Traveling Merchant (Book 2): Pestilence

by Seymour, William J.

  She steps up beside him and wipes away the thick dust streaked across her forehead. Her hair is matted against her head and the cheeks beneath her intense glare are brighter than the blazing fire pushing its way through the deep clouds.

  "A killing field," Merchant says. "Look at the path of the stones. Narrowing as they get closer. Draws them to a single point and crossed lanes of fire kills them before they ever get a chance."

  Smart tactic. Someone there knows what they are doing. Red scratches at her head and looks to consider the idea.

  She shrugs.

  "Fucking dumb infected. Would run into a wall of bullets if it meant they had a chance at a single bite," she says.

  Pulling her rifle off her shoulder, she checks the ammunition for the thousandth time since they took up residence here some half mile from the walled-in city. Merchant shifts his own burden across his shoulder and watches as a few buzzards circle in the air high above. Slow deliberate movements. They wait for the coming night when there will be more to eat. Fresh kill. Not this rotting mess left to petrify across the empty plains of Nebraska.

  "Something drives them here," he adds and Red turns his way as if she had forgotten he was even there. "They may be crazed but look how many of them there are."

  He points, and she follows his line of sight. There must be hundreds upon hundreds of bodies in some state of burial or decay between them and the metal barrier. Flesh pulled from bone and bones broken into points from bullets and bombs.

  "What would that matter? Once they know there is food nothing will stop them except a bullet to the brain."

  Merchant shakes his head. She should already know this, but something has her crazed. Is she turning again?

  "The smell is too thick and the distance too far. Even if led here, the stench of their own dead would drive them away. I can't believe the people there can stand it themselves."

  Red nods and wipes at her own nose.

  "You have that right. Bastards are going to pay for all of this," she says before throwing herself against the nearest tree trunk, the bark braking away into dust, and slipping to the ground. "Do we really need to wait till sundown?"

  He takes another look at the sky. The shadows are lengthening and the land just beyond New Frontier is slipping behind a curtain of haze and darkness.

  "We have a better chance at dusk. My guess is they are preparing for another onslaught this evening when the sun falls. If we approach just before the fight starts, they'll be too busy and startled to bother with us. If we are lucky, they'll just let us in without too much of a fuss."

  She spits on the ground and he watches her knuckles go white as she grinds her palm into the grip of the rifle. A loose cannon. He'd have been better off leaving her behind, but this isn't a fight he can do alone. She knows who they search for. He'd have to kill everyone to be certain, and best to avoid that if he can.

  "You better be correct. That bastard Barnett is in there and I don't want to lose our shot out in the middle of a desert full of infected."

  Merchant shakes his head. Too anxious, too dangerous. But she is correct. The time is near.

  A cold chill rustles the brittle branches around them, an old sound, sharp and piercing.

  "Really going to walk right into the open maw, aren't you?" Snake-Eyes asks.

  His voice appears moments before the blue smoke molds itself from dry leaves and the ghost pulls itself together next to him. Merchant doesn't turn to look. He's seen enough of those never sleeping eyes and hollow brained skull.

  "It's not too late to stop and keep going that way," Snake-Eyes says and points in the opposite direction.

  That is different. Merchant turns and eyes the ghost who greets him with a smile and a wink of those damn snakes tattooed into his neck.

  "Taking to caring?" Merchant whispers.

  Snake-Eyes grasps at his chest and stumbles backward.

  "Disrespect! To think you believe that I do not care about your well-being, Merchant. And after all we have been through?"

  A wicked smile creases his translucent face.

  "Who are you talking to?" Red asks.

  Merchant ignores her and steps toward the ghost. Leaves crack beneath his boots and thunder explodes overhead.

  "You know something, don't you?" he asks louder than he intended.

  Something is amiss here, and he is having none of it.

  "With you? Everything is amiss, but I'm just saying. Give the stupid bitch back her pistol and let's be on our way. If we hurry, we could be back on the highway by sunrise and this place would be nothing but a bad memory."

