Traveling Merchant (Book 1): Merchant

by Seymour, William J.

  Merchant puts his fists on the table as he stands and looks down at his former teammate. There is no fight left in the broken shell of a man. His eyes are weak as he looks up, and his face is pale.

  “Yeah, you got it,” he replies.

  Turning, Merchant heads for the door. His coffee untouched.

  “I’m sorry about your family. I heard about it in the news,” Travis calls out.

  Merchant doesn’t stop. He hits the door hard, and the open sign falls to the floor.

  The night air is sharp and the shadows are bright. There is too much to do and so little time. Merchant turns down the street but stops at the first alley. Now it is time to wait.

  Oil lamp sizzles and a ball of orange light pushes back the darkness. The air is thick with mold and rust. Tiny feet scatter over ancient metal. A thousand of them, running and screaming in tiny voices. The river outside is thunder confined to travel within the walls barely more than two men wide. Churning, rolling, and echoing like the fury of the gods above.

  Mildew stains everything green and white. Paper is piled on the ground in dark wet mounds that move as the light draws near. Sprouting short legs and long hairless tails that sweep dangerously behind them, and the paper hisses in warning as it runs away. Hinges crack and shriek as Cherry Red pulls the door shut behind them. Dust and mold kicks up into the air. Outside it is cold, the storm settling in over the ravine and dropping more snow by the minute. Inside, the air clings to Merchant’s skin. It is a disease, and the whole building is alive with infection. He can feel its heart beating. Slow and steady.

  They were expected.

  It wanted them to come.

  “Quiet now. No need to make this harder on ourselves than we need to,” Red says. “Give me the lamp, and are you sure you don’t want my pistol?”

  Merchant shakes his head.

  “Suit yourself. Hope you are as good as you think you are.”

  She steps around him, takes the lead, and begins to creep her way down the first corridor.

  They move deeper into the rock. The sound of rushing water moves higher and further with every step. The wailing of the wind is still around them, torturous and hollow as it sings and calls to them. Bared steel doors line the walls, rust and cobwebs holding them shut. The floor creaks, and the mountain shifts with every step. A ghost couldn’t be quiet here. But Merchant hears nothing save for themselves, yet he knows they are not alone. Red’s oil lamp is their only window into the gloom. One quick puff of air and they’d be lost to darkness deeper than the pits of Hell.

  “There are infected here,” Snake-Eyes says.

  Even in the absence of light, Merchant can see the bastard. He has an internal shine, soft blue and the bastard glorifies in his ability to always be seen. He does nothing to help light the way.

  “I can feel them watching us,” the ghost adds.

  Merchant spares him a quick glance. Eyes angry, the silent command to be quiet is easy to read.

  “Okay! They are watching you. I’ve never felt hunger like this. My god, they are hungry. I am in Heaven.”

  “How much further is your brother?” Merchant asks, turning back to Red, who moves them through a second corridor that turns to the right and continues farther into the stone.

  “He is on the bottom floor. Three flights down,” she answers.

  Nothing about this place feels natural. Man did not make this, for living things would not venture down here. Apocalypse or not, people would not have created this. Merchant stops where he is, and she continues down the path a few steps before she notices. The golden light forms a halo around her head as she turns back. Her red hair is a fire that is both dark were it is still wet and ablaze where it flows behind her body.

  “What? Okay, look. I knew he would grow more dangerous the more the infection took hold of him. He could hurt himself if he got out, so I made sure he was too deep to escape once his mind was gone.”

  The muscles on Merchant’s face tighten.

  “Oh, now she is lying. God, I love it when bitches lie to me,” Snake-Eyes says as he licks the non-infected side of her face.

  She doesn’t notice.

  “I know, I know,” she says. The stomp of her foot echoes throughout the chamber. “It wasn’t the smartest idea now that I look back at it, but sue me. I’m his sister, and I was doing the best I could with what little I had. God damn-it, can we just get this over with?”

