Traveling Merchant (Book 1): Merchant

by Seymour, William J.

  Elizabeth snarls, and the smile on the tallest one grows.

  “Honey, didn’t you watch the show?” the middle one asks.

  Stepping forward, he reaches out a bare hand, forcing Elizabeth to step in-between. Alexis makes no move to look at the three pricks.

  “Look, shit for brains. My friend here is helping me back to the hospital where I can get some medicine and rest for the night. I’m not sure what you three have been able to get your pea-sized brains together for and come up with your plans for the night, but I believe you should be looking somewhere else.”

  The smile drops off the middle one’s face like a rock. The other two step to the opposite sides and flank the women. Elizabeth fights the anger that flares to life like gasoline on a weekend cookfire. She doesn’t have the strength to fight, not all three of them.

  “We are looking for some fun with a friend tonight. That is all,” the leader says. He balls his fist and cracks his knuckles. Several flakes of infection puss out where the skin pulls tight. “Alexis here has been more than accommodating the last few nights, and with tonight’s excitement, we thought she would like to join us. Isn’t, that right?”

  Alexis drops her head down, and the other two step forward with chuckles echoing into the night. Both reach for her arms. Elizabeth moves as fast as she can and pulls her friend in close.

  “Fuck off, ass-wipes. She isn’t going anywhere with you.”

  Rough hands grab both women by the arms and pull them apart. With the last strength she has, Elizabeth keeps hold of her friend with everything she has.

  “Let her go, you little whore, before we smash that other leg of yours,” the leader says as they are wrenched apart, and her only connection remaining is the last few fingers that stretch the thin material of Alexis’ thick shirt before giving away.

  Elizabeth can’t see anything as her mind goes berserk. She slaps at the man, raking with her fingernails, but his reaction is faster, and he pushes her arm away. Thick fingers that reek of puss and metal wrap around her neck and all air is closed off immediately. The heat of his fingers is fire against her skin. She can feel the muscles in her neck stretching as she tries to force her airway open.

  “Cat don’t have many claws left, does she? Maybe we’ll have to see if she has any lives left either,” the man says.

  Elizabeth tries to growl, but her tongue clicks dryly in her mouth.

  “Please, Elizabeth, let them be,” Alexis pleads. Her head is still down as the other two men hold her by the arms. “I will be fine. Father has seen to it that I help these men with their aches and pains. If they want my assistance this evening, who am I to deny them?”

  The grip of the man’s hand releases, and Elizabeth tumbles to the ground.

  “Oh, all three of us are in a lot of pain tonight, beautiful.”

  “Alexis, you can’t…” Elizabeth stammers.

  The cold slush of the ground sends shivers through Elizabeth’s body as she tries to lift herself off the ground.

  “Tell your crippled friend she best make her way to the hospital before she slips and falls again in some gutter where no one will find her in this cold. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to her, would we?”

  “You fucking asshole.” Elizabeth growls, and she throws a handful of mud that splatters across the man’s back.

  He turns. There is fire in his eyes, and both hands crack as he balls them into fists.

  “She is just trying to help,” Alexis pleads. “Please, I will be happy to help all three of you men this evening. Just let my friend here make her way back to where she can get some rest and medicine. The pain clouds her judgement. You’ll see she won’t be any further trouble. Will you, Elizabeth?”

  Reluctantly, Elizabeth looks the young girl in the eyes. There is so much pain hidden behind those dark circles that Elizabeth can feel the burning of tears threaten to fall across her face. She glares at the three assholes who now have her one and only friend laced between their infected fingers.

  “Go fuck yourselves,” Elizabeth says and swipes her hand through the snow and mud.

  All three men laugh and turn with Alexis between them.

  That is right, they can go fuck themselves. She eyes the hospital with its burning eyes and judgmental stare. Ice cold fingers race through her skin, and she refuses to move. Night has only started, and she isn’t tired, but the pain is a constant drumming throughout her body. What else is she to do? She follows the silhouettes of the monsters taking Alexis away. She can’t stay here even a single night more. She can’t possibly stay here another moment.

