Traveling Merchant (Book 1): Merchant

by Seymour, William J.

  Making quick work of the stairs that lead him to road level, he stays to the shadows as he eases his way around the front desk. The boards that once created the working surface have been removed, leaving the empty leg frames sprawled on the floor. He grabs one and hooks one of its nails into a loop on the back of his pants. It isn’t held securely, but it will have to do. Closing his jacket tight around his chest, he puts his head to the ground and steps outside.

  Cold, shrill air pinches at his skin, and he breathes a puff of warm breath into his hand. Secretly, he keeps his eyes on the dark shadows that fill the empty gaps between buildings. Broken windows watch as he moves slowly up the road, his feet crunching the snow, and the light from the burning fire casting a yellow glow across the ice crystals

  His shadow follows him, growing into a taller, formidable presence in his passing, and he is now twenty feet from where the two who sit for warmth wait. They have yet to notice him. The fire in his blood begins to burn, his heart slowing, and his muscles twitch in anticipation. Eyes, beady and yellow, blink from all around him. None steps up to challenge, as if they had been expecting him.

  “Hello there,” Merchant calls out.

  One of the infected cocks his head toward him, a piece of red, juicy meat hanging between teeth and rivers of blood running down his pale chin.

  “I didn’t catch your names back there by the interstate,” Merchant says. “I see that you found my bag. I was beginning to worry I would never see it again.”

  He can hear the movement of feet all around him now. Remaining in the shadows, he can feel their thirst as much as he can feel the cold that bites at his cheeks.

  “You don’t mind if I take this back, do you? I’ll just check if everything is here, and I’ll be on my way.”

  The second infected stands, and now both are looking at him. They are similar to those who found him days earlier. Infection spreading its way through their bodies, but curiously only on one side. These two men are strong, still young, but a hunger burns in their eyes. Whatever helped them fight the disease earlier has lost its touch. They will soon be out of control.

  “We thought you were dead when we cracked your skull open,” a raspy voice says from the alleyway to his left.

  A tall one steps out. Two inches taller than even Merchant. Infection has cratered the left side of his face, and his right eye is yellow with jaundice and seeping pinkish blood. In his right hand, he holds an old Louisville Slugger with several nails hammered into the end. His left twitches uncontrollably, and his nails have grown into devastating claws.

  “For your sake, you should have stayed dead. Now, we won’t be so kind to leave you where you fall.”

  Merchant does a slow spin, his hands held up passively as six others step out into a circle around him. That makes nine plus the dead one.

  “Damn, where did those come from?” Merchant whispers to himself.

  “Oh, this is going to be so much fun,” Snake-Eyes giggles.

  The ghost materializes beside Merchant’s discarded bag and sits down. A box of popcorn resting on his crossed leg. He winks one of the eyes on his neck before popping a kernel into his mouth.

  “Asshole,” Merchant gets out before the two who watch the fire charge him.

  He ducks forward and both men’s momentums carry them past. Rising, he brings hand and broken desk leg up in an arc that shatters the jaw of the first who turns. Blood and teeth spin wildly into the air. Tumbling, the first hits the ground in time to watch the second swing widely and miss Merchant by a foot. Two quick jabs with the stick and a kneecap is popped and wood now juts through trachea and out the other side.

  Merchant rips his weapon free, and a red fountain sprays across the snow. Thirst for blood and fresh meat overtakes the others. They attack in a frenzy, uncontrolled and in a mad rush that Merchant steps and slides through like water. One falls with a broken neck, another a skull that splits open from tip down through his nose. A red river flows its way down the Main Street. Another drops as she trips over the one with the broken jaw, unable to get up in time before Merchant’s boot flattens her neck to the pavement.

  “Roses are red, violets are blue,” Snake-Eyes sings out.

  One of the infected is able to get his arms around Merchant’s body. He begins to squeeze, and Merchant can feel his ribs begin to crack.

