so afraid in my life." I couldn't tell if she was in shock or not, but it was certainly the longest I'd ever heard her speak in a single breath. Not caring who saw, she retrieved her rye and emptied the container. I don't even know how I did it. I hit him with the toilet cover, I guess, and he went into the mirror, and his head was sprinkling everywhere. As we hid each other, all the cuts sprayed like we were shaking out a wet towel full of blood. She needed a hug, but I'd never been one for initiating human contact. I should have, though. "How can we know that's true?" shouted Jamie. His cheeks had gone red with excitement, and his words were accompanied by vigorous arm flailing. The guy was probably trying to find help, and she had a spaz out. She's infected, and we should leave her here. "Well, fortunately, Elle Presidente, it's not your decision alone. I've had to do some pretty ugly things in the last few days, and I believe her story. I say she comes." "I won't get in the truck if she's coming," said Jamie. "You're a free man," I replied. I turned to Minnie. "And your vote?" The girl rounded on the silently weeping drunk. "I'm sorry I hit you. I just panicked." "I believe your story, though." Wheeling towards Tyrone, I was hopeful about the results of the headcount. I was very surprised to see the Kaja holding a pistol, but I was more so when Johanna's face disappeared, with three sharp pops. [Music] FlashPulp is presented by http colon slash slash Skinner dot FM. The audio and text formats of FlashPulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. [Music]