  “Bitch with a heart of gold is hiding something from you,” Snake-Eyes jeers.

  He floats behind Merchant, who hefts his bag further up his shoulder.

  “Keep moving. I want to be out of here before the night is through,” Merchant says.

  Cherry Red nods, the smile returns to her face, and she turns back down the corridor.

  “Trust me, there is nothing I want more than to be out of here as soon as we can be,” she adds and begins to lead the way again.

  A hundred feet passes, and a half-dozen sealed doors bar their way before they reach one that will open. Rust has punched its way through the metal. A sign, held on by a single screw dangles beside the failing frame.

  Stairs.

  Cherry Red puts her shoulder against the barrier and dust and cobwebs fall like rain as it slides open. The scratching of metal echoes loudly up and down the stairwell that goes deeper into the earth. Making their way up is no longer possible. A dozen steps separates them from where the wood and tile of the floors above have rotted through. The light from their lamp shines into the shadows above their head, but it is quickly choked away beneath a smothering gloom that sits heavy over their shoulders.

  “It is down we go then,” Snake-Eyes says. “Hell. At least this way you’ll get home faster when they eat you alive down there.”

  Merchant growls, and Cherry Red looks up at him.

  “Something wrong?” she asks.

  “Keep moving,” he says.

  The look on her face goes cold, and she turns to lead them down toward the lowest level.

  With each floor that passes, the smell and the air get worse. Spoiled, sweet, and wet, the must is thick. Cherry chokes into her own shirt, her breaths nothing more than quick gulps. She is drowning in the death that has found them. Merchant slows his breathing. He has smelled this before. Bodies piled and left to rot. Exposed to air and gnawing teeth.

  “How much farther?” he asks.

  She doesn’t respond. Her coughs force her to fall against the wall.

  “My god, it wasn’t this bad the last time I was down here,” she struggles to say.

  His big hand squeezes tightly against her shoulder, the fingers pinching against the bones beneath her skin. A grimace crosses her face and quickly fades away as she does her best to strengthen herself up. She steps away from the wall, the knees of her legs visibly shaking underneath her pants. He does not let her go.

  “How much farther?” he asks again.

  Her eyes are red with blood. Snot runs down over her lips, and the infection has spread over her left eye. Down here, in this sickness, she will turn faster. A squeeze forces her to shake her head.

  “Down the hall, there is a final gate. He was inside there the last time I was here. It is locked from this side.”

  Merchant looks into the darkness that surrounds them.

  “Give me the key and stay here.”

  “No, I want to go with you.”

  He lets go of her shoulder and sticks out his palm. The lighter skin under his hand is still a thousand shades darker than the ghostly pale she has become.

  “I will do this alone. Now, give me the key and stay here.”

  Cherry Red steps back. A sudden surge of strength finds her backbone.

  “Look, he is my brother, and I am the one who brought you down here to kill him. I want to see what I have done to him. He deserves to see me one more time. I deserve to see him.”

  Anger builds up within Merchant. She is being stubborn beyond reason. Giving him the key to a locked cell would be the smart thing to
do. Snake-Eyes hovers behind her. His shit-eating grin is larger than ever below his empty eye sockets. Merchant stares at him, but the ghost has nothing to say.

  “Have it your way. Stay out of my way, and we leave the moment it is done.”

  She nods her head. The courage that holds her up begins to fade. A pistol dangles from her limp fingers. Grip first, she holds it up for him.

  “Last chance,” she says.

  He pushes her arm down and does not take the weapon. Lifting the strap of his bag away from his shoulder, he puts it in the corner by the stairwell.

  “Show me where he is.”

  No more words. Only action is required now. Holding the lamp in front of her, Red takes the lead and moves them down the hallway. Her steps are short and slow. Every creak and echo stops her in her tracks. The flame and light sways in her loose grip.

