Traveling Merchant (Book 1): Merchant

by Seymour, William J.

  The screaming reaches a higher pitch. Alexis is moving forward now. Not to Elizabeth, but to the Father. The rifle sweeps between both. Anger blinds her. Guards are arriving, their presence still hidden by shadow.

  Merchant tries to scream a warning. His words are lost in a mess of dark liquid and swollen throat tissue.

  Three shots ring out. Red explosions erupt from Elizabeth’s chest. The sound sick and hollow. Wet dough slapping against a wall.

  She falls backward, and the rifle goes off. The bullet hits the Father, and he spins. Guards charge toward their target. The Chosen roars, and his feet shake the ground.

  Merchant lets the anger build within him. His muscles react, and he pushes himself to his feet.

  He is dozens of feet behind the monster. His muscles ache. The other’s pump with ungodly strength.

  The man jumps and meaty hands take grip on the podium. Blood spits from open wounds, but the monster pulls itself up.

  Merchant slows to watch.

  The guards circle Elizabeth’s fallen body. Alexis is screaming. The Father barks orders as he tries to stem the flow of blood from his wound.

  One man steps up to finish the job. Merchant is too far away to help. He could jump up and climb like the other, but it would be too late.

  A voice, high-pitched and wild, breaks over the background chaos of the fleeing citizens. Arms flapping like a flightless bird, the guard launches from the elevated ground. He lands head first. Bones snap, and his body flops like a limp sack.

  The other two turn on the Chosen. Merchant begins to climb.

  They are distracted. His chances will get no better. Muscles scream and tear as he pulls himself further from the ground.

  Men roar in defiance. The sound of bones snapping fills the air, and a body hits the ground.

  A shot is fired.

  Large bootsteps shake the wooden floor. Bits of dirt and water fall from the edge. Merchant pulls his head over the end of the podium.

  The Chosen has his hands over the guard’s face. Fingers like Polish sausages squeeze the man’s eyes. Primal screams of terror and pain pierce the air followed by the sound of popping. Blood explodes from the man’s eye sockets. The back of his head ruptures, and his body convulses where his feet do not hit the ground.

  The Chosen drops him.

  Merchant finishes his climb.

  He waits at the edge.

  Alexis screams. The Father holds her back, his dark blood runs across her pale shoulders and smears across her neck and arms. The Chosen eyes him with disdain but makes no move to attack. The monster bends to the ground and picks Elizabeth up.

  Moans and slurred words escape the woman’s lips.

  She is still alive. Blood pools across her chest and drips from her ears and mouth. She does not have much time remaining.

  Merchant goes to step forward.

  Wood chips erupt into the air with the sound of gunfire. The Father aims a pistol at him. His hand soaked with his own blood, the weapon shakes, and he holds the bawling young woman in front of him like a shield.

  “Get out of here. You are free,” the Father demands.

  He waves toward the exit where hundreds of his people flee for their lives.

  Merchant does not turn. The Father, with Alexis, backs away from the podium. The Chosen, carrying Elizabeth, follows beside them.

  Thunder rolls through the night sky. Merchant watches them go. They back their way through a door that leads deeper into the arena. He will follow them. They cannot escape.

  Tonight, Elizabeth will be free.

  The world sways like a ship lost on the ocean. The air is salty, tastes of blood and iron. Elizabeth tries to breathe and liquid chokes in her throat. Her vision narrows. Torch light goes past, swaying with the movements of steps. She can hear Alexis crying to the point of hysteria. The Father screams at her. Elizabeth does not understand.

  Her tongue is fat. There is too much ringing in her ears.

  The Chosen carries her. How can this be? She shot him when he stood atop of Merchant. She watched him fall. There was no time to see if Merchant still lives.

  Fire burns deep in her chest, but she feels a cooling that spreads through her body. Her limbs are heavy. She wants to slap the monster who carries her across the face, but she can’t find the strength. If she had a knife, she would try and drive it into his neck, but her hands are useless. She can’t even feel them.

