Traveling Merchant (Book 2): Pestilence

by Seymour, William J.

  “Don’t look at me like that. This world isn’t going to repopulate itself and no one is forced to do anything they don’t want to. We have strict laws and punishment here. Murder, rape, abuse, or anything not within the culture we aim to cultivate here will find a swift end outside those gates. This is a harsh world here, Red. People must do what they can to survive. You and your big friend should know that first hand by the way you two handle yourselves. I doubt the blood soaking into your shirt is the first you’ve ever spilt.”

  Red pulls at the cloth clinging to the skin of her chest. She smells like iron and filth, but it won’t be the last time. She’ll deal with it a little longer as long as it's Barnett’s in the end.

  “Does terrorizing a small village not count as going against your culture?” she asks.

  Halton stops and turns to her. His men without hesitation work their way around and she is surrounded.

  “There are those in this world who would work to keep things from the greater good. Who has the right to keep things from others who would see that knowledge used for the good of everyone? No Red, terrorizing small villages are not what we do here. Seeking truth in a world lost beneath a blanket of death and despair is all any one of us can hope for. As for those you speak of, we tried our best to be reasonable. Am I finding myself believing that you think otherwise?”

  Turning on his heels like a good soldier, Red is forced to catch up.

  “Curious that is all. I was there one of the times you stopped into town.”

  “And after that?”

  She looks at the soldiers hemming her in and none of them spare her a glance. Fingers itch near triggers and she turns back to Halton.

  “Merchant and I left. As we said, we are headed west. Easiest way to do that is follow the interstate.”

  “You were a bit south of that, weren’t you,” Halton adds without emotion.

  “Washed down the river by accident. All we care about is getting back on our path and I figured that maybe a little help wouldn’t hurt along the way.”

  Halton stops again.

  “A little help?”

  It is time for her to smile.

  “Now, you wouldn’t expect me to come all the way here with the one thing your Mr. Barnett has been looking for without expecting some kind of payment? What kind of woman do you take me for, Halton?”

  A wicked smile crosses his face.

  “Smart. I thought from the moment I watched you cut down those infected that there was something special about you.”

  Following the older soldier, they turn down a wider corridor made of piled metal and hollow sounding containers. The road opens into a path capable of allowing the vehicles she had seen them use. The ground at her feet rises slowly at first and then faster. Up ahead the jagged lines of the city and its hidden denizens gives way to an elaborate structure that fits in with this place as much as snow in August.

  Metal shingles sit in neat rows over a high-pitched roof that stretches for at least a thousand feet. Walls of mortared stone sit squat with high pressed windows of real glass and three chimneys slowly churn a white smoke into the dark night. Beneath the poisonous stench of the fortress hangs the sweet smell of pine.

  Red turns to Halton, who is now all business as he climbs the wide steps toward the front of the ‘guest house.’

  “Barnett lives here?” she asks.

  A nod is all she gets in return.

  Climbing the shallow steps two at a time, they stop at the front where two guards, body armor and helmets making them look more like machines than human, converse with Halton before opening the double doors and letting them in.

  Where the outside is all torture and pain, the inside is something she has not seen in a very long time. Soft carpet cushions her steps and the warm air of a burning fire tickles her chest. The heat is not stifling, and the walls are plastered with paper a comforting shade of blue. High above, the roof sits pitched into darkness, yet the shadows remain at bay with the presence of burning candles, a crackling fire in the front room, and the one thing she has not seen in almost as far as she can remember.

  Electricity.

  Lightbulbs are bright beneath dark red canvas shades filling everything with a soft glow. Cushioned chairs are arranged lazily and always within reach. This is a home of a king. Without noticing, Red realizes her mouth is watering.

  She licks her lips.

  Is that the smell of cooking meat? The pains of hunger bite at her stomach. All she has had since she left to search for Merchant is dried meat stored in Merchant’s jacket pocket. Two strangers exit the nearest door, dressed in the cleanest whites she has seen outside of Brother George’s Sick House, and without a single glance they enter another room where the aroma of food is overpowering.