  “Oh, I wish you would stop playing and finish them, won’t you.”

  Another rushes in, small blade in hand, the light of the fire reflecting off its surface. Merchant slams his boot down as hard as he can, and he feels the tiny bones of toes crush under his heel. A screech escapes the man’s lips a moment before blood gushes out as his nose is crushed against the back of Merchant’s skull. Spinning his weight, Merchant puts the infected in front of the knife that shoves forward to skewer him. Dark blood pools on the man’s filthy shirt as two inches of shiv stick out through the man’s liver.

  Merchant slaps down on the blade and feels the tissue rip as the monster’s guts spill out. With a kick, he sends the dead man tumbling backward into the one behind, and they both hit the ground.

  Exploding pain erupts through Merchant’s back as he is thrown to the ground. Fire races through his skin when he turns onto his back. Blood drips from the rusty nails while the tall one slowly approaches.

  “A tough one, aren’t you?”

  He taps the end of his weapon in his hand.

  “Fuck, I’m going to enjoy this,” the man says as he lifts the bat over his head.

  Red embers and yellow sparks kick up into the air around the infected’s face. Merchant rolls out of the way, flaming log of wood in his hand as the bat cracks into the frozen ground inches from his body. Rolling back to his feet, fire and smoke swing out and crack the side of a woman’s face, and her voice sings a shrill song into the night. He finishes her off with a kick to the face that spins her neck like a top, and now the tall one is all that stands.

  Merchant stretches his back, and his joints pop. He can feel the blood dripping down his skin, and the steam that rises from his body.

  “I told you I only wanted what was mine,” he says.

  “That one there really isn’t listening,” Snake-Eyes adds.

  A wicked smile stretches across the infected man’s face. Blood trickles between his teeth and blisters pop where the skin and scales of his face are burned. Lifting the bat over his head, he lets out a scream like an animal gone wild a moment before the side of his head explodes in a gory, slush-filled mess. His body flops to the ground like an empty sack, and his blood begins to pool with the others.

  “God damn, that took long enough. Though, I’m mightily impressed you could do that with only a broken piece of furniture,” a young female voice calls out.

  “Now, this keeps getting better,” Snake-Eyes says as he wipes his hand over his head to smooth out his hair.

  Merchant turns to the alley across the way, the flames of the bonfire separating him and the one who approaches. Snake-Eyes glides over to his side.

  “Maybe these infected aren’t as bad as we thought,” Snake-Eyes whispers.

  Merchant has no words as the stranger steps out from the shadows and points the pistol at his head.

  Seven

  Today

  Warmth and softness.

  Trickling water and the smell of soap.

  This must be a dream.

  Eyes flutter open. The pain of bruises comes to life as the searing light of a single light bulb sways above her.

  “Shhh, don’t move. It won’t hurt as much if you don’t move,” a soothing voice whispers.

  A damp cloth is placed on her forehead, and her eyes grow heavy. She lets them close and feels the stress of her body fades. More water is splashed and another wet compress is placed over her arm. A warmth spreads through her shoulder, which is quickly pushed away by a sharpness that sets her heart racing.

  Eyes burst open at the pain, which quickly numbs as fast as it arrived. Pale blue eyes look down at her, a smile
like a child warms the face that watches her from above. Soft brown hair spills gently over the young woman’s face. Beautiful and simple.

  Confused, she pushes herself up and the world spins in her mind. Stomach lurching, she falls to her side and dry heaves, but nothing comes out.

  “Please, don’t move so fast. You need to rest or you’ll never heal,” the young girl says.

  Delicate hands grip her arms gently and try to pull her back down. Resisting, she slides away.

  “Where am I? Who are you?”

  The girl slides forward and places a reassuring hand onto her knee. The touch is soft and reminds her of a mother who left her years ago.

  “My name is Alexis. We are in the birthing ward,” the girl answers. “You were brought here after you were attacked in the judging circle. Usually, they don’t bring you here after such an ordeal, but you were bleeding badly, and the Father’s Chosen wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “Father’s Chosen? Birthing ward? What the fuck is going on around here?”

