Traveling Merchant (Book 2): Pestilence
Page 1
Pestilence
Traveling Merchant Book Two
William J. Seymour
Contents
Prologue
1. Nebraska: Somewhere Dead in the Center of Hell
2. When Evil Comes to Town
3. Just Passing Through
4. What Doesn’t Kill Us
5. Life Will Never Be the Same
6. Disturbing the Peace with Miracles
7. Miracles Do Happen
8. Let’s Make This A Home?
9. A Monster by No Other Name
10. The Offer Is Made
11. You Cannot Refuse
12. A Choice and A Supper
13. A Cowboy with a Debt
14. All Is Lost and Nothing Changes
15. A Home Without A Welcome Mat
16. Restraint is in Order
17. Should Have Come Alone
18. Our World Ends
19. Unknown Friends
20. Enough is Too Much
21. Should Have Left It Behind
22. Only the Wicked Survive
23. A Tethered Monster and Unleashed Revenge
24. Pain Does Not Equal Regret
25. A Debt is Paid
26. Sent Back to Hell
27. The Light is no place for Secrets
28. Secrets and Promises Hurt All the Same
About the Author
Also by William J. Seymour
Pestilence
By William J. Seymour
Copyright © 2018
Cover Design : Jcaleb@Jcalebdesign
A Book Furnace Publications Book
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Prologue
Welcoming fires point defiantly to the night, dancing beneath the moonlit sky. A gentle breeze sways the flickering flames and the smell here is fresh and dry. Giant ominous shadows, darkened cages of unbreakable walls and unclimbable roofs. A patchwork of quiet and emptiness.
But they are here. Their smell is too strong and sweet.
Moisture wets the tongue. A warm stream burns the skin and tastes of salt. Weak, bleeding feet drag across the cutting gravel. Heels are torn open. Toes are missing and stone cuts deep into flesh. Blood trails over thorns and dirt, soaking into the earth as quickly as it can leak from infected wounds.
A dog barks in the distance. Quick and short, the abrupt call echoes across the silent plains.
The cages do not stir. Small prickles of fire create eyes of bright pupils and dark irises in windows that watch as the stranger draws closer.
Food!
Hunger eats away at an empty stomach. Cravings that never go away. A mouth full of putrid acid. A tongue that is shriveled into a hollow husk. Flies buzz everywhere. Swatting at them does nothing. Eating one or a dozen does even less for the hunger that burns all the way to the crusty pants that scratch with every step.
Why do these irritate me so? Where did they come from?
Torn denim pulls at scaled flesh. Strings of fiber pierce as deep as needles against skin pulled tight against bone and muscle twisted into a thick cord and frayed tendons. Each step brings excruciating pain that wracks the body through brittle bones and clenching teeth.
Saliva drips from chapped lips.
Food!
The smell of fresh, untainted meat grows stronger.
No shadow moves, and no one hinders their progress. Anticipation grows. A small hiss escapes a scorched throat. The blocks of shadows and danger remain silent and yet the aroma of a meal is so close. A weak heart beats faster. Knuckles pop as bleeding fingers flex and tighten at the sight of fresh blood and warm meat dancing before blurry eyes.
There are so many of them!
A small voice nags at the back of the darkness, fighting the urges filled with the need to eat.
CAUTION!
But there are so many! I will never be hungry again.
The dog barks again and this time it does not stop. Vile beasts. A symphony of calls and howls. An even less human growl escapes between chipped teeth and bleeding gums.
Little beasts taste of gristle and greasy fur. The whole meal cannot touch the starving pinch that only real food can quench.
More lights begin to push away the night.
Quickly now! Back into the darkness where the light cannot find us.
Voices carry easily in the night. Deep, strong voices. Filled with muscle and warm blood. No coughing or infection.
More saliva burns at dried sockets. So… much… food.
The light sways back and forth as the voices draw closer. First left, then right. Up and down. A hypnotizing yet burning thing. Fire that does not hurt but tears out the eyes. Must be avoided.
One of them speaks, and the other agrees. One so deep and strong, the other softer and full of youth.
Food!
Shadows retreat as the yellow glow of fire is almost upon us.
Inch back! Around the next corner!
There is no turning away. Food is so close. The voice falls on deaf ears as the sweet, salty smell of meat is almost within grasp. Little trembles shake the dirt beneath calloused feet.
