Traveling Merchant (Book 1): Merchant

by Seymour, William J.

  Wood crackles and spits embers into the sky. Snake-eyes jumps up and tries to catch one with his tongue, but the searing piece glides right through him and down to the ground.

  “Damnit,” he shouts, but no one except Merchant can hear him.

  “This man-god, what does he do with these people?”

  With this question, she turns her attention back to the shadows. Scooting to the side, she is no longer looking at him, and her arms are wrapped around her body as if a sudden chill has overcome her.

  Merchant decides to wait her out. He turns back to the fire. The flames dance red and yellow, tiny demons leaping from dark, broken pieces of wood grayed with ash and bright against the coals.

  “He’s building an army,” she whispers.

  “An army?” Merchant asks.

  “Oh, this can’t be good for you,” Snake-eyes giggles. “I like it already.”

  “Yes, an army,” she spits out. “The man is crazier than the infected themselves. He says he is God returned and is going to lead the people back from the brink of Hell.”

  “How does he plan to do that?”

  She turns, and the anger burning in her eyes is brighter than the hottest coal.

  “By creating people like me, but not failures. Monsters with the strength of ten men and obedient to the death.”

  Tears fall down her cheeks, and she drops her chin onto her risen knees.

  “Creating people like you?”

  Merchant looks over at Snake-eyes, who shrugs, and the eyes on his neck continue to blink.

  “Yes, people like me. Do you think I was born like this?” She spits at him, her venom melting the snow between them. “I was pretty once, you know. Uninfected. I had men groveling at my feet, even out here in this wasteland. It was just my brother and I, ruling the world until the man-god arrived.”

  Her hand is back on the revolver, and she stares blankly into the firelight.

  “Then what happened?”

  “He lied. He lied to us all. Told us he was some savior, and through him we would all be saved.” She wipes away the tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “And we fucking believed him. Had this medicine. Told us it would make us immune to the disease that killed this world. Give us the ability to finally be born into the mold that God had foreseen for us. Fucking liar.”

  “His medicine gave you the infection?” Merchant asks.

  “So, people are manufacturing infected now?” Snake-Eyes adds, but no one cares.

  “That’s why he threw us out. It is supposed to stop after a day or two. Men and women heal ten times stronger than they were before. We could go days without eating, and the cold or heat does little to us.”

  “But?”

  “Some of us, like my brother and I, the infection didn’t stop. It is much slower than those who catch in naturally, but eventually, it takes you over.”

  “Where is your brother?” Merchant asks with a quick glance to the trail of blood that leads off into the shadows.

  “He’s not here. The infection took him too quickly. Hectar wanted to kill him the moment we noticed, but I got him out quietly.”

  “But you stayed,” Merchant adds.

  “Strength in numbers, you know. A woman needs to eat. Needs a safe place to sleep.”

  Both of them draw quiet as the fire continues to crackle and keep the storm at bay. Wind rustles down Main Street, a howl that reminds them they are alone in this world.

  “The infection doesn’t seem to be spreading for you any longer,” Merchant says, his attention lost to the shadows of the town.

  “It is slow, but still spreading,” Cherry Red says. “A month ago, it was only on my leg and stomach. Now, it is all the way up my neck. I’ll be lost soon, like my brother. Should have killed him when I had the chance. Would have been better off.”

  “She has that part right,” Snake-Eyes says.

  The ghost has himself spread around the fire, comfortably laying on the ground with his sights on the darkness above.

  “You know, if you close your eyes, you could probably have her tonight. One of those, quick bangs and leave her. She’d probably enjoy it until she loses her mind,” the ghost adds.

  Merchant glares at him.

  “Hey, I’m only saying what you are thinking, and I swear, I won’t watch.”

  Merchant turns back to the fire, hoping for silence.

  “Only for a few minutes, I swear,” Snake-Eyes says, almost pleading.

  “You know where this man-god and his people are?” Merchant asks, shifting toward the young woman so the ghost is no longer in his sight.

