Traveling Merchant (Book 2): Pestilence

by Seymour, William J.

  "What?" Snake-Eyes asks, the tattoo blinking and the hollow eye sockets swirling with empty air.

  "Quiet," Merchant demands before turning away toward the Sick House, his eyes passing by his lodgings for the night.

  Their tail follows. A brief glance disguised as a shifting of weight reveals nothing, but he knows they are there. A road of shadows and watchful eyes.

  "Paranoid tonight, are we?" Snake-Eyes mocks before lighting up a cigarette and blowing large circles of bright smoke into the night air.

  "Something is not right with this place. I don't think I'll be waiting for the morning," Merchant says.

  Snake-Eyes coughs.

  Merchant turns to the ghost and the formless body bursts into nothing. Inches from his face is Brother George. A stout man himself, the priest does not flinch.

  "You bring with you a heavy burden, Mr. Merchant," the man says.

  Without thinking, Merchant shifts his bag higher onto his shoulder again. He does not like this man though he does peak his curiosity. There is no threatening manner within his movements or frame. The priest smiles, and others calm around him.

  Merchant tilts his head.

  "Been carrying this thing a long time. Gets pretty tiresome after a while."

  He taps the strap pulled tight against his neck.

  A sad smile crosses the other man’s face.

  "If it was only your bag, I'd believe you, but we both know your burden is a past that follows you with every step that you take. Shadows do not disappear in the night. They grow stronger and reach for you every moment you feel weak. You can feel them, can’t you?"

  "Not sure what you mean by that, priest. All I own is what you see in front of me and once you take the burden of that woman off of my hands, I'll be free to do as I need to."

  Merchant goes to turn and a grip of iron locks to his arm and holds him steady. The man is stronger than one should be at his size.

  "We both know that is not true, but we all have our own lies we hide behind," Brother George says, his eyes moving past Merchant and off into the distance. "Where are you headed, Mr. Merchant? What drags you back to the road so quickly that you can't wait a single day for your friend to recover from her ordeal?"

  This brings a chuckle to Merchant, and he bares his teeth.

  “A single day will do nothing for the woman. Even a miracle like that young girl asked for won’t be enough.”

  “God can do many things, Merchant. You do not give him the credit he deserves. Especially for someone as touched by him as you are.”

  Ever ache, scar, break, and trauma in Merchant’s body flares to life. His skin is on fire and every urge he has tells him to strangle this man where he stands, yet he cannot make his hands move. The priest smiles and with a slow breath the anger and torment spills away, but the smoldering fire within his soul will not be diminished so easily.

  “If there ever was a god, he does not know who I am, priest. There are things in this world you would not believe, and I have seen them with my own eyes. I have felt their blood run between my fingers as much as I have bled out my own. Tell your stories to these people if it makes them feel better. Tuck them in at night and do whatever it is that you do that keeps the monsters at bay but remember one thing. Not all the evil in this world comes with scars and open wounds. Those are the easy ones to see.”

  Merchant steps close enough that they are almost touching.

  “Some look like you and I do. Men are capable of many horrible things, priest. Sins as deep as mine cannot be washed away or forgiven with prayer. I will leave at first light. It is better for you and your people if I do so.”

  Brother George steps back and nods his head.

  “If that is what you desire then I will not stop you, Merchant. All I ask is that you keep an open mind about your friend, Red, and never forget no matter what you think, God will not abandon you. Everything you have been through may make you think you are alone, but you never will be, my son. There is always someone walking by your side.”

  Merchant turns around.

  “For once, priest. You are more correct than you can ever imagine.”

  The priest does not move as the shadows swallow him whole and Merchant draws closer to his lodging for the night. Like ice on a cold night, Snake-Eyes’ form materializes from the darkness and the touch is like death warmed over.

  Yes, priest. There is always someone walking by my side.

  In silence, Merchant hefts his burden higher onto his shoulder.