  "Merchant... everything, OK?" Red asks again and moves to lift herself from the ground.

  "Speak now or I'll find a way to end you like Barnett when I find him," Merchant growls.

  The hollow gaps in Snake-Eye's head look for support but there is nothing but them in this desolate world. Skin bobs between the eyes of the tattoo and if he wasn't so angry, Merchant would swear the fucking thing just blinked away fear.

  "I'm... I'm just not certain going in there is a good idea," Snake-Eyes says.

  "You can't be certain of anything. You're dead and if you don't stop wasting my time, I don't care what I have to do, but I'll make sure you end up deader than you already are."

  Red grabs his shoulder and tries to pull him around. She would have a better chance ripping the trees from the ground than moving him. With a shrug he pushes her off.

  "Hey, you bastard. Are you fucking losing it?"

  A single finger lifts in front of her face and she falls silent. The hand before her does not waver.

  "You are out of time," Merchant threatens.

  Snake-Eyes pulls at the collar of his perfectly white shirt and licks at his perfectly white teeth.

  "There is more down there than this Barnett," Snake-Eyes starts. Merchant stiffens and turns toward the fortress. The sky quickly turning to a velvet smothering the receding red flames. "I can feel it and every part of me says we can't be down there."

  "We?"

  The ghost moves up beside him. "It's waiting. Whatever is down there wants us there. I... I can't explain it, but I can feel it. If this was just a city full of infected, I'd revel in the idea of watching you torn bit by bit. The escape would be orgasmic, and you know how much I love a good orgasm."

  "You're not going all shady on me, are you?" Red asks and steps beside him. Her rifle is in her hand and she keeps a measured distance between them.

  Merchant gives her a quick glance but then turns back to the walled enemy.

  "We are going," he growls and shifts his bag on his shoulder.

  "Last chance, Merchant," Snake-Eyes pleads. "If you go down there, neither of us are leaving, you bastard. I wasn't meant to live trapped in such a place!"

  "You're dead, you asshole," Merchant groans.

  "He sure will be," Red adds and readies her rifle.

  Merchant doesn't correct her. His eyes scan the distance before them. A killing field. A death trap. Exactly where he is meant to be.

  The doors are barred from the inside. At least twenty feet tall, it's a castle built in the middle of a crater and they are little more than ants beside a thousand tons of steel and rock. Heads stand at attention from corner tower to corner. A dozen or more rifles all trained on them.

  A calmness settles over Merchant. His heart slows where anyone else’s would speed up. His hands loosen, and the weight of his burden lessens as the shadow of the fortress settles over him.

  Death to his rear. Pain and suffering before him. Red and her nervousness more explosive than a bomb ready to explode beside him. He can feel her anger. Disarmed before they reached the door, she is pissed, and he may be lucky he had her drop the rifle.

  There are plenty inside to be had. He knows this. She knows this. In the end, she still said he can go fuck himself.

  Good, she's finally thinking straight. Snake-Eyes is gone. Like the weight of his burden, he can no longer feel the hatred from the vile man. T
his is worrisome, but it's too late for that.

  Merchant waits.

  The darkness closes in as the last of the sunlight ignites the horizon behind the fortress with an explosive burst and then is gone. They will soon be here.

  "State your name and your purpose," a voice calls down from the top of the wall.

  No emotion, all business. Almost as if it was an everyday occurrence.

  "This is Red. My name is Merchant," he answers. There is no reason to give what is not given. Not if these are soldiers like those they left to rot back at the village.

  Boots shuffle and he can still feel the barrels of enough weapons to fight a war aimed at his chest.

  "Your purpose, and don't make me ask again or we'll open you up where you stand," the man command with more bravado than is necessary when speaking a dozen to two.

  Hefting his bag higher onto his shoulder, Merchant looks at Red and then back to the nameless heads above.

  "Traveling west, we are looking for shelter. We need the rest and if we are lucky maybe even trade for some supplies. We’ve put a lot of distance behind us and could really use a roof over our heads for the evening."

