Traveling Merchant (Book 1): Merchant

by Seymour, William J.

  “Hi, Elizabeth,” Alexis says.

  Air jets out of Elizabeth’s lungs like she’s been gored through the belly by a charging bull, and she begins to cough. Tiny, soft hands, wrap themselves around her shoulders. Arms like a bird’s rest across her back. There is no meat to the girl, just skin and bones yet so much warmth comes from her petite frame.

  “Hi…Alexis,” Elizabeth gets out between coughs.

  “Are you okay? Do I need to help you back to the birthing ward?”

  Elizabeth forces herself to straighten and then looks the young girl in the eyes. They are sad and tired. Dark circles shadow what were once bright and warm. Her hair is limp and it sticks to her skin where it isn’t held up within her own knitted cap of light blue and pink. Red blotches of scratches and cuts line the side of her neck and the skin of her arms are paler than snow where they are not showing signs of bruising.

  “Do I look like I’m okay? Fuck, girl. What did they do to you?”

  Alexis looks back to the arena, but her attention is not with the excitement down below.

  “I’ve been busy doing things to help people. There are so many people that need help,” Alexis whispers.

  “For the first time, you are telling me the truth,” Elizabeth says.

  The young girl looks back at her. One eyebrow is raised, and her lips part to say something, but the words do not come out.

  “Come on, Alexis, let’s get out of here. I’ve already seen enough.”

  Elizabeth turns back to the men blocking them, but they have not moved. She sighs.

  “We should really stay and watch,” Alexis says. “From what I have heard, this may be one of the most exciting ones we’ve seen in a long time.”

  “You are fucking kidding me, right? I’ve seen enough. Let’s just get out of here and find somewhere to rest and be alone for a bit.”

  Alexis smiles, and then it fades away faster than the dark marks on her face.

  “There is nothing more in this world that you want than to be alone is there?” she asks.

  “Pretty much. Maybe a house full of food, as well, and a young stud who doesn’t speak and knows when to move when I tell him to.” Elizabeth growls.

  She looks back at the men, but they do not pay attention to any word she says.

  “Join me for this,” Alexis says. The grip of her hands is tighter, and she is leading the way back toward the bleachers. “It will be good for you to watch. I think you will understand in a moment.”

  Both women step over the man who groans and rolls like a turtle flipped over on its shell.

  “Fucking bitch. Look what you did to my leg,” he says with a hiss.

  Elizabeth jams the end of her crutch into his groin, and he howls in pain. He tries to grab at her with the hand he isn’t using to cup his crotch, and Alexis kicks the feeble attempt away. A look as cold as ice solidifies on the young woman’s face, and the man rolls back the other way.

  “What have they done to you, Alexis?” Elizabeth asks while tracing her eyes between her friend and the fallen asshole.

  “This way. We don’t want to miss the best part.”

  Both women shuffle their way between bodies and around children until they are at the front of the bleachers. Alexis says a few words and several of the people on the first bench slide over or stand to give them enough room to sit. Alexis finds her spot and pats the bench next to her. Looking at those who are now forced to stand, Elizabeth relents and lets herself drop down.

  The pressure on her feet fades instantly. With all the aches from the bruising and cuts, she hadn’t taken the time to realize how much her feet hurt. She places the crutch by her side, keeping her hand wrapped around it for strength.

  “Do you recognize that one?” Alexis asks.

  Her slender arm points to the arena below. A single man walks circles around the Father. He wears no shirt, and tattoos and infection weave their way around his torso. A long-wicked knife sits tucked into his belt. The blade is ink black and the edges are jagged and sharp even from this distance. His arms are up in challenge as the people boo him and hiss as he draws near. A smile as wide as the village itself stretches across his face, and his head is shaved clean.

  Elizabeth recognizes him from the guard post. This is the one that the Chosen did not kill. She had thought they punished him already, but now she realizes she was wrong. He is different from what she remembers. The defiance in his eyes masks the crazy bloodlust that burns bright. Infection does not only take hold of his chest and arms but half of his face. He growls, and the audience shouts back.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, standing before you is one of your own. Accused of the horrible crime of attempted rape and murder, we are here to see how the heavens above judge him. As the Almighty given form, I have decreed we will let this man prove his will in the judging circle,” Father says from where he stands in the center.