  Bones crack and pop as she forces herself back to her feet. Something has to be done, but maybe she has given all she can. There must be some way she can slip out of here. Taking a shuffling step away from the medical ward sends piercing blades through the muscles of her legs and hip. In the silence and darkness, she screams out in pain.

  This is really it. There is no way for her to escape. She spits and growls at the people of this fucking place.

  “You won’t have me. You’ll never take me alive, fuckers,” she yells.

  A dog barks in the distance.

  “Fuck you too, bitch” Elizabeth mutters with no conviction.

  Pain pulses through her body, and depression sinks its vampiric teeth into her soul. She will not cry. She will not give in. With shuffled steps and the dragging of her right leg, she begins to make her way back to where she can rest for a few more days and, for once, be alone.

  In the shadows of night, with no one around, a tear falls and mixes with the blood-colored slush on the ground.

  Fourteen

  Five Years Ago

  Music pulses deep enough to change the beating of the heart. A rhythm rolls into thunder, and the crowd cheers the man with the cupped ears as he beats his head up and down with the pounding of the bass. Green light dances with the techno music, strobing across hundreds of sweaty bodies as they dance across the floor. Arms up, bodies jumping, breasts bouncing, and a hundred peckers standing at attention. The clueless keep their adrenaline pulsing and the alcohol drowning as they dance, and Merchant watches.

  No one notices the shadow hasn’t moved from the corner for the last thirty minutes. A few stray eyes turn his way but are quickly disinterested and back to the lust of youth and sexuality that is the dance floor.

  There is no distinguishing one from another. The entire pool of people is shadows moving in mass, yet going nowhere in time or space. He has his eyes locked on one individual. Travis, slumped at the bar. Unless he has missed one, this shot of clear liquid poison is his sixth since he walked in here shortly after leaving the diner. Hair plastered against his face, his skin is paler and his cheeks sunken beneath the rays of green sunshine. He pushes away the next patron who steps too close, the young brat falling to the ground as Travis tips a finger to the bartender for another.

  Full of bravado and inebriation, the fallen fellow stands with fists balled and chest out. Travis turns, a big ‘Try it Fucker’ in his eyes, and the college kid quickly changes his mind and slides himself back into the mass that sways like the waters of the ocean.

  Another glass is slammed down in front of the drunk soldier. Movements slowed, he picks up the thumb-tall drink and pours it down his throat. He turns back to the bartender with his index finger up. The server shakes his head from side to side. Broad shoulders, and shaved head, he is a match pound for pound with the teetering drunk. A look of his own ‘Fuck You’ crosses his eyes, and Travis slams the shot-glass down.

  No one notices the staggering man at the bar. A wad of money is pulled from a rear pocket and a single bill hits the table. The lips of the bartender lift his ears as he slides it into his own pocket before turning to the women off to his left.

  Travis moves into the crowd. His eyes are cloudy, the tilt of his walk uneven, but Merchant recognizes it immediately.

  A predator on the prowl.

  Sliding between bodies, the drunken soldier rubs up against every f
emale he can find. Hands sliding over asses and bellies. Cupping a few breasts, he makes his way to the center of the pile and begins his own wild gyrations. They do not notice him. The mass has claimed him as their own.

  Smelling of alcohol and stale piss, he loses his form in the shadows that grow wild as the DJ changes the song without a hesitation in the beat. The lights pulse faster. Whites and greens send system shocks through the young minds being eaten away by drugs and liquid poison.

  Merchant makes his way into the crowd. He does not dance. He does not have to. Shoulders rub and pelvic thrusts push him toward the center. He catches glimpses of Travis as the shadows fall to the ground and loses him as the featureless demons are lifted back into the air.

  His ex-teammate has picked his prey. A blonde, hair as straight as a bullet and as wild as field grass. She rubs her ass against him like it’s on fire. He has one hand on her shoulder, and the other slaps the cheeks with enough enthusiasm to be a drum itself. A drunken smile is stretched across her face. Cheeks red, she is as aroused as they all are with the pressing of young bodies together in a giant non-penetrating orgy.