  Nothing in response.

  "Infected aren't too far behind. We are unarmed and if you don't let us in, we'll die out here no matter what."

  Lightening streaks across the blackness of the sky and the dead forest behind them is a mass hovering and waiting to attack. The shadows move, and he knows they are running out of time.

  "You're out of luck partner. Night is here, and we do not open the doors once the sun is down. If you are lucky you can stay out ahead of them. Keep away from the forest edge and do not look back. By the grace of God, they'll be too busy fighting us and you might have a chance," the voice calls down to them.

  Merchant growls but not enough for them to hear. These bastards don’t let anyone in. He glances back the way they had come and the white bones of the dead spread from the ground like a graveyard.

  How many of these were people looking for shelter?

  There is no way to tell. The dead are the dead, infected or not. Once the bullets and bombs take you, everything is the same. A sense of vile hatred warms in his belly. He will find a way in. One way or the other he will find a way in and this Mr. Barnett will not be the only one he has a word with.

  “If there is going to be a fight, let us be a part of it. But at least give us a chance. Let us in and we’ll gladly stand by your side and fight these monsters.”

  He tries another tactic. The emptiness that fills up between them reveals he hit a nerve. Maybe one sensitive enough to work.

  “You a soldier?” the man above asks.

  Merchant looks at Red. Her eyes are trained on the mops of hair and hats poking out from above the protection of the top.

  “Nope,” Merchant lies. “Was raised on a farm back in Pennsylvania. Was pretty good with a rifle though. Have had to kill plenty of these beasts since then, but never out in the open like this.”

  Another grip of hesitation and Red begins to grind her heels into the ground. A bull ready to charge. He puts a hand on her shoulder and she shrugs it away. They better answer quick. Her leash is growing shorter by the moment.

  “Still can’t do it, son. Orders are orders. It’s how we stay alive back here. Get a move on. Your time is running out.”

  That’s it. There will be no more pleading. He can feel any further argument will not be answered unless it’s with a hot piece of lead.

  “Come on, Red. We need to get moving,” Merchant says and puts a hand on her shoulder again. This time with a firmer grip.

  With a small tug he works to move her toward the far corner of the fortress wall, so they can put some distance between them and the incoming army. He can already hear their wails of anguish and hunger. The sound of rustling branches and snapping limbs are not far behind.

  “No! I will not leave!” Red loses the fight against her anger.

  Eyes radiating a fury not seen in a millennium, she yanks away her arm and stomps her feet back to the front gates.

  “Open these god-damn doors, now!” she demands.

  There is movement above them, but no one answers.

  “Did you not hear me, you pencil dicked assholes? Open these fucking doors!”

  A shot rings out and a hand sized crater fractures the caked dirt beside Red’s boots.

  “We’ll find another way,” Merchant says.

  He’s just as mad as she is and has no intention of leaving but waiting out front until they kindly change their minds is no answer for either one of them. His hand covers her shoulder, and he pulls her back toward him. With the swat of her hand she shoves him away.

  “Listen you bastards, I have a message for Logan Barnett,” Red yells and this time gets a wall of silence.

  They are listening. That is good if not too late. Merchant turns to look at the forest behind him, but it is nothing but an impenetrable shadow.

  Nope, this is not good.

  “Ah, you know who I’m talking about,” she mocks. “Tell that bastard that I know the secret of Morninglight. If he doesn’t let us in, the secret dies with us.”

  Defiantly, Red crosses her arms and waits. The commotion above takes on a frantic murmur and the heads become a blur across the top of the wall. Merchant lets his eyes move from the wall to the shadows of the forest behind them. They are closer. Much too close and he clenches the muscles in his arms.

  The ground vibrates at his feet and their time is up. Anger flairs and he drops his bag. Fuck these men and fuck the infected. He doesn’t have time for this. Wheeling around, the first of the monsters breaks through the darkness, eyes glaring a feline yellow of jaundice and disease.

  “Red!” he yells.