  “Going after her, aren’t you? I knew you had those crazy eyes,” she says, a small smile returning to her face below cheeks as red as her name.

  “It doesn’t matter what I’m doing. Do you know where they are?”

  “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. What is in it for me?”

  Merchant sighs and turns back to the flames. Silence hangs like a dead man’s weight between them.

  “Okay, maybe I do know where you can find them, but I want something in return.”

  “Here we go, this girl likes playing with fire!” Snake-Eyes shouts.

  He’s on his feet and dancing a jig that is a cross between a drunk man and the swaying of a starving dog.

  “Keep your requests,” Merchant says with a wave of the back of his hand. “I have enough burdens to carry.”

  “Look, you want to get that girl back, I can lead you right to their front door. Without me, you’ll be traveling west until you find yourself a mile into the sky, and you’ll never see an inch of her.”

  Eyes glaring, Merchant turns back to her.

  “See, you do want her. Do one thing for me, and she is all yours. Well, at least where she is.”

  “Here it comes,” Snake-Eyes says.

  “What do you want?”

  “Do what I wasn’t capable of. Kill my brother.”

  The joyous screams of the ghost as he dances around the fire are lost as the wind picks up and roars through the small town. Growling with thunder, the storm continues and Merchant turns back to the flames and wraps his hand tighter around the lone strap of his bag.

  Nine

  Today

  Firelight crackles in the wind, the flames whipping back and forth. Tiny embers, orange and bright, lift into the air, floating on the wind as the wood crackles and spits. Bonfires scatter themselves along the main thruway of the small village, the smell of fire and fresh wood becoming an incense in the night. They are beacons of light with people huddled around for warmth and companionship. Ten to twenty people with smiles and happiness as fake as their safety.

  Songs full of joy lift into the night sky. Like a practiced ensemble, the people of the town pick up the merriment. Women, men, and children alike, add their voices to the chorus. The sound is soft, harmonious, and yet gut-wrenching at the same time. Elizabeth scowls as the words form a crackle in her ears.

  Alexis calls them all families, Elizabeth thinks they are full of shit. Resting in the shadows, she watches and waits for the inevitable to come in and wash them all away in a tide of misery. That is all that is left in this world. It is not a matter of if, but when.

  Cold works its way in through fabric and anger. Biting into her skin where she stands against the corner of one of the empty buildings that is both within the flickering light of the fires but still hidden within the shadows. She watches from the sidelines like a child who refuses to be a part of the team. She can feel the heat from where she stands, enough to tempt her skin and send thoughts of comfort to her mind, but the brisk air at her back reminds her this is all an illusion. She cannot forget that.

  The sky is clear, black, and full of stars. Moonlight shines like a second sun high above the eastern horizon, a blinding white as cold as the winter air. Shadows ten feet tall stretch below their feet, dark watchers who follow their every move. Bitter air fights with the warmth of fire. Elizabeth wraps the thin white shawl she wears tighter aroun
d her body and allows the solid frame of the house to take more of her weight. Made of cotton and hand sewn, the garment comforts the skin of her neck and helps with the stiffness of her shoulder that has yet to loosen. The remainder of her attire is borrowed as well. Loose fitting denim jeans and a thick sweatshirt made of some of the warmest material she has ever worn. The gift was a nice gesture. It hurt when she had to say so, but she knows sometimes a little pain is worth it.

  A dog barks.

  A rangy mutt with mismatched wiry hair and a blind right eye as white as the snow, jumps back and forth between fire pits. Its tail wags as it runs between the separated communities. Children giggle at the animal’s antics and a few now chase it. Adults, presumably their parents, smile but keep a watchful eye as the young ones dart in and out of the shadows.

  “This is a little piece of Heaven here on Earth, isn’t it?” Alexis asks.