  6

  Disturbing the Peace with Miracles

  The morning arrives too soon.

  Light fights with the haze of the ceiling overhead.

  So many shadows. Too much darkness.

  Limbs are heavy and numb. Breath is hard to take in and eyelids are slow and anchored with rock.

  “I’m… so… hungry,” Red tries to say.

  The sound tears tissues in the back of her throat and the small opening fills with blood. She coughs, and the darkness closes in. She tries to turn but restraints hold her down. Shackles tear at skin as she wrenches her body back and forth.

  Let me go!

  The words echo in her mind, but she does not hear them. Her mouth is dry cotton mixed with sharp stone. The sharpness of her teeth cut gouges into her tongue. A single word echoes in the room. It is not her voice. The shriek cannot be from her!

  FOOD!

  Wails scare the darkness away as the room becomes a red ball of fury. More thrashing cuts deeper into her skin and the bonds that hold her down soak in a sticky warmth.

  “Strap her down,” a man’s voice instructs.

  Soft and calm, the words bounce off the rage like pebbles against the walls of a metal fortress.

  “Food!” the words echo through the room.

  Red bites the empty air with chipped teeth as figures pass before her eyes. She can already taste the blood and the meat between her teeth. She needs to eat. Without anything the hunger will drive her mad.

  Yet, she is so tired.

  The exhaustion gnaws at her slowing mind.

  Why won’t anyone give her any food?

  Where is Merchant? He always has something in that jacket of his. It’s dry, stale, and as hard as the dirt on the ground but it keeps the demons at bay.

  Where is Merchant?

  Who is…?

  Food!

  Just a bite or two. Her mouth stings as it fills with the warm sultry taste of blood. She licks her lips. Cracks burn, and the salty taste sends shocks of excitement through her veins.

  “Food!” she hears her voice scream again and her lungs are on fire.

  Rough hands grab her shoulders and pull her down. Vision blurs with rage. She sees these monsters looking down at her. White and brown faces, blotted out with a bright sun in between them all, stare at her with disgust. She tries to spit at them, but nothing touches that pure burning nothingness that remains under their judgmental eyes.

  The stench of something strange tears at the inside of her nose, her lungs fill, her head cracks with pain, and the world spins. Iron and alcohol choke out all tastes within her mouth as pressure fills her stomach. Rolling her head, she sees a man sitting beside her.

  A dark figure. Head lowered, and eyes closed, his single touch holds her down.

  Demon! It must be a demon!

  Red tries to scream a name. The memory is right at the tip of her bloody tongue.

  “Food!”

  The sound bloodies the inside of her ears.

  “Stay calm, my daughter,” the man’s voice soothes.

  A warmth begins to spread through Red’s body. Fire and anger fight against the intrusion and her muscles cramp into balls of agony and defeat. Screams cough out of her lungs, but everything is wet and thick with blood and salt.

  “Let the light in, my daughter. Your father will see you home,” the man’s voice beckons, but he is too far away.

  The words are lost beyond an ocean of fear and hatred. Red is alone as the w
orld around her fades. Searing fire rips through her veins and her bones crack as her body falls apart.

  Darkness recedes into the corners of the universe as light scorches the sensitive parts of her eyes. Bubbles pop and her vision bursts in bright rays of pain. Warmth and needles tear their way through her flesh down to the toes she has not felt in weeks.

  Skin opens across her palms as she squeezes her hands and her knuckles break. Nails pierce flesh and pus and disease leak out in waves as the world is washed clean by fire and light.

  Red cannot breathe. Her lungs ache. Her throat opens, but the world is silent behind a wall of pain and brightness. Years flash before her eyes.

  Before the infection. A time prior to the bombs lighting the horizon up in a fire that would last forever. Inside her chest the pain explodes and there is no more air. Her mind spins and she remembers her parents.

  She reaches for them. Her brother by their side, but she cannot speak. Choking sobs push out what little air she has trapped in her tiny body.