  Merchant watches from behind a ring of bodies. Two more girls try to slide their way into position where the blonde has found her mate. Travis rears back, arms thrown up and pecker pushed out. He roars like a lion claiming his pride. Bodies begin to separate between dancers and bar. Shadows stretched and torn, three boys step through, fueled by alcohol and hormones.

  The two girls separate from the drunken soldier and his copulating blonde. Mischievous glints reflect in the strobes of whites and yellows as one bites a nail while the other wraps a strand of auburn hair around her finger. All three males are barking. Merchant can’t hear what they say over the pulsing beat, but it is clear what they intend. These are their women. They own them, they paid for them in expensive cars and too many drinks. Travis has stepped into their territory, and they will have nothing of it.

  Alcohol deaf, the soldier pays little attention. His hand is up the blonde’s shirt. His clumsy fingers are fighting with her bra strap, and she barely notices anything but the floor at her feet as she pushes harder against him.

  The girls are shoved into the mass. Swallowed by the shadows, they are gone. Pride swells larger than dicks as the three step up to the couple who do not give a fuck.

  Merchant slides from the darkness, an invisible spectator. More words are exchanged in one direction, all following on deaf ears. Travis is all sweaty hair and hard cock. The closest man reaches forward, grabs the girl by the arm and pulls her away. Travis tips forward, moment of thrust lost and balance drowned in liquor.

  Fist connects with chin, head rocks back, and the soldier falls. The young fool, brazen enough to throw a punch, continues to yell, his words heard by no one and cared by even less. His two friends give each other a high five and slap their leader on the back.

  Merchant continues to watch, the show not done yet.

  Travis begins to climb his way back to his feet. Unsteady, he hesitates and falls to his knees. Blood drips from his lips and a smile is stretched over his face. The dancers do not notice. Those who have stopped moving are swallowed and forgotten.

  Filled with pride and confidence, the young man squats down to the kneeling soldier. Anger burns in his eyes, and he goes nose to nose with his broken prey. As fast as a cat, Travis grabs the boy’s skull and drives his forehead into his nose.

  Blood fountains out, and the asshole falls backward. Friends in shock watch as the injured squirms on the floor, a worm baking in the heat. Moment of hesitation gone, the first steps forward and meets Travis’ fist with his belly. Toppling over, a knee greets his face and blood and teeth scatter to the floor.

  Leader back to his feet, the crowd is pushed back, but the flow begins to fill back in. The music is a soundtrack. Fighters stepping as the beat orchestrates their combat.

  Merchant keeps his distance, both men flank Travis, who is rolling his shoulders. His adrenaline is running now. A fire behind his eyes.

  Both men jump forward. Arms wrapping, they try to tackle their target to the ground. Travis is too quick. Hands sliding past, he has them falling with bruises and bleeding.

  Bouncers push their way through. Men with shirts too tight, and egos too large, they bark orders and pull everyone apart. Enemies them all, Travis is in his glory. He swings and men fall. No one knows the monster they have unleashed.

  Merchant does. He was only waiting for the best moment to step in and stop the carnage. Moving from the shadows of dancers, the screams of men and women fall and move with the music. Two sets of arms have swallowed the drunken soldier. Teeth bite and draw blood. He struggles to get free.

  Two slow taps on the shoulder from Merchant turns the first guard’s head. Only a glance, he struggles as Travis continues to fight. Merchant’s fist rolls eyes back into skull and the bouncer drops like dead weight. Arm free, Travis cracks the other bouncer first in the neck, and then into his ear.

  Dazed, the man falls. All three of the young men who valiantly defended their women are tangling with the remaining bouncers. People are beginning to notice. Some cheer, some push their way toward the door. Bodies begin to pile.