The pain is gone. Glorious warmth runs through veins and muscles tense. Teeth itch nervously and the light is as bright as the sun. Eyes squint as the pain sears them. Dry skin cracks and bleeds.
More words come from the strong voices. No possible way to understand what they say.
FOOD! WE MUST HAVE FOOD!
The light explodes as broken, dirty hands stretch around the corner of the building. A high, shrill voice pierces the night. The shadows are so tall, and broad!
FOOD!
A vice like grip wraps around a starving mouth, jamming broken teeth into bloody gums. Hands cannot reach their prize. Scratching at the air, the shadows are too far away. Fear takes over. Mind runs in circles.
FOOD!
The ground cracks ribs and air hisses between tight fingers. The dark shadows behind the blinding sun do not run. A new monster sits atop as hard dirt grinds into the brittle bones between the shoulders.
“Shh, my child,” a soft voice whispers.
Words mean nothing. Gnawing with teeth and gums, the taste of salt is so sweet! The tongue hurts as it laps against the hand that squeezes tight. So…. gloriously… sweet!
The stranger sits upon the chest that wheezes and struggles. So much weight. Too much pressure. Flowers and sugar engulf and overpower the smell and taste of blood that fills this world. Breath is hard to take as bones crack beneath the weight of shadow and death.
“Calm. Take deep breaths, my long-lost child. This will take no more than a moment,” the voice continues.
White streams of light begin to break away from the swaying sun that blinds away the shadows that watch. Above the tiny lights of the sky fade into darkness as the world glows and brightens. Tiny ribbons swirl and dance in the calm night, carried by a will of their own as they take their time coming to the grip that pinches dried lips shut.
The light does not diminish. It grows brighter and the heat from the fire within begins to burn at the skin. At first it is comforting. Like a touch that cannot be remembered or the exhilarating sensation of that first bite into warm flesh, the heat works its way into cold muscles and bones. But it does not stop
there.
Fire catches within the flesh and the smell of rot and decay sours the air. Bubbles pop and the rending of flesh sends geysers of blood into the light where it wraps around the streams of golden magic. Screams are muffled beneath the iron grip and nails break as they dig into the broken earth.
“That is it, my son. Let it take you away,” the voice soothes.
Searing hot embers erupt as eyes explode and bones turn to shrapnel. Every muscle cramps and the taste of blood chokes as lungs fill. The darkness is a comfort, a respite from the pain and the hunger but beneath the molten rays of light there is no solace to be found. Yellow fire consumes them all until the world itself has burnt itself out.
1
Nebraska: Somewhere Dead in the Center of Hell
The dead are not the quietest of companions.
“I’m fucking starving, here,” Cherry Red says.
The living are hardly any better.
A sharp wind, cool and edged like a knife cuts through the early evening air. The smell of burning pine, sweet and sticky, fills the small gap beneath the broken underpass. Water drips its sad, slow song in the distance. Shadows grow long from where buckets of rust and jagged metal reach for the sky.
Empty, forgotten husks of old cars. Scavenged for parts and torn by time and rabid animals of both the four and two-legged kind have begun their slow decline as the stretch between civilization and the wilderness of the damned grows longer.
Green grass springs from soil that is filled with muck and run-off. Hardpan cracks and the thick clay turns the world into a never ending red between tufts of desperate vegetation and slowly burning brush. Spring is in the air, or what is left of the two weeks between the frozen tundra of nuclear winter and the arid death that summer brings at the edge of a sun-scorched spear.
Drip.
Drip.
“I offered you something an hour ago,” Merchant responds.
He pokes at the fire with a stick and watches as tiny embers lift into the air. The puddle next to him ripples with every drop. The newest wave never able to catch those that came before them, but as soon as it tries, another is right behind, ready for the race. He takes a deep breath and lets the smell of wet rot settle into his chest.
“You know those lights remind me of something, bugs or something. Wasn’t there once a bug that lit its butt up or something?” Red asks.
With a wave of her own hand, dismissing her comment, she turns away. Scrounging through a small nap sack she’s been carrying for two weeks, her eyes narrow in frustration. He is barely listening, but he lets her ramble on.
There is nothing inside of the bag and she knows it. Merchant turns his gaze away from the small flickers of light and watches the gray smoke as it climbs into the coming darkness and disappears.
“Fireflies,” he answers.
“What was that?” she asks.
A small glance her way shows her hands shaking themselves into a nervous twitch. Merchant does not say anything or spare her a second look.