  They race through the hall. Boots pound on floorboards, and the Father barks frantic orders as strangers shrouded in darkness pass by. The Chosen does not answer or speak. Part of her likes him for that.

  She coughs and blood pours from her mouth.

  Fuck him.

  If it wasn’t for him and his kind, she wouldn’t be in this mess.

  They turn a corner. The world swims, and darkness closes over Elizabeth’s vision. She bites down, forces back the sleep.

  It feels like they are running again. Away from some kind of pursuit. Her mind is fuzzy. Memories are hard to recall. Only the deep-seated anger remains.

  The footsteps stop.

  Her legs are cold. She can feel the pain, but they are going numb.

  “Let’s get in here,” the Father demands.

  His words are frantic and short.

  A door slams open. The Chosen carries her through.

  Alexis screams words but they are too fast to hear over the ringing. A slap slices the air. The Chosen goes stiff. Alexis’ voice turns into a soft whimper.

  The only light in the room is a set of candles in the corner. Dark shadows fade the edges of boxes and canisters that sit along the wall made of dull metal. Everything is cold. Even the air has a bite to it. Elizabeth shivers. It hurts her body.

  “Put the bitch down over here if you must,” the Father says.

  The Chosen moves slowly and gently. Visions of demons attack from the shadows and tear at her chest. She coughs more blood that splatters onto the giant asshole’s chest. He does not seem to mind.

  “I still don’t fucking know why you bother with her. Look what she did to me!” the Father barks. The Chosen stands tall after placing her onto the ground with her head propped and places his body between hers and the fucker who won’t shut the fuck up. “We should just finish her off and find our way out of here.”

  The Chosen takes a step closer to the man. Shoulders widen and bones crack. The Father’s eyes narrow, and he takes a step back.

  “All right, suit your fucking self. She’ll be dead any moment anyway,” the Father responds.

  Alexis drops onto her knees beside her. Tears have washed the young woman’s face a sticky color. Her hair is plastered to her face, and blood is smeared all over.

  Elizabeth tries to speak, but the words are drowned in blood. Her friend looks like shit. Elizabeth’s mind begins to swirl. She probably doesn’t look any better herself.

  “Help me with this, why don’t you?” the Father asks.

  He’s wrapping a white bandage around his shoulder. The cloth goes red instantly and more blood leaks down his hand to drip onto his shirt and the floor at his feet. The Chosen doesn’t move. His feet are rooted into the ground, his boots bolted to the floor.

  “Did you fucking hear me or not? Don’t just stand there!”

  The Father’s first creation remains still. His hands flex, and the veins in his arms bulge. Blood stains the skin of his right arm red, and the slow drop of a red river drips from his knuckles.

  Elizabeth smiles. The massive bastard finally grew some balls.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake. At least take this and go out there to finish the fucking job you failed to do,” the Father says.

  Turning to the pile of boxes along the wall, Elizabeth sees him removing small vials and syringes packed in soft rags and cotton-laced plastic. A green liquid swirls in the tiny glass containers. Medication from the old world.

  “This will make you what you should have been from the start. Now be a good servant and go get rid of our problem, w
ill you?”

  Liquid squirts from the end of the needle.

  The Chosen doesn’t move.

  Drug in hand, the Father sticks the working end deep into the injured man’s right shoulder, tiny shaft piercing torn flesh.

  A grunt forces its way through the silent killer’s lips. The muscles of his back flex and tighten. Every vein in his arms bulge, and the skin pulls tight. New stretch marks, angry red and jagged rip across the skin.

  Elizabeth tries to gasp but chokes on blood. Alexis does enough for the both of them. The blood flowing from the Chosen’s arms stops. He rolls his shoulders, and the bones beneath crack, and he stands up straighter. His head skims the ceiling above. The legs of his pants stretch, and new scales flake away from the back of his neck.

  The infection is spreading, and quickly.

  The Father smiles. His eyes bent on murder.

  “Now go. Finish the job. Come back and whatever you want is yours. Just get rid of him before he finds us,” he commands.