  The sweet taste of vegetables hits her like a hammer to the gut. Another grumble escapes, and she covers her abdomen with her hand.

  Keep your wits about you!

  She bites down on her tongue. This is not how she can act. These are not her friends, and this is for certain not her home. They took her home from her and that is why she is here. A fire tries to flare deep in her belly but is quickly extinguished with the thought of warm soup and a cold drink. She balls her hands into fists.

  Can… not… forget.

  “Follow me this way,” Halton says.

  Red’s eyes snap open. She never even realized they were closed. She nods and steps up behind him. They move deeper into the building, the hallways long and decorated with paintings beginning to show their signs of age. Fading corners and colors washing into one another. She isn’t one for art because there really isn’t any reason for it anymore, but the slow approach of decay is inevitable. No matter how men try, this world will catch up to them all.

  “He’s right inside,” Halton says as he steps to the side of a closed door.

  Painted white and large enough to dwarf even Merchant, the entrance to whatever lays beyond is as magnificent as it is gaudy. Red rolls her shoulders back. Her palms are wet, and the strength of her fingers has fled with the hopes and dreams of everyone outside this city. This is her shot. For Kelly. For everyone back in Morninglight.

  She’ll have to get Merchant after. If she survives. With a quick glance at Halton waiting beside her, the quick thought of what happens after enters her mind. Just as quickly, she shoves it away. No time for that.

  The hinges give a gentle creak as the portal pushes inward. A cool air sweeps out and trusses the hair in front of her eyes and on her neck. The darkness inside is thick and majestic where it isn’t broken by soft candle light stretched along the back wall.

  A single chair sits in the very center of the room. High backed and elegant in its resemblance of a king’s throne, there is no movement that she can see. Red takes a deep breath to settle herself. She steps in and the door swings shut behind her, a finality in the crack of wood on frame. A shiver runs down her spine and she flexes her fingers to stop the shaking.

  Another deep breath.

  Her heart pounds and a pain pierces her head.

  "You're not exactly what I expected," Barnett's voice says.

  Red grinds her teeth.

  "And what were you expecting? Groveling at your feet?"

  The anger that brought her here flairs, hot and wild. An urge to charge the back of the chair, fists flying, and nails clawing is overwhelming, but she fights it back.

  "Ha! Ha. No, I always wondered what a person willing to turn over the lives of others would look like. They come in so many different sizes and shapes, yet most are not as pretty as you."

  A shadow shifts from the front of the chair.

  "I think you've done enough with those people already," Red says and starts to circle around from behind.

  Only one chance at this. Take it now or she'll never get another one.

  "I heard my men did a good job showing those in that pitiful little town that I meant business. Why does it take so much for people to learn? Do I look like a liar?"
/>
  Barnett pushes his way away from where he is seated, and he is much larger than she remembers. His neck like a tree trunk and his shoulders darkening half the candles. Red hesitates.

  "An asshole is more like it," she says. "Those men and women did not deserve what you did, and it is time someone taught you a lesson."

  He chuckles again, a short and uncaring sound.

  "I bet you think you are the one to do it?"

  Red growls.

  "What about your big friend? Think he's ready for what we have in store for him?"

  She is locked where she stands.

  "Yeah, we know who you are. Don't think we didn't before we let you in. Did Brother George, isn't that what he calls himself, send you?"

  Red steps forward, fists coming up. Barnett puts his hand up in a placating gesture, but with no other movements.

  "No, I'm guessing he didn't. A man of the cloth like him wouldn't send a couple of killers, now would he? That is what you are, aren't you? A pair of killers with a lot of blood on those pretty hands of yours."

  She has had enough. Too much talking, too much time wasted.