  Her eyelids grow heavy. Sleep calls for her as the pain begins to fade into the distance of the darkness. Little fingers stretch and wiggle.

  Just one touch. They are so close, she can almost feel them.

  The darkness closes in around her. Warmth fades and the comfort of nothingness eases the fall. In the distance her parents and family become one with the horizon. They are no longer there, and her world shrinks to a pin prick. She is blind. The pain is gone. Suffering and agony is washing away over a slow trickling brook leaving a single word hanging in the nothingness.

  Her mind locks on this word. Holds it tight for dear life. She will not let it go. Like a puppy she has never had, this is her salvation.

  Rest…

  Yes… She will do just that.

  Birds chirp and the empty smell of dry air mixes with the soft touch of honey. A gentle breeze tickles the tiny hairs of bare arms.

  Such comfort, such softness.

  Red jolts awake and sits up with enough force to send her pillow skidding across the wooden floor.

  Warm light filters into the room through open windows and thin cotton curtains dance with the golden rays. Empty beds sit undisturbed throughout the room. Tucked in sheets are pulled tight, the crisp white brightening up the darkness of the shadows.

  “Hello?” Red says.

  “Rather surprised, aren’t you?” a man’s voice answers.

  She spins and throws her feet off the mattress.

  Cold shivers run through her legs as the chilled floor kisses the soles of her feet. Goosebumps prickle their way up her bare legs and into regions of her body she hasn’t felt in a long time. A stiff breeze catches her backside and for the first moment she realizes that whatever outfit she is wearing it is open where her bare ass hangs out.

  “Who are you? What the fuck is going on around here?” Red demands.

  A figure materializes out of the shadows behind her bed. Slow, cautious movements rock back and forth as the figure holds itself steady with a hand on the mattress closest to her bed.

  It is a man. Narrow shoulders, long neck, and a face starved into sharp edges looks back at her. Knees shake and muscles strain to keep him upright, but his eyes do not hold the same illusion. They are strong and wild. Like a child running outside for the first time after a storm, he looks amazed with wonder.

  “I could ask you the same thing, but if you are anything like me, you probably don’t remember either,” he answers.

  With a groan he throws himself onto the bed next to her, his body collapsing onto the sheets. Large breaths come quickly, and his chest expands and contracts with the effort. A shaky hand lifts into the light above him, his fingers stretching and playing with the dust dancing in the warm air before falling down onto his stomach.

  Red looks all around and this time is certain they are the only two inside.

  “My name is Cherry Red,” she says. “My friends call me, Red.”

  “Is that because of your hair?” the man asks and tries to point toward her head, but his index finger barely extends before his arm drops again.

  “Yeah,” she starts. “Something like that.”

  Self-consciously, she reaches up to run her fingers through the few strands she has on her scalp and her breath catches in her throat and lungs as she begins to cough. Thick strands of silk run through her fingers all across the top of her head and the skin beneath is warm and smooth. Rivulets of cherry cascade over her eyes and tickle the tip of her nose with the smell of jasmine and lavender.

  “Hell of a surprise isn’t it?” the man asks.

  Red looks at him. He is struggling to sit himself up and every joint of his body shakes with the effort.

  “Who did this to me? What is going on here?” she demands.

  The smile on his face is crooked and his eyes tear.

  “God himself did this to us. I don’t know about you, but I can’t remember anything beyond the fall of Chicago. The bombs. The lights. Then the sickness. Everyone who wasn’t dead was starving and going mad. Half my team were charred husks before the sun ever rose. The others… those like me tried to flee, but we were so hungry. Where were we to go? The city was crumbling on itself. Buildings falling. The air was so thick with smoke and dust we could hardly breathe, but God-damn we were hungry. Then one day I got separated and woke up here.”

  Red pushes herself further up onto her bed, curling her legs under her ass. He doesn’t move toward her, nor even try to move away from the pile he has collapsed into, but a little distance between them doesn’t hurt.