  The Chosen turns and eyes Elizabeth and Alexis. The calm and controlled violence that laid dormant behind his eyes is gone. A wild rage burns bright and pulses with the blood that pumps through the veins that beg to burst beneath his skin. Ripples of muscle stretch across his body as he moves.

  Alexis cowers beside Elizabeth, holding her close.

  Elizabeth can’t feel anything but the warm burning in her chest. She tries to glare her hatred for the man, but his expression doesn’t change. She doubts she is successful.

  Without a word, the Chosen leaves. The door slams behind him. Dust and chips of rust fall in his wake.

  “You are going to be okay, Elizabeth,” Alexis whimpers.

  A gentle hand is placed on Elizabeth’s chest. The skin is a mix of milky white and dark putrid red.

  “The bitch is going to die, and you know it. Leave her in the fucking corner and get over here and help me,” the Father says.

  He’s sitting on one of the boxes in the corner. His skin is white like Alexis’, and his hands shake as he tries to hold the bandages to his shoulder.

  “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know how strong you are,” Alexis says.

  Elizabeth smiles.

  The cold has moved through her body. She knows what is coming. There is no returning from where she is going.

  A calm washes through her and takes the pain away.

  Her vision clears, and the strength she once had returns to her body.

  She smiles and lifts a sturdy hand to her friend’s face. Her blood smears across Alexis’ soft cheek. She wants to apologize but doesn’t want to waste the time she has.

  “I’m going to be all right, my friend,” Elizabeth says. Alexis coughs and tears drip from her blood red cheeks. “I want to thank you.”

  “For…for what?” Alexis asks, her voice shaking.

  “Everything you did for me,” Elizabeth says. The pain in her chest erupts into a bolt of electricity that runs courses through her body. The muscles in her arms and legs cramp, and she bites down hard to hold back the scream that threatens to steal away her breath. “For being my friend.”

  Alexis begins to ball. Her bloodshot eyes squeeze shut and tears flow like a waterfall from her beautiful lashes. Elizabeth uses what strength she has left to touch the edges of those young eyes, so full of life and love.

  “Please, don’t leave me,” Alexis whispers.

  Coughing shakes Elizabeth’s body. Blood fills her throat, but she spits it out to say what she needs to say.

  “I’ll never leave you, my love. Like you never left me,” Elizabeth chokes out. Blood drowns her tongue, but she must get the words out. “Thank you, Alexis. For teaching me I wasn’t meant to be alone.”

  Darkness closes in quickly. Alexis is hysterical and screaming. The Father joins in, his words full of anger and malice, but Elizabeth hears none of it.

  She refuses to turn away. Her eyes watch the tears fall from her one true friend’s face. Only when the shadows close in, holding her close and stealing away the pain, does she finally let go.

  Twenty-Four

  Today

  Men, women, and children run. Hundreds of feet pound on floorboards and trample each other to get away. Sweat and fear fills the air. The tunnel where they took Elizabeth sits empty like an open maw with teeth of shadows and broken nails.

  Torches burn along the empty path. The smoke carries the stench of oil and death. Merchant does not wait before entering. Men with rifles and panic stricken across their faces run by. The entire community is in chaos, and no one has the strength to pull it together.

  Somewhere above, voices scream fire. More hysteria breaks out as a man’s death screams pierce the chaos, and he falls to his death in the arena below. Merchant growls and flexes the muscles of his battered body. Just what he needs. The arena is burning down around him, and Elizabeth is lost somewhere within its inner guts.

  Lightning flashes across the sky. Shadows dance across the wall, and he moves down the darkened path. Blood trails are easy to follow. Dark stains drip across the floor and smear across the walls.

  Doors sit open or locked shut as he passes. Handles refuse to turn or are nothing more than empty closets filled with dust and cobwebs. The red crimson brick road leads him on. He begins to slow. The pools of dark liquid grow.

  They have slowed down.

  He is getting closer.

  Footsteps follow behind him. Tiny echoes that do not draw closer.

  He stops.

  They stop.

  He turns quick, but there is no one there. A hazy smoke fills the air and reduces his visibility.