  "Time for you to find out, you fucking piece of..." Red begins to shout, but the rest comes out in a wet slur.

  Lightning shoots through her body and tears at muscles and joints before she crashes to the ground. Her body convulses out of her control as the light of the candles and torches dance in her blurring vision. Pain like nothing she has ever felt pulses through her body and spreads like cold ice from her shoulder.

  Two shadows lean down above her, blackened behind shadow and the water that runs freely from her eyes. The taste of salt and bile foams in her mouth. Her tongue is swollen, and she can barely breathe.

  "We have so much planned for you two," Barnett says. She cannot make out the other. The pain intensifies, and her left arm goes numb and dead. "Not nearly as much as we have for those stupid simple people back in Morninglight. They'll pay dearly for this, but not before you and your friend do, my dear. Not before you do."

  A hand the size of the world comes slowly down to her face, and for a moment she can smell the stench of decay and rot. Strong and pungent, Red chokes as the world flashes in a blinding green light and her thoughts flee to the back of her mind.

  17

  Should Have Come Alone

  Little changes in the darkness. Merchant sits and waits. The air around remains cold and the bench seat digs deep into the back of his legs. Uncomfortable and annoying.

  He lets the discomfort settle into his mood and keep it churning. Pulling at his bag as it sits next to him, it's light and practically empty. The sound of pieces of plastic tapping against each other rattles and he doesn't bother looking. Whatever this is cannot be good.

  Taking a deep breath, he looks to the light outside. Hours have passed. No way to tell how many, but Red has been gone too long. He can feel the darkness fading. Soon a new day will rise and any chance they have of completing this and moving on will have passed.

  With a grunt, Merchant gets up and moves to the door. There are at least two men still out there. He's listened to their useless conversations and banter about the roundness of Red's ass to no end except that they have a week's rations of honey biscuits riding on that the one named Luther would last longer than Alex once they got Red back to their rooms.

  No better time than now.

  He knocks on the door. Three quick hollow thuds and the door rattles in its frame.

  "What you need, big man?" Luther asks, his voice carrying a small chuckle.

  "I could take a piss if you two could show me where an outhouse is," Merchant says.

  Both men chuckle again at some unseen joke.

  "Why don't you just go in the corner?" Alex asks.

  Merchant sighs.

  "Your boss said to ask you two for anything I might need. Well, I need to piss."

  A little shuffling on the other side of the barrier.

  "Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. Whose word is he going to take, yours or ours?" Luther asks, his voice louder and closer to the door.

  The flap on top of Merchant's bag opens with a click and he reaches for the bottom. Hesitation staggers him for a moment, but not enough to stop as his hand finds what he is looking for.

  "Look, I just need to piss. Real quick. Around the corner and back. I'm not sure how long it will take Red to work out a deal with your boss, but I'd rather not be sitting here wasting time in my own piss," Merchant says.

  Another small chuckle.

  "Guess you're out of luck, partner," Luther adds, his voice right up against the door.

  Merchant kicks his heavy boot behind the handle and wood splinters into the air as it swings open. He hears a wet thump of a sound and a body hits the ground hard.

  "What the..." Alex starts to say and silences as he rounds the edge of the door frame.

  A bullet explodes through the back of his skull and he drops hard and fast.

  Luther crawls backward. His jaw works through soundless words and his hands claw at the ground, his rifle more than an arm's length away and forgotten.

  "But... but...," he is finally able to get out.

  Merchant towers over him and drives his foot into the man's groin. Another gust of breath and the soldier rolls up with the pain and pressure. Hands on ear and chin, Merchant spins and the man's neck snaps like a dry twig.

  Voices begin to call across this end of the fortress. No alarms, yet. Hopefully they thought it was another infected coming too close to the wall. Pulling both bodies, Merchant places them inside his cell and works quickly to reset the door. It won't shut but it doesn't need to. The men inside won't be looking for a way out anytime soon.