  Elizabeth startles and jumps away from where she is standing. Alexis’ slender form steps out from behind the shadows of an open door. She wears a shawl like Elizabeth does, but hers is green, and the loose threads tell of a good amount of use. The sign overhead says Attorneys at Law in faded gold letters, but there are no lawyers here.

  “Damnit, don’t do that again,” Elizabeth says.

  The young girl smiles with a small bite of her lower lip and nods her head.

  “This place is Heaven on Earth, isn’t it,” Alexis repeats.

  “Heaven? Hell? What’s the difference? If you ask me, I would say you are no freer than those assholes who lock themselves up in the cities,” Elizabeth answers.

  A gust of wind picks up, a sparkling of snow chilling the skin of her cheeks and her arms where the shawl is spread too thin. Paper scatters down the street, the people of the community huddling beneath thick winter clothing against the sudden intrusion. The song of the clueless begins to fade, and the million voices of the individual pick up.

  “But we are free here. We do not suffer behind walls of concrete and the rules of tyrants.”

  Elizabeth pulls her sweatshirt and shawl tighter and takes a step away from the building where she had thought herself finally alone.

  “Tyrants come in many sizes and shapes. Don’t let a wolf in sheep’s clothes fool you, Alexis.”

  “How can you judge so harshly, and without reason to do so? Our father does nothing but offer salvation and a life of love and happiness. He built this place with his bare hands, and gives it to us freely,” the young girl says before placing a gentle touch on Elizabeth’s arm. “The infected fear us, for the wrath of God will show them no mercy. We thrive. We are happy. Can you not see that, Elizabeth?”

  Pulling her arm away, Elizabeth looks from fire to fire. She counts at least half a dozen groups as delusional as the one who now torments her. Even if there was no moon this evening, there wouldn’t be enough darkness to hide from anyone.

  “What I see is an entire host of lost and confused people. The world isn’t coming back. No matter how much you want to try and believe that. We all went to Hell and the devil has its claws in each of us. Last time I was dragged to church, they told me he wasn’t one for letting go.”

  “I really hate to hear you talk like that, Elizabeth. It hurts me so,” Alexis says. The soft touch of young fingers presses down on her arm again, and Elizabeth fights the urge to rip the hand clear from the girl’s body. “You have to give it time. Your strength will return, and by then, you will see we are all one big family.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Have faith in our father. He will show you the way. Until then, remember you are in his son’s favor. You should know you are blessed.”

  Dread races through Elizabeth’s veins like ice, stiffening the muscles within her chest as she looks out for any sign of him. He watches her even now from the shadows like a ghost that haunts her. They call him the Chosen. To her, he is a giant from the pits of hell.

  “Go sit by the fire, Alexis. Find someone else who wants to hear the lies you tell yourself.”

  The young girl doesn’t move, but she also no longer speaks. Elizabeth refuses to turn and see the girl’s reaction. She can’t make herself see what she has done.

  Why does she care?

  A small amount of the drugs must still be in her system. She has heard of the good ones that stay with you for a couple days. That must be it. They must have used the good ones.

  Snow crunches beneath light footsteps. Alexis begins the slow walk toward the nearest fire, her hands clasped before her and her eyes to the ground at her feet. Elizabeth watches her go from the corner of her eye.

  Good, the girl finally listens.

  Salty water burns at the corner of Elizabeth’s eyes now that she is finally alone. She refuses to wipe away the drops, instead, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves that are finally returning to their sharp edge. The naive girl can stay here with her people. Death will come for them all. It is inevitable, and Elizabeth won’t be a part of it. Too bad she can’t take her with her. She deserves better than this fake dream. All of them will learn eventually. Nothing is perfect. Nothing is permanent.

  She’ll miss her for a little once she is outside the perimeter of this home for loonies. At least until the drugs finally wash from her system. By sun up, she’ll be nothing more than a memory lost to the wind. But first, she needs to find that freaking giant, then make sure he doesn’t follow her on the way out.