  He puts what is behind him away and concentrates on what is ahead. The blood trail drags across the dirty floorboards. Sticky pools puddling between boards and darkened boot prints.

  Three doors remain before the hall ends and turns to the left.

  They did not make it that far.

  Merchant looks into the bright light that shines where a torch burns at the corner. Thunder shakes the floor. Tiny stones and bits of sand rattle between the boards at his feet.

  Something is coming.

  Merchant braces himself in a crouch. The sounds echo. He can’t distinguish where they are coming from.

  Beside him, to his left, the door explodes and wooden splinters fly through the air. Arms like steel wrap him tight, and they crash together through the wall.

  Pain lances through his head, and the breath in his lungs is driven out. Bones crack, and his right shoulder goes numb.

  The Chosen squeezes him tight as they roll along the ground. Wood and nails cut skin as the two wrestle in a mass of arms, legs, and human flesh. Teeth snap and blood smears together. Sweat makes skin slippery, but the grip that tightens begins to strain muscles that resist and bones that do not crush easily.

  Merchant’s forehead crushes into the monster’s nose. Blood spirts out. Vision blurs. The man does not loosen his grip.

  Pain lances through Merchant’s back.

  His bones scream in agony.

  He closes his eyes and drives his forehead down again. Bone snaps and sinks in. Blood clings to his face.

  Another crack, the arms tighten. Sticky liquid runs down between his eyes. His brain swirls, and he wants to vomit.

  Stiffening his jaw, he drives his head down again.

  Blood gushes warm against his face, and the arms release.

  Merchant rolls to his side and opens his eyes. The Chosen lifts himself to his knees. The middle of his face is crushed, and his eyes are lost to a chaotic rage. Flakes of infection have moved up the side of his face. He is bigger than he was in the arena.

  Merchant stands, and so does the monster.

  The Chosen roars like a rabid beast. Boxes rattle and tools fall from the wall.

  Arms wide, the crazed monster charges again.

  Merchant tries to avoid him, but the man is too big. Meaty hands and arms as thick as trees grab hold, and they crash into the wall. Heads smash into wooden beam
s, and the world begins to swim.

  Blood spirts from Merchant’s mouth. His insides feel like mush. The Chosen’s teeth snap and miss Merchant’s throat by a hair length.

  Arms free, Merchant drives his elbow into the big man’s neck.

  The man growls and hurls Merchant like a doll across the room. Wooden crates explode and long-armed tools fall from the wall.

  Merchant struggles to get to his feet. The infected man is growing before his eyes. His skin is red, and the disease spreads as skin pops and cracks. Puss and blood runs down his face and arms. Veins explode, and the man’s breathing is shallow and angry.

  Rage smokes from his ears.

  Merchant eyes the door. He can’t fight this man in such a tiny room.

  He grabs the nearest tool and throws it at the monster.

  A rake.

  The Chosen swats the projectile away like a fly. The wooden handle shatters against the wall. Footsteps rattle the floor.

  Merchant pushes himself against the wall. Using the strength in his legs, he begins to stand. His knees ache. His back is stiff.

  The Chosen closes the distance. His head presses against the roof. Light shines from the hallway, shadows darkening the side of his face, the fire of hatred lighting his eyes.

  Merchant grabs hold of another weapon.

  He does not have time to bring it around.

  A fist the size of his head swings. Merchant drops to the ground. Knuckles and bones crush the wall, leaving a hole through studs and into the room beyond.

  Merchant kicks out. Boot hits knee.

  Leg twists, but the monster does not fall. Merchant scoots backward over broken plaster and shattered wood.

  The Chosen turns. He lifts his leg to crush Merchant where he sits. The fabric of his pants rip. Muscles ripple.

  An explosion from the door shatters the chaos of the room.

  Blood erupts from the Chosen’s shoulder. A second shot tears flesh and muscle from his ribcage.

  Howling in anger, the monster stumbles backward.

  Merchant spins and swings out the weapon gripped between the bloody fingers of his hand.

  An ax.

  Sharpened head slices deep into the muscle and flesh of a giant’s leg.