  The sentenced man does not look at him. His attention is drawn and locked by the hundreds of hungry souls who want to watch him die.

  “By our graces, his punishment will be decided here,” Father finishes and walks himself out of the arena.

  “Do you recognize him, Elizabeth?” Alexis asks.

  Elizabeth doesn’t answer. The crowd has quieted down, the anticipation of a thousand souls so thick she could feel the collective heartbeat. The banners ripple in the wind, their fabric snapping sharply as the doomed waits in the center, his feet buried in the mud.

  Metal creaks as the gate furthest from him swings slowly open. Nothing moves, the crowd does not breathe.

  A man steps out. Stooped and pale, the cloudy afternoon light burns at his skin, turning it red and popping blisters in between the scales. He shields his eyes with his burning arm. Infection has run its course throughout his body. Muscles have atrophied, and the bones are swollen at the joints. He twitches as he tries to protect himself from the sun, and he sniffs at the smell of a thousand meals that surround him.

  “Come on you maggot, fight me!” the man in the center challenges.

  The infected lifts his head. He sees the creature yelling at him. His head cocks to the side with a pop that is audible all the way to the first rows of the audience.

  “He’s going to fight the infected?” Elizabeth asks.

  There is no time to answer as the creature charges the man. Faster than a starving creature should be, the infected is on top of the prisoner in a flash. Dirty nails and snarling teeth rake and snap before they are lifted into the air. The monster throws itself at the condemned, and thick arms and legs help propel the hungry beast into the air where it flies head over heels into the mud with a sickening thud.

  No hesitation, the former guard jumps and comes down on top of the body with bone-crunching force. The infected howls, not in pain but in hunger. It tries to bite his opponent, but meaty fingers wrap around its throat. Blood begins to flow as fingernails dig into flesh. A swing of the arm sends a geyser of amber liquid into the air as the man holds his trophy of triumph in the air.

  Men and women boo as he parades his way around. Dark liquid pools where the infected dies, and Elizabeth wants to hurl the contents of her stomach at her feet. Alexis has an iron tight grip on her arm, and the pressure is beginning to hurt. Looking at the young girl, her skin is almost translucent, but her eyes will not pull away from the carnage.

  The two other metal cages open, and the condemned man tosses his gory treasure into the shadows of the first gate. Without hesitation, the infected charge out of their bindings at the smell of blood. One woman and one man barrel across the boggy arena. The guard pulls his knife and prepares for their arrival. The male infected reaches him first and is greeted with polished steel across his chest and abdomen. Blood and guts spill, but he continues to fight. His weight pushes the guard back. The woman reaches him now, and she leaps on his back like an enraged jungle cat. Claws rip into the guard’s skin, and she bites down where his shoulders end and his neck begins.

  He howls in pain, and Elizabe
th joins him as Alexis’ grip becomes a pinch that draws blood beneath her sweatshirt.

  Bringing his knife up, the guard jams his blade through the male’s chin and into his useless brain. The infected spasms, grips at the guard’s shoulder one more time, and falls over dead. One danger down, the guard reaches up and rips the woman off his back by the thin hair still attached to her head. She tumbles forward and splashes in the blood saturated mud. Dark streaks waterfall down the guard’s chest. He rolls his shoulder and more blood spits out. He no longer has a weapon, the knife still logged in the dead man’s head.

  She growls as she circles her intended meal. Blood and dirt cake most of her body and the little cloth she wore has been torn away. Her flesh is bare to the wind but covered in so much infection that puss and other liquids mix with the grime from the arena.

  The two combatants continue to circle one another. The crowd is going frantic. People are jumping and shouting. Curses find themselves thrown into the arena along with rocks that splash in the mud. Elizabeth hears and feels none of it. She can only see the hunger in the woman’s eyes and the desperation growing in his.