  Travis pays no attention to Merchant and grabs the first person his fingers can hold onto. Skull into face, a young man in stripes and glowing shoes drops with a screech higher than a prepubescent girl.

  Little bouncer is next. Diminutive to Merchant, he eyes Travis with contempt that would fill a man twice his size. He approaches slowly. Fists up, he keeps the soldier at a distance.

  The man has training.

  Merchant knows it means little.

  Foot slipping on blood, Travis falls forward as Merchant is forced to push the crowd away to fight the swallowing mass as they drive for the door. It’s a feint, and the little man falls for it. He sends his fist flying, but misses the face that turns easily to the side.

  Two cracks under the armpit and lower ribcage have the man on his knees. Stepping back, the soldier readies for the kick to send the man to another world.

  Merchant grabs the one he follows and spins him around. Anger hides his identity. Travis swings, and Merchant dodges. He does not swing back. Fury burns below the surface of the drunk who dives forward.

  Merchant shoves him away, and he slides across the floor into the sea of legs. Young asshole who started it all is back. He swings at Merchant. Fist missing its target, it clips shoulder and knuckles still crack. Attention the young man did not want is drawn, the asshole rears back and goes for Merchant once again.

  This has gone on long enough. Merchant sidesteps the blow and catches the arm at full length. He lifts, turns, and pulls down at the elbow. Bones snap, skin tears, and blood sprays to the ceiling.

  Women and men scream, drowning out the bellows as the boy passes out and hits the floor. Merchant stalks over to where Travis finally reaches his knees. He’s laughing, blood dribbling from his chin.

  “Did you see that asshole? Crying like a fucking baby,” the drunk mutters.

  He doesn’t look at the one who stands over him. His eyes are glassed over, his smile permanently etched to his face. Merchant eyes the soldier with contempt. This is a fellow patriot. A man he once fought with. Once bled with.

  What has changed him?

  Why has he fallen so far?

  The man laughs. Sirens roar in the distance, and the tiniest hints of red and blue reflect off street signs and windows. Anger flares deep within Merchant. He has no time for this.

  Driving his fist into Travis’ chin, he watches his friend fall, and then begins the slow drag out the back door.

  The body of an infected, not those just beginning their fight with the disease or these half-mutants created by the one she calls the man-god, holds as much blood as a healthy human, though their body is shriveled and starved. Evidence of this theory displays itself in undeniable form around him. Dark rivers of gore flood through the gates of Merchant’s underground tomb.

  W
hat evidence lacks in current, it makes up in volume. Thick, sticky, and filled with the horrid stench of bile and shit, the bloody remains of the infected pile against the locked jailer’s door. Pale limbs, and bones brittle with disease press against the bars.

  Twisted in death, the screams echo through the stones. Wails of anger and pain, the monsters throw themselves at Merchant with no thought of their safety or lives. Only the need to feed and the anger within them for those who still live drives them forward.

  His muscles burn. His skin is covered with a thousand scratches, but he continues to push through them. The smell and taste of death is lost beneath the salt of his sweat and the iron in their blood. There could be one or there could be a thousand more. He has no way to tell, and he does not give a shit.

  Betrayal ignites a rage in him so primal there is no other thought than what he will do when he finds her. The gate is locked but there must be another way in. Two more bodies fall beneath his hands. Necks twisted and backs broken, they bite and scratch, but he kills with no remorse and less hesitation.

  Death has finally come for them, and he is happy to give them their overdue sentence. Shadows have almost swallowed him whole. His eyes are beacons of anger and white against the backdrop of darkness that is the holding cell. The lone lamp burns, its light poking between steel bars and twisted limbs, yet he has not hit the farthest wall.

  A pin prick of guidance against the darkness ahead, he keeps moving. Each step is fought against the push of more bodies.

  Where are they coming from?

  Screeching from the darkness, an infected drops from above and lands high against Merchant’s chest. Momentum stopped, Merchant sways but does not fall. The monster bites down on his shoulder, teeth tearing into flesh and Merchant howls, not in pain, but anger and over-fueled rage.