  Shoulders like soccer balls are stuffed forcefully beneath his shirt. Muscles ripple and stretch thin fabric over skin that is streaked with white scars. Bare arms bulge, and veins pop out even in shadow and firelight as the monster crosses his arms over his chest. The Chosen waits in front of the hospital she has been resting in for several nights. All the windows are dark, the building towering empty and lifeless in the light of torches and the distant bonfires.

  The cold has a firmer grip here. Elizabeth can feel its harsh bite against her skin though she is more bundled now than she has been in months. She pulls the sweatshirt and shawl tighter around her shoulders. Looking at the man is enough to freeze her in place. What will happen if he finds her before she can get outside the perimeter? What happens if he finds her after she gets away?

  Demonic shadows dance and sway against the empty building face. Sharp eyes and emotionless features watch the shadows, waiting for her to return. One foot rests against the wall, back pressed against the cold stone. He remains motionless like a stature.

  She can no longer wait. Turning back down the alley from where she watches, she tries to slow her breathing as she moves through the darkness with practiced steps. They have given her freedom to move around all she wants since the day she rose from her bed. They see her becoming one of them, finding her place in their community. She has never been more at home than when she is alone. Never part of the crowd, the simple walls of this community choke her like a noose, and she cannot get away any faster.

  Turning around the corner, she follows the distant light of torches that mark the perimeter. A simple fence keeps everyone here safe. That, and more than a dozen armed guards who are miniature versions of their father’s favorite son. Infection marks their skin, but only in small blotches. The men and women do not act wild, nor are driven to feed or uncontrollable anger. Controlled and obedient to their master, they are dogs, waiting for their next treat. Thinking about how they follow in step, taking orders without question sends disgust down into her belly and feeds the anger within.

  She is her own woman. Nothing will take that from her. She would rather die out there. Exposure and infected can take her. This choice is hers, and she will make it.

  Singing grows stronger as she slips from the alley and follows the edge of Main Street. There is only one exit through the fence without a set of wire cutters or hands that can rip through metal. She has neither, so pulling the shawl over her head, she tucks her hair beneath and continues away from the light and moves deeper into the darkness.

  Two guards wait by the front gate. Rifl
es leaning against the chain links, they rock their chairs back and do not look her way. The music is a low hum in the background now. Wind whips over the snow, lifting waves of razor sharp ice. Mother Nature rules outside these walls. Inside these people feel protected, separated by what awaits them in the end. Elizabeth pulls the shawl tight across her mouth. Her eyes sting beneath the wind, but she has felt worse. She will always feel worse.

  The soft steps of her shoes crunch the snow. Like a siren going off in her mind, she swears to herself with every step. Any moment, the men will hear her and turn before she has a chance to close the distance. Inside the sleeve of her right arm, she can feel the small knife she stole from the butcher earlier in the morning. A portly woman, she looks older than she is and, to be honest, her interaction with the chickens and hogs she kills is better than what she allows for those who depend on her work.

  Rip-roaring mad, she’ll tear the town in half the minute she notices what Elizabeth has taken, but that is for another time and will be several miles in the past if Elizabeth can only find a way through this gate.

  Less than a hundred feet separate her from freedom. Both men sit silently with their backs to her. One on each side of the gate. They barely move, though the air here is a dozen degrees colder than it is by the fires. Thick jackets of fur and leather wrap their shoulders and torsos while denim jeans cover their legs. Dark boots tap to the soft rhythm that carries this far and white puffs of smoke lift into the air illuminated by torches burning in brands wrapped in razor wire above their heads.

  Twins, if she didn’t know better. They move in sync with one another. Now less than fifty feet sits between her and them.

  The knife shifts its way from the tender skin of her wrist to where it now sits wrapped by her fingers, squeezing until her knuckles are white beneath the sleeve of her shirt. The first will go down quickly if she can get just a little closer. Her heart is pounding, and she can feel the sweat itching the skin of her scalp beneath the fabric of her shawl. Her lungs burn from the strain of holding her breath.