  An inhuman call echoes as more break through the void. It’s a mad rush of every sight and sound ever seen. Some are sickly and stumble to keep their footing as they crash through the grave yard. Others are injured and hobbled as bones protrude from joints at weird angles but not enough to stop them. Blood and pus drips from open wounds and nails and teeth slash for their first taste of blood.

  The majority though are fresh and fast. They overtake the front rows as Merchant and Red come into view. A few of them glance at the walls above. Most do not bother. There is fresh meat ahead and they want the first bite.

  A symphony of shots rings out. First the song of war starts with the tiniest of pitter-patters. Pops that drop the charging wave followed by wails and screams of anguish. Then the chorus kicks in and the storm is a tidal wave of destruction. Bright lights flash from the cover of the walls and bodies drop in quick succession.

  Skin is torn from bone and muscle is ripped as metal penetrates and liquifies tissue as it cuts its murderous path. Heads explode. Guts spill and the dry caked pan of earth they stand on quickly turns into a churning bog of blood and guts. The bullets and training of the defenders are not enough. Many get through. The first unlucky bastard runs directly into the waiting arms of Merchant and ends with a crushed spine and an unnatural posture after hitting the ground.

  A sickly one leaves the large shadow of death behind and goes for the glowing pale white of his companion. Knife in hand, a throat is cut, and guts open before a finger even touches Red’s body. Two more stumble on as bullets pass through but hit nothing vital as they spring on their prey.

  Merchant grabs both like dolls and drives their skulls together. Teeth and blood splatter on impact and the sound of cracking bone is brittle and short. The dead weight falls at his feet and the orchestra above takes on a fervent pitch. Weapons he hasn’t seen or heard in years open up as the sea of monsters before them push further ahead.

  There isn’t enough to keep them all at bay. Merchant and Red give ground as more bodies drop before them. Red drips with blood, a little of hers and more of theirs. Merchant is covered in gore and droppings. He does not waver as his strength and anger build. Another gets through and its throat is out and sent flying back into the mass of hyst
eria and hunger.

  The wall looms behind them.

  Massive.

  Imposing.

  Impenetrable.

  They cannot get inside and running is impossible. Even if they try, they would just be caught. Merchant spares a glance at Red and she waits like a cat pushed into a corner. Knees bent, feet dug into the ground. The knife in her hand is as dark as the bits of entrails glistening their way up to her elbow. The other has its claws out. She sways from foot to foot, but she is not as quick to attack. The next infected that comes within reach, she does not jump on. She waits and lets it run into her and die before it can catch her. Stepping over its prone form, he can see where her leg buckles slightly on the left side.

  Red is hurt.

  Another breaks through, ignoring Merchant the monster veers towards the girl. Merchant grabs its long hair, chunks ripping away but enough still stretching to stop it in its tracks. Wrapping his arm around its neck he squeezes until he hears the bones pop and the last gasp of air escapes its lungs. Twisting, he feels the warm gushes of blood as he rips the head from the creature’s shoulders.

  The gunfire continues and now a few explosions send bits of unidentifiable pieces high into the air. Tiny suns, bursting and fading in the blink of an eye, rain mud and gore all around.

  Merchant turns and hurls his newest prize as high as he can. The head rolls over itself as it arcs over the top of the wall. He can hear the shouts over the gunfire. They are as distinguishable to him as his own heartbeat. Three more explosions rip the word in two and this time they are close enough to force Merchant and Red back to the wall.

  They are trapped. Cold rock and welded metal press against them. The nearest monsters try to charge but a minor thought makes them hesitate. Most die in this moment as gunfire chews them apart. Those who have given up the fight with the two meals sitting directly for them make their last valiant attempt with the wall itself. Trying desperately to find a handhold, fingers claw and bleed as they dig into the solid surface.

  Cries of hunger and anguish call out as there are more failed attempts than successful. They die by the score. A small countless number near the top only to touch their skin to the hot end of a barrel before the explosion sends their brains spraying out on those below them.