  “You… you were infected,” she says.

  He turns his face to her, his hollow cheeks peppered with the first signs of hair darkening the edges.

  “Infected? Infected with what?” he asks.

  With a grunt the man gives up and lets himself fall back onto the bed, the mattress rippling with his weight.

  “Everyone in Chicago died almost five years ago. Half this country died when the thousand bombs dropped. Those of us who survived took shelter in the less populated areas. No one bombs towns with one stoplight, but then they came,” Red says.

  His eyes grow wider, and his lips move, but no words come out. She lifts her hand to silence him and begins again.

  “The infected. Men and women ravaged by some disease that made them nothing more than monsters. Hunger drives them to eat and kill anything that moves and breathes. They are animals. Better to be put down than to suffer having them around.”

  He takes a deep breath.

  “I was one of them?” he asks.

  Red takes a good look at the man. He is dressed in a white cloth of very thin material. She can see his limbs move beneath them, but there is something missing.

  The scars. The infection.

  He looks normal. Lifting her hand in front of her, she sees her own skin for the first time. White, tan, red, and in some areas pink as if newly healed scabs had just fallen away. Running her hand over her face, she feels the soft touch of the pads of her fingers.

  The skin is smooth. There are no scars and the tingles in her fingers and cheeks send shivers down her body. Ripping away the gown over her legs, the heart in her chest jumps as a lump forms in her throat.

  Smooth white skin, so bright she begins to squint; but it’s her legs. There are no signs of disease.

  This can’t be real. Pushing away from the bed she goes to scream at the man across from her, the feeling of joy pulsing through her body like it never has before, but he’s fallen asleep. His eyes are closed, and his breathing is slow and shallow. A foot dangles from the edge of the bed.

  Red takes a step and the strength in her legs gives.

  The world spins and she crumbles to the floor. Pain surges through her body, but for once it dissipates quickly. Cold floorboards sooth her skin. She smiles beyond the embarrassment and lifts herself onto her knees.

  Joints do not pop. Her muscles scream, but not from decay and infection. They strain with the weight of her body.
Healthy, she takes a long hard look at the blue veins on her hands. Blood pulses through them, but she does not hate it. Something has given her life back to her.

  Hair tickles the edges of her cheeks and she blows at the strands like a child in the summer. Her hair dances in the stream and falls back against her face.

  She is ‘RED’ again. A giggle erupts from her chest and she nibbles at her lips. Hugging herself, she can’t help but feel the tears as they trickle down her cheeks one by one. Whoever did this is a miracle worker. Maybe even a god.

  Carefully, one foot and hand at a time, she lifts herself off the floor. The material of her clothes opens in the back and a stiff chill runs up her spin when she finally balances herself and none of it matters. A dream has finally come true. In a world made of shit and misery, all this surviving and fighting has finally paid off.

  There is a door across the room. A way out. Back into the world and to find the man who has saved her. Straightening the front of her gown, Red prepares herself to see what other miracles have been wrought upon the world. Whatever it is, she has a new lease on life. She has to be presentable. Rolling her shoulders back, she is ready to go.

  A new hope arises inside of her. The light shining through the windows is brighter and the birds sing louder than she has ever heard. Red takes a deep breath and tests the muscles of her legs. Shaky and weak, but they will hold.

  One foot in front of the other. Balance is difficult. The world spins, but a deep breath clears the way. The distance between her and the new beginnings shortens. Her heart races. The palms of her hands begin to wet.

  What is out there for me? Can this be real?

  Metal creaks as the door handle turns before she ever reaches the end of the room. Silently the wooden portal slides slowly open and the light from the outside spills in with a cascade of new smells. Fresh air. Dry dust and a wall of heat wash over her.

  Standing before her, bathed in darkness, is the man who saved her.

  Tall.

  Dark.

  Formidable.

  It is not Merchant.