  Stepping out onto the road, there is still no one around looking for the source of the gunfire.

  Strange.

  Merchant shrugs and keeps to the shadows. Red and that bastard Halton went toward the center of the fortress. From the description, this Mr. Barnett is not a simple man. He won't live in one of these small salvaged structures. He's too important for that.

  Bag bouncing lightly over his shoulder, Merchant begins to jog and lets the warming of his muscles flow through his body. All he has to do is find the largest building in this place. That shouldn't be hard.

  If it is, there is more than one way to smoke out a tyrant and fingering the trigger of his newly found rifle, he knows exactly how to do it.

  Wide, flat, and guarded like a palace. Six guards, three going north and the other two going south, march in trained paths. Two more remain stationed near an entrance.

  Yep, he's found Mr. Barnett and Red if she's still alive. He hasn't seen any sign of movement going in or out of the building since stumbling upon it and the horizon to the east is shifting from a cobalt blue to a light pink.

  The sun will be up, and this will be a lot harder than it should be.

  Sounds of engines revving and voices carry farther in the late evening air. Patrols are more frequent this close to Barnett and the shadows are much thinner.

  Merchant checks his rifle. Seventeen rounds and that is it. Not much to storm in with, but he's had less and done more with it. Securing his load across his back, he shoulders the weapon and steps out. Maybe they won't even notice him until it is too late.

  The roar of an engine like a dozen angry bears flairs up behind him and he's forced against the sharp cold wall of a storage hut. Metal creaks as it struggles to hold him and the vehicle blasts past with the soldier manning the mounted rifle on the back hanging on for dear life.

  Dust kicks up into the air leaving an easy trail to follow. Merchant steps out behind. He watches as the driver makes for a direct path to the target. Men shuffle and brace as the big tires skid to a stop in front of the porch and door.

  Scanning the road behind, he watches as the driver jumps from his seat and races inside.

  He's been discovered, or at least they found those two dead men taking his place. Merchant’s heart steadies. Edging forward, keepi
ng his shoulder against the sturdy wall and his presence in the darkness, he waits for the alarms that are sure to come.

  A lifeless silence hangs in the air, a blanket over the hum of engines and fires in the distance that have become their entire world. Less than two hundred yards separate him and the guards out front, yet they have shown no sign that they have spotted him.

  Good luck for once.

  With a crash, the front entrance slams open and men spill out like rats fleeing a sinking ship. The driver heads back and jumps into the driver seat followed by the one person who refuses to run. Shoulders back and everyone else scattering around him, it's Halton, and Merchant can see that from here.

  The engine roars a cry for battle and dust spits as the tires spin. Those stationed at guard remain as those who come pouring out head around the corner and are lost to the darkness. More engines fire up and come alive.

  A mechanical thunder rumbles the ground and lights flicker to life on both sides. Bursting from the shadows, Merchant watches as armored cars and trucks spill out and circle the front before turning down the path that leads directly to him.

  Stepping back, he moves until he slides around the nearest corner. It’s a tight fit. His chest rubs against the sharp corners of a wall and his shoulders pinch against rusted edges as the weathered metal bends. He can taste the aged oil as it fills his nose and chokes in the back of his throat.

  The vehicles close the distance in a few heartbeats and without slowing they are gone. Eyes of hard men glare as weapons remain held at the ready and they all look like they are going to war.

  A look he is familiar with, he hasn't seen it in a long time. One he recognizes from another life.

  Merchant waits for the sound of the army to fade. The vibration at his boots is gone and what little time he has left will soon be closing if he does not move quickly.

  Shouldering his rifle, he steps out and turns toward the front of the place he seeks. There will be no sneaking this night. There is no other choice.

  Both guards stiffen as he approaches. His boots clacking on the gravel road, but neither give warning. Who would approach at this hour? Locked behind their protective walls, there is nothing they cannot control. Merchant smiles, a curling of his lips that is barely noticeable.