  She tries to push this girl, Alexis, away, but she doesn’t have the strength. For the first time, she notices the tubes running from her arms up to IV bags and the beeping of a heart monitor that is now racing with the thoughts that spin in her mind. There are so many questions, and she can barely keep up.

  “Yes, he was our Savior’s first child and greatest triumph. You are blessed that he sees you in such favor,” Alexis continues.

  “I can barely remember anything. One of them bit me, and then…then I was pulled out of the cage. He started choking me, his fingers were ripping through my throat.”

  “That is him. All the strengths of the gods were given when he was born to this cursed world. He did it to protect you,” the girl says. “Once you were asleep, he punished those who hurt you, and then brought you here so we could help you get your strength back.”

  “Brought me here? Wait a minute. You think I’m going to be staying?”

  Frantically, though her movements feel sluggish, she tries to rip the tubes taped to her arm. Soft, gentle hands quickly seize like iron, and she can’t find the strength to fight them. Everything swims around her as if the air was really water. She is suddenly dizzy, and the urge to lay down is overwhelming.

  “Just let me go. Give me a jacket and any food you can spare. I won’t tell anyone, and I’ll be gone before anyone notices.”

  The young girl places her warm fingers to her lips to stop her from talking.

  “Please, slow down. You are still hurt. Take a moment and catch your breath. First, tell me your name, and I will fill you in on where you are and what is happening.”

  She looks around the room. They are alone other than a row of a dozen empty beds.

  A hospital ward.

  Clear IV stations run down to the vacant slots, and a dozen machines blink red and green lights.

  “My name? It’s Elizabeth,” she answers.

  The air in the room is suddenly warmer than she has felt in weeks, but it still sends a shiver down her spine. She feels like she is beginning to sweat. Her stomach turns, and an acid burp forces its way through her mouth. Alexis smiles, her light-colored eyes closing as the dimples in her chin spread and her brown hair falls around her face.

  “Well, Elizabeth, it is nice to meet you. I want to be the first to welcome you to the city of Resurrection.”

  A pale arm stretches out and displays the empty room as if it was a higher-class mansion.

  “The city of Resurrection?” Elizabeth asks.

  “Yes, our father has chosen this sacred place to start the world again.” Alexis nods her head as the words are recited as if they were at church. “The prophecies told us of the coming of the apocalypse. God came to Earth, and in his graces, has chosen those of us here worthy of being his new flock. He even bore a new son for us, to lead us through the darkest days ahead.”

  “That freak of a man? That is God’s chosen son?”

  Short hair bobs up and down enthusiastically, the pale eyes lost behind a mass of loose strands.

  “And by judging his current actions, I think you are something special in his eyes. I’ve never seen him take such interest in anyone, especially a stray from outside the city.”

  “A stray? Like a dog? Thanks, I think,” Elizabeth says.

  Alexis smiles genuinely and begins to pull her back to where she can lay down on the bed.

  “Sleep now. You need more rest. Your wounds need time or the infection will spread.”

  “Infection?” Elizabeth shoves the girl away, her heart pounding and the drugs clearing from her mind.

  She reaches for the dressing on her shoulder. The white gauze has the slightest of pink hue where the blood is soaking through.

  “No, don’t touch that!” Alexis orders. “There is no infection here. At least not like the kind that killed our world.”

  Elizabeth looks the young girl deep in her eyes. Breathing heavily, she realizes how hard it is becoming to catch her breath.

  “You are one of the lucky ones, Elizabeth. The curse of this world has not touched you. Your wounds were savage, but our master’s medicines are strong. You need time to heal. Now rest.”

  A soft pillow comforts her as she lays back down. The young girl raises her hand and turns a knob on the IV drip. She can see it begin to feed the medicine faster. Shadows from the darkest corners of the room fill around her. Alexis is talking, but the words are slurred, and Elizabeth does not understand them.

