Pro Se Presents: February 2013

By Pro Se Press

Pro Se Presents 17 Explodes with Three New Tales by Three of the Finest Authors of New Pulp Today! New Pulp Publisher and Author Ron Fortier introduces a brand new heroine in FURY IN VERMONT! The Master of Psychedelic Pulp, Chuck Miller, comes out punchin' with another great tale of the Black Centipede, THE PLAGUE'S THE THING! Pulp Author of the Year Teel James Glenn introduces a new character as Marshal Sovereign Wolf takes on mystery in SNAKE AND WOLF! Find out why Fortier, Miller, and Glenn are the Best and why Pro Se Presents is the New Pulp Magazine to buy! From Pro Se Productions, Puttin' The Monthly Back into Pulp!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Mar 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301098064

Pro Se Press

Based in Batesville, Arkansas, Pro Se Productions has become a leader on the cutting edge of New Pulp Fiction in a very short time.Pulp Fiction, known by many names and identified as being action/adventure, fast paced, hero versus villain, over the top characters and tight, yet extravagant plots, is experiencing a resurgence like never before. And Pro Se Press is a major part of the revival, one of the reasons that New Pulp is growing by leaps and bounds.

Book preview

PRO SE PRESENTS

NEW AUTHORS - NEW VISIONS - NEW PULP FICTION FOR A NEW GENERATION

FEBRUARY 2013

Copyright © 2013, Pro Se Productions

Published by Pro Se Press at Smashwords

The stories in this publication are fictional. All of the characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.

Edited by- Lee Houston, Jr.

Editor in Chief, Pro Se Productions-Tommy Hancock

Submissions Editor-Barry Reese

Publisher & Pro Se Productions, LLC-Chief Executive Officer-Fuller Bumpers

Pro Se Productions, LLC

133 1/2 Broad Street

Batesville, AR, 72501

870-834-4022

[e-mail]

www.prosepulp.com

Fury in Vermont copyright © 2013 Ron Fortier

The Plague’s the Thing copyright © 2013 Chuck Miller

Snake and Wolf copyright © 2013 Teel James Glenn

Cover and Interior Art, Book Design, Layout, and additional graphics by Sean E. Ali

E-book design and layout by Russ Anderson

TABLE OF CONTENTS

FURY IN VERMONT

by Ron Fortier

THE PLAGUE'S THE THING

by Chuck Miller

SNAKE & WOLF

by Teel James Glenn

FURY IN VERMONT

By Ron Fortier

The silver painted, 812 Cord Cabriolet wound its way smoothly over the small back roads of Vermont’s northern woods like a sparkling needle through an evergreen haystack. The V-8 Lycoming engine, with its horizontal supercharger, purred like a contented lioness on the hunt. The canvas top had been sealed in its rear compartment and the two occupants relished the cool air of a late summer morning.

They were a striking couple to say the least. The man in the passenger seat was a tall, lanky fellow with thick brown hair the color of rich loam. He had a tanned complexion that testified to an outdoor life further enhanced by the weathered crow’s feet around his energetic green eyes. Decked out in heavy boots, jeans, a cotton shirt and leather jacket, Donat Cartier was a dramatic, handsome figure.

When people learned he had once worn the bright red jacket of a Canadian Royal Mounted policeman, they accepted the declaration immediately, for this was clearly a man to with reckon with. Now, as the wind whipped over his face and right shoulder, Cartier mused inwardly about that old career. Had it not been for the incident in Manitoba four years ago, he might still be a manhunter in the frozen north country.

He might also be dead, which would have been his fate but for the timely intervention of the beautiful woman behind the wheel of the speeding auto. He looked at her and marveled for the thousandth time at the stunning feminine perfection of his companion.

With a tall, blonde Scandinavian mother and a Japanese father, Kate Furyaka was a stunning creature. At six feet, she had not only inherited her athlete mother’s height, but also her voluptuousness. Whereas her dusky skin and shoulder length raven black hair gave her a truly exotic appearance, her dazzling blue eyes gave a faint almond shape hint to her oriental heritage, while her full red lips were uniquely her own.

Fury, as the world press had come to call her, was attired in her normal traveling suit consisting of calf-high leather boots, jodhpurs, a wide utility belt festooned with pouches and a light blue, heavy cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled up past her elbows. Not one to flout her good looks, she had no need of garish make up or gaudy jewelry. Her only concession to either was a thin veneer of lipstick and a single gold pendant draped around her long neck with the Egyptian ankh symbol upon it. There was also a man’s wristwatch on her left arm and she wore soft leather racing gloves.