  Merchant can see the gate ahead of them. Dark steel bars thrust their way into ceiling, floor, and wall. A single door, a jailer’s door, remains locked. Brown rust tarnishes the surface, but the metal is strong. Staring back at them is the keyhole that will unlock their protection.

  Large and silent, it waits for them to bring the key to their doom.

  Cherry Red reaches into her pocket with her empty hand. Her entire body is shaking now. A rat screeches back near the stairwell, and the young women damn near drops the lamp. Merchant reaches for the light, but she shakes her head and turns away enough to keep him from her.

  Slowly, she pulls out a long stick of twisted metal. A skeleton’s key. Tarnished with age, it is a perfect match to the bars that block their way. A long-lost sibling returning to find its way home.

  Inserting the key, the lock makes no sound. A turn to the left, and a click echoes through the hall. She looks up at him, and he spares her a quick glance. Her eyes dart back to the floor.

  “Please, God, forgive me for what I have done,” she whispers.

  “There are no gods down here,” Merchant says.

  He pulls on the door, and the hinges scream but are as solid as the rock they are buried under. Stepping in, the shadows quickly move in to swallow him. Merchant turns back to Red with his hand out.

  “Give me the lamp and stay outside,” he says.

  She does not look up. Her hands are shaking.

  “Did you hear me?”

  Something moves behind him. A shuffle. He is not alone.

  Merchant tries to step back through the door. Metal slams with the finality of death as Cherry Red pushes the door shut and twists the key to the right. The lock clicks and there will be no opening the cage from this side.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I can’t do it. He needs to eat, and I am all he has.”

  Tears are running down her eyes. She leaves the lamp on the ground by the gate. Her feet kick up dust as she begins to back away. Dark red hair is plastered to her face where she tries to wipe away the pain.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says again.

  She is now down the hall where the stairs lead back to safety.

  “Told you she was lying,” Snake-Eyes says from behind the bars.

  Merchant turns around. The movement is getting closer. He can feel their hunger now. Warm against his skin, he begins to back his way into the corner where the light is the strongest. A dark figure begins to form in the darkness. It moves slowly, with limbs that are out of its control.

  “Oh, and another thing,” Snake-Eyes adds. “I also warned you before and you didn’t listen.”

  The monster is closer now. Merchant can see the full outline of his shoulders, a black hole against the light.

  “There are definitely more than one of them down here,” Snake-Eyes says, and he pops a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Have fun.”

  Merchant can feel the cold hard steel of the bars against his back. His skin burns, and he can smell the infection deep inside his nose and taste it on his tongue. Splitting like cells, the shadows slowly fade from one to two, and then to three. There is more shuffling now. There are dozens. A moan moves through them. There is nowhere to run, no place to hide.

  They surround him, and as the light reveals the scaled and pealing face of the first, they all attack at once.

  Thirteen

  Today

  There are more people here than she could have ever imagined. The darkness of night and the business of the day has hidden the truth from her. Hundreds of heads flow like a brown and golden sea of hairy mops under the hazy light of the afternoon. Inside a bowl, they circle around in chairs and benches. The younger ones stand or sit on the ground. Those older or hobbled like she is are given priority, but she refuses take anything from them other than her freedom.

  A stiff breeze, cold and sharp, brings with it the stench of body odor and piss. Elizabeth wipes snot away from her nose onto the back of her sleeve and finds solace in leaning against the railing of a bench that climbs ten rows high. The wood frame is hard and cold, stiff against her skin, and it vibrates annoyingly with the movement of a hundred pairs of feet. Flags flap in the wind above them all. Cone shaped and bright, a robin’s egg blue pennant ripples and snaps to the south of the human coliseum while three red ones with black trim follow suit in the three opposite directions.

  Words of excitement echo through the village. Hints of judgement and God’s make their way to her, and she hates it all.

  What the fuck is going on here?

  She can see the open dirt arena they circle. The snow has been shoveled away, the soil turned up. Dark and muddy, the earth has seen the feet of a thousand people. Single cages sit beneath each cloth marker. Elizabeth recognizes them.