  This is madness.

  She spares a quick look back at Alexis, who sits so silently she would be dead if it wasn’t for the terrifyingly strong grip she has on Elizabeth’s arm.

  Elizabeth turns back to the fight as the crowd goes into chaos. The guard now has the woman in his arms, her back pressed against his chest. She scratches at his skin and bites at his arm as he squeezes his muscles around her neck. Blood is pulsing out of the woman’s ears as fast as it is leaking from the tear in the guard’s shoulder. Bones pop, and the woman’s arms and legs kick out frantically. Dark bits of dirt are sent into the air. Elizabeth can see them splatter on some of the children and women who sit too close to the killing ground.

  With a final shout, the guard snaps the woman’s neck, and her body falls limp. He is breathing heavy now. A hundred scratch marks drain blood over his body, and he carries himself with a limp. The crowd begins to quiet. There is a feral squealing like a rabid pig coming from the opened cages.

  The guard turns to them. He backpedals toward the corpse with his blade sticking out like King Arthur’s promised sword.

  There is not enough time.

  More of the infected make their way into the arena. Three at first. All of them men. Bigger, stronger, and fresher. The guard eyes his weapon. It is too far away. All three men charge at once. The smell of blood draws them in like flies to shit. Four more women charge in after.

  Villagers are no longer human as they explode into jubilation as the first reach the man fighting for his life. Elizabeth turns away, dragging Alexis with her. She can hear the cries from the arena as she swings her crutch in front of herself, battering bodies out of the way as she drags them through the crowd. People ignore them, and Elizabeth fights to keep her stomach in check. She can smell their lust and stench as she pushes through.

  The world is spinning and the air is as hot as a humid summer day. At least Alexis is no longer fighting, and they race for the exit.

  Free of the last row, Elizabeth falls to the ground and pain erupts through her leg. She vomits on the ground between her hands, and her stomach spasms. Alexis is saying something. Words of comfort most likely, but Elizabeth cannot hear any of them. The village behind them is a madhouse of insanity and more deranged than the cursed pits of Hell. Elizabeth looks up at the young girl who kneels beside her, and then up at the fading light of the afternoon.

  She has to get out of there, even if she has to die trying.

  Knees wobble. Elizabeth shuffles forward along Main Street. Alexis wraps her arm around her, giving her support where the crutch has given up two blocks ago. Voices of jubilation carry on as the villagers move past. Too much adrenaline, too much excitement for any of them to care about a crippled woman and the one who cares enough to help. They stagger like drunks, leaning heavily on one another but with legs that work without pain. Songs of triumph and cheer are sung into the air as women whisper secrets among themselves, men boast about their strength in the arena, and children slash imaginary swords at one another, chasing away the bad guys and infected before them.

  All of it makes Elizabeth sick. They all make her sick.

  To the west, the sun is nothing but a sliver of red fire burning the horizon, pushing out long shadows that grow darker every minute. As bodies pass, the air stays warm with the heat of excitement and the radiating animalistic wants for blood. So many people crowded into such a tiny space, they cannot feel the cold, but she knows it is there. The most recent storm has passed. Tonight, when the moon and stars are out, the temperature will drop and the bodies in the arena will freeze.

  The vision of herself laying there in the mud, her guts torn out as the people cheer wildly twists her stomach, and she belches another acidic burp.

  Elizabeth takes in an unsteady breath. Her stomach is twisted, and she can only hold in enough breath to prevent herself from coughing. Weakness holds back the pain, but she can feel it gnawing at her nerves, and the anger builds as people pass, recalling the battle in all its gory details.

  Torches and lanterns burn as both women continue their slow pilgrimage back to the hospital. Alexis is correct. She needs to rest. Her body is not ready for so much motion, but she can feel her time running short. This is not where she belongs. Unless she died a long time ago, and this is her unending punishment, there must be a way for her to free herself. Even the devil himself can’t be this cruel and sadistic. Elizabeth spits on the ground at their feet, her mouth full of bile and the taste of blood.