So, Kate, tell me again why we are traipsing through the backwoods of cow and cheese country on such a lovely day? asked her companion.

Without taking her eyes from the winding road, Fury replied, Okay, but try to pay attention this time.

Cartier winced. Hey, I was partying last night. How’d I know you were going to come knocking at my door at the crack of dawn. He massaged his temple as if rubbing away a headache. You could at least have brought along a pot of coffee.

In the glove compartment, Fury offered. Sorry I couldn’t stop to get doughnuts. But they’re really not good for you.

Cartier opened the compartment, pulled out the orange colored Thermos, and began to unscrew the cap. What’s the point, in our line of work? You don’t really expect to die of old age, do you? He began to pour the steaming black coffee into the cup top. You want some?

No thanks. Maybe later, when we get to Cherryfield.

Now that’s a pretty name. No doubt for a quaint little New England hamlet. He raised his cup to her in salute, and then took a tentative sip. Ah, the elixir of renewal.

A month ago I ran into my old college professor, Doctor Ann Wilkerson. She’s a social anthropologist doing work on secret cults in western civilization, explained Fury. During lunch together, she told me she’s been following a series of bizarre news stories from this part of country.

What kind of stories?

People disappearing in the woods. Experienced hikers and vacationers. At least six in the past three months. After extensive search parties failed to locate any of the missing, the authorities pretty much just closed the book on the entire matter.

But not your friend, the doc?

No. Apparently she had gotten a letter from a Forest Ranger alluding to some kind of satanic cult operating within the area.

Aha, now the plot thickens. Did your friend contact this guy? asked Donat.

Oh yes. Turns out he was the last person to vanish.

That’s decidedly not good.

Fury gripped the steering wheel tightly as she navigated a particularly sharp turn that took led them to a down sloping stretch along a small valley brook to their left. The Cord hugged the road like a magnet on wheels. Ann said she was going to come here and investigate, starting from the place where the Ranger’s letter was postmarked.

Cherryfield, Vermont.

Check. Last night I got a call for her assistant, frantic with worry. Ann usually checks in with her office every few days. Only now it’s been five days since her last call and they are getting worried something has happened to her.

That does not sound good at all, mon ami, Cartier had a habit of slipping back into his native French when his thoughts sobered. Fury took it as a good sign.

What was most definitely not a good sign was the black and white police car parked diagonally across the road as Fury came around another hairpin turn at a better than average speed. Slapping one foot down on the clutch and the other on the brake pedal, she jerked the stick and downshifted hard into second gear to bring the car under control and stop it quick. The back tires screeched in protest, but the brakes did their job and even with a slight slant to the front end, they came to a complete halt a good thirty yards away from the blocking black and white cruiser.

Now what the hell is going on? Cartier spat out, still gripping the walnut dashboard. Fortunately he’d resealed the thermos before it bounced off his lap and hit the floor.

Fury switched off the engine and sat back into her cushioned seat, her tensed muscles relaxing.

The door to the police sedan popped open and a beefy deputy sheriff climbed out with a cold smile on his round, chubby face. He tilted his visored cap back on his head, hitched up his gun belt and sauntered over to the Cord. Hi yah, folks. That was some nice driving, lady. Way you stopped your car like that, on the dime.

Well, you did surprise us, Fury said cordially. Is there some kind of problem ahead?

The deputy answered with a question. Where you folks headed?

Cherryfield. Our map says it’s up ahead, replied Fury calmly.

Oh, yeah. That it is, ma’am. But I’m afraid I can’t let you pass. You see, we’ve got us a smallpox outbreak and the state medical people have put the whole town on quarantine.

Really? Funny I didn’t see anything about that in the papers ma’am.

Well, that’s because it only happened a few days now.

I see, commented Fury, not challengingly, but suspicious.

So, like I said, you’re going to have to turn around and go back the way you came. Sorry.

I’m sure you are only doing your duty, officer. But might I have a look at your quarantine certificate.

Huh? the big man blinked, clearly unprepared for her question. You mean like papers?

Yes, Fury smiled innocently. "You can’t establish a legal quarantine without the proper authority from the department of health and safety. You should have one in your possession or