  The light that swings over her bed is all that she can see.

  Left.

  Right.

  Left.

  Darkness.

  Sleep breaks easily with the warmth of the morning sun. Golden rays, filtering through glass, shine into the room, the glorious light spilling across the empty beds. White sheets tuck in tightly with single pillows waiting for needy heads.

  Elizabeth pushes herself up until she is seated. There is no pain. A little tightness pinches her joints, but the stiffness slips quickly away. There is no one else in the room. Running her hands down her arms, she feels the bandage that holds her shoulder tight, and the cloth is clean and fresh. A single IV runs into her hand, and the heart monitor next to her bed is on, but registers a flat green line as the green and red dials blink like those at the empty beds.

  Pulling the covers away from her legs, she is happy to see she isn’t bound, and slipping over the edge, ice cold tiles send shocks through her legs that threaten to spill her to the ground. Catching herself, she now feels how cold it is and pulls the blanket from the bed, white and fresh like all the others, and wraps it around herself.

  Where is Alexis?

  She realizes she misses the young girl standing alone in the empty room, her shadow her only companion. It is a strange feeling. Having been a loner for such a long time, that young girl is the first person to show her any kind of concern.

  Maybe it’s the drugs that are softening her edge.

  Yes, it must be the drugs.

  She shrugs the blanket higher and lifts her chin. There is no time for softness.

  Bare feet tap cautiously against cold tile as she slips past the beds. A sharp pinch spins her and a few drops of blood splatter to the ground. The needle from the IV recoils across the floor.

  “Damn it!” she swears, and grabbing a roll of gauze sitting beside a vacant slot, she quickly wraps her hand.

  The door below the unlit exit sign is not locked, the window looking into the hall is too high for her to look through. Pressing her ear against the cold steel frame, she can’t hear anyone out in the hall. The hinges make very little noise as she pushes her way into the hallway. Someone has been sure to keep this place working.

  She is alone in the sterile tunnel. Left or right, she has no idea which way to go.

  Reluctant to stop, she turns to the right and continues on.

  Bright white walls line the path that is filled with dark, empty rooms all around her. Vacant chairs with single tables lay out like sc
attered islands. Waiting areas for families desperate for good news on the condition of family members who knock on death’s door. She hasn’t seen a working hospital like this in years. Memories flood her mind of them being overcrowded, the dead and injured laying in the halls, bleeding and spreading an infection that would kill the vast majority of them. All of that was after the devastating wars that tore this country apart, and if the reports she had heard were correct, the entire world fell apart with it. Deaths from bombs and poisons were in the millions. Those who survived this country’s darkest days were vulnerable when the infection attacked.

  No one stops her when she reaches the end of the hall. An L-shaped reception desk with a chair and unpowered computer sit empty. File cabinets are open, but there are no papers in them. The arms on the clock say 3:15, but she has no way of telling if it’s am or pm and the second hand isn’t moving anyway. Rummaging through the desk, she looks for anything sharp. A knife. A pair of scissors. A set of god-damn keys that she can use if they find her. There is nothing but a pencil. The point is dull, still able to write, but dull.

  She grabs it anyway and tucks it between fingers that hold her blanket around her. Cold air pricks at her skin. Not freezing, but chilled and empty. As if she is the only person left in the world.

  Moving, there is a stairwell at the end of the hall, the exit sign pointing at it with a big red, shiny arrow. It’s not like they won’t expect her to go that way. Reluctantly, she has no other option and follows where the instructions tell her to go.

  Three levels down and the stairwell ends. She can hear voices now. Dozens of them. Talking, arguing, and laughing. If she closes her eyes, pushes away all memories of the bad things that have happened in this world, she can imagine what she knows of the world has only been a nightmare. Standing in an empty stairwell, with nothing but a medical gown and blanket, quickly helps her forget that crazy idea.