  Splashing in the dark, cold slush at their feet, she can see her boots lifting red with each step. That man’s blood is on her skin. Killing someone for your freedom, she is okay with. Time only knows how many she has had to kill before to stay alive. But that guard’s death was not for her freedom or with mercy. These people secretly live off this shit. Their souls burn with vigor as they watch others torn apart in the name of their god’s will.

  Fuck them. They can all rot in Hell.

  “We are almost there, Elizabeth,” Alexis whispers. Her voice is soft, reassuring, and almost back to the strength Elizabeth remembers. “We’ll get you tucked in and a few more medicines in you. A good night’s rest will see you stronger in the morning.”

  “How can you sleep after that?” Elizabeth asks.

  She looks at the young girl whose arms are supplying her with the only strength that she has.

  “God sees fit to give us a way to our salvation. Those who choose to break away from his teachings must see to it that they seek forgiveness,” the young girl says. Her eyes are locked forward, and the words are recited with no emotion. “If he had been found worthy by our Father, he would have survived in the ring and we would have accepted him back into our family.”

  Elizabeth stops her feet and is almost pulled to the ground as Alexis continues forward.

  “If he would have survived? You unleashed ten hungry and wild infected on him. Seven of them at one time. Only a fucking monster could have killed their way through that. Who knows how many more were waiting for him after?”

  She takes a step back from Alexis. A family with two young children stop, a boy hugging the father around the waist and girl with her chubby arms wrapped around her mom’s knee take notice of the two crippled figures as they stand in the middle of the street. Alexis smiles at them and waves them to continue. They eye Elizabeth, their attention drawn to the bruising and the bandages, their children pulled close to their legs. Without saying a word, they eventually turn and begin their way further down the street.

  “Father’s Chosen once fought off twenty and survived. He is as blessed as we are. If God had wanted that man to live, he would have. Please, Elizabeth, don’t get yourself so excited. You need to rest.”

  Alexis steps forward and takes a soft but firm grip on Elizabeth’s arm.

  “I told you, only a fucking monster could survive,” Elizabeth
adds before allowing the young girl to pull her along.

  Both women remain silent as they continue down the street. The voices of villagers fade, and the long shadows grow into a cloud of night. Stars, those brightest and able to fight their way past the flames that line the street, watch silently overhead. Elizabeth can feel the chill in the air quickly becoming a brisk cold. Painfully, she wraps her arms around her chest. White puffs of smoke cloud up before her eyes, and she can feel droplets of snot pool on her upper lip.

  “We are almost there, Elizabeth. I will be happy when I see that you are resting,” Alexis says.

  The lights of the birthing ward are bright across the third floor. Open braziers burn at the bottom of the stairs leading to the front door. Their bright orange glow casts shadows that dance like demons over the empty front walls. No one waits for them. Even the Chosen is nowhere to be seen.

  “It will be nice to lay down again,” Elizabeth says.

  Alexis smiles and gives her a slight hug.

  “There is our beautiful!” a man yells out from behind them.

  The muscles in Alexis’ body go taut, and her steps quicken. Elizabeth tries to keep up, but begins to stumble and forces them to slow.

  “Wait, don’t you want to celebrate?” he calls again.

  Elizabeth looks at her friend, and the young girl has closed her eyes and a couple of tears have already made their way down her cheeks. Seeing the pain on the girl’s face, Elizabeth turns to see there are three men steadily walking towards them.

  Shoulder to shoulder, they could be copies of the guard they just watched slaughtered in the ring. Wide shoulders, bright eyes, and shoulder length hair. Infection peppers one’s arm where he walks sleeveless through the cold night air. The middle one, the tallest, has a smile from ear to ear, and he taps the other two across the middle of the chest with the back of his hand as they slow their approach. The one on the right eyes Elizabeth, slits half-open and fire smoldering behind his stare. His dark eyes do not move when they meet hers. They are hard and determined. If this was fifteen years ago, these would-be hippie college punks would be more dangerous for the air pollution they caused with their overused cologne, but not these days. Somehow, the world ending infection helped them grow into even larger pricks.