  The judging circle.

  Itching radiates down her shoulder, and she can still feel the teeth tearing into her flesh. The taste of disgust, warm, salty, and rank, begins to fill her mouth. She can’t believe what she is about to watch. Looking around, all the villager’s eyes are wide with excitement.

  They can already taste the blood.

  Lies. All of it is lies. These people are no different than the other bastards who remain in this world. Talking of peace and prosperity for all mankind, they are savages like the rest. One drop of blood and they become animals. Even the children.

  Those as young as toddlers race between chairs and those who are forced to stand. Giggles and happiness fills their world as they play and wait for the inevitable slaughter.

  Elizabeth has seen enough and the event hasn’t even started yet. She straightens herself and turns to walk away. Kill the weak and timid. She isn’t one of them. They may have made the mistake of thinking this was her when she first got here, but that would be their final mistake. She will show them. She will leave them behind to die and rot behind their own walls.

  Pain greets her wholeheartedly as she puts her weight back onto the crutch and tries and push her way through the crowd. Men, most of them young, block her way. They do not even notice her. Eyes, bright and strong are locked to the show below. They want it to start. Their need is so thick she can feel it on her skin. Revulsion bubbles in her stomach, and she bites her tongue to hold it down. God knows, she doesn’t care if she vomits all over them, but no reason to start a war she can’t win.

  Not yet anyway.

  “Move it, asshole,” she barks at the closest body blocking her path.

  She doesn’t care who or what it is. They need to move now.

  Attention drawn away from the awaiting spectacle, the man looks down at her. Wide shoulders stiffen, and a head with a wide set jaw tilts down to her. Scales of infection have inched their way up the left side of his neck, but there is no crazy in his eyes. Only anger at a hobbled woman demanding he step aside like a summer breeze does to a thousand-year-old oak tree.

  “Did you hear me or is the infection clogging those useless ears of yours as well?” she asks.

  Pushing the man is like trying to move a pile of stone. Muscles tense, and he doesn’t even tilt. Elizabeth grits her teeth and snarls. He smiles back. Tuffs of light brown hair poke
out from underneath a knitted cap of red and blue like a fucking hipster from twenty years ago.

  She turns back toward the spectacle.

  He chuckles.

  “Have it your way,” she says.

  A spin on her good leg sends razors up her back but does less harm than the crutch that crushes the side of the asshole’s knee cap. A loud snap of bone and wood sends the man to the ground. He begins to yell. Curses and threats, but the noise of the crowd rises from a slow heartbeat to the roar of an ocean.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” the Father begins.

  Elizabeth ignores him and tries to step over the fallen asshole. He clutches his knee and continues to say things she can’t hear, and his lips are moving too fast for her to care. Her crutch wobbles when she puts pressure on it, but it holds.

  One long painful step has her over the living log and three more quickly step in to fill the gap.

  “For fuck’s sake, let me through.”

  “I am so glad we have come together as a family today,” Father continues in a voice that vibrates like he is a thousand feet tall.

  The clapping is a thunder that shakes the ground.

  Two of the bodies blocking her ignore her attempts to push through. Standing in the middle, the tallest looks down at her and shakes his head from side to side. No words given. No attempt to communicate with her like a normal human being. So be it.

  Stepping back, she firms her grip on the crutch and turns like she did before. Whatever he gives these people sure does make them strong, but it does nothing to improve the gaping pile of stones that rattles between their useless ears. With a deep breath, she tries to slow her heart. The pain in her back has subsided, and she is ready to swing again.

  “Today we will see the judgement of God himself,” Father continues from down within the makeshift arena.

  People are on their feet now. Hundreds of bodies swaying and jumping in excitement. Hatred for it all burns within Elizabeth like an ember that threatens to burn itself out of her guts.

  Fuck them all.

  Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth she takes a deep breath to steady herself.