“They called them fireflies. My sons would chase them on nights like these.”
Red stuffs one of her hands into the bag and slips the cover over her shaking wrist.
“Oh, yeah, the bugs with the asses that light up,” she says. “Why do you bring those up and since when do you have kids?”
A smile creases her scarred face and a few drops of pus leak from the cut that extends between the peak of her cheek up to where her ear has crumpled onto itself.
“You know she is better off dead,” Snake-Eyes whispers.
The ghost materializes beside Merchant and he can feel the cold touch of the afterlife brush the back of his burning shoulder.
Merchant ignores him and throws the stick into the fire and more sparks of red and orange glide gently into the air.
“Never mind, forget I said anything,” Merchant mumbles.
“Look, I know she helped you out back when she was worth looking at, but the freak inside her is taking over. Just glance at the poor monster why don’t you? She wants you to call her Red but there is hardly anything red left to her,” Snake-Eyes continues.
Merchant takes a deep breath and scoots himself backward until he is seated against the cold stone of the overpass.
The fucking ghost isn’t too far off. Even with his missing eyes and body that is more linen curtain than substance, the asshole doesn’t miss much. Large chunks of hair are missing across Red’s bleeding scalp and her left eye is milky and most likely blind where the other is jaundice yellow with rivers of red running through it.
“What are the chances we are going to find an open store out here somewhere?” Red asks.
She resorts to tossing away what little belongings she has already removed from the bag.
A small knife. A few shiny stones. When she gets to the pistol, she lifts it from the ground, looks it one time over before turning back to the distance they have traveled and drops it back in.
“I’ve got enough for both of us,” Merchant says.
He pulls out a few sticks of jerky from the inner pocket of his coat. Drier than the dirt beneath their feet, but at least it’s something. Squeezing the pieces in his hand, he holds them out to the light.
Saliva drips from her lips as she licks across the broken skin.
“Are you sure?”
She rolls onto her knees and crawls the short distance between them. Merchant turns his hand over to drop them.
“We don’t have any idea how much further it is until we find civilization again,” Red’s words are wet and slurry between the chewy bites. Her teeth slash into the dried meat like chipped razors. “And you are one big motherfucker. You sure you have enough stuffed into that jacket of yours?”
A wave of his hand sends her back to her seat on the other side of the fire.
“I have more than enough of what I need,” Merchant says and rests his head back against the stone.
Cool waves run through his skin and he lets them wash over his body. The fire inside screams in horror as the two sensations fight. There is a storm brewing inside of him. He can feel it. Every day the churning deep within him grows like an animal trying to claw its way right out of his gut.
He rubs a heavy hand over the smooth skin of his abdomen.
As if something was spilling its way out.
He grabs his duffle bag and pulls it closer. The only possession he can have.
His alone to carry.
A burden worth a thousand souls.
Snake-Eyes drops down next to him, his smile as wide as his ears and he digs at dirt beneath his nails.
The pull to go west is as strong as it has ever been. That is where he must go, but something follows. He can feel it in the earth, a trembling that quakes the stones beneath his boots. Like a shadow that hides in the darkness of the night.
“Tell me about him again,” Merchant says.
“Who?” Red asks.
“Here come the lies again,” Snake-Eyes chuckles.
He bites at his nails and spits into the air. Nothing hits the ground. Red licks every bit of skin between her fingers, the three sticks of jerky long gone, and the edges of her knuckles are raw where she chewed them until they bled. A small drop of blood is smeared beneath her lower lip. It trembles as she turns back to her bag.
“Don’t play games with me, Red. I told you anymore of this forgetting bullshit and I’ll leave you out here with the rest of your kind,” Merchant answers.
Her jaundice colored eye goes wide, and she looks out into the coming night. Not west, nor south or north. She watches back east.
“I’m not sure I remember,” she stumbles.
“Stupid bitch is losing her mind. The infection is taking over,” Snake-Eyes says as he materializes and paces behind her. The ghost flicks a knife end over end in his hand with each step. “Kill her now. Maybe if you are lucky, you can find a few pieces worth saving to eat later. Because if you don’t kill her, she won’t stop lying, and she’ll soon no longer be
able to tell the difference.”
Merchant grumbles.
“OK… ok,” Red says and pulls her knees to her chest and rocks on the balls of her feet.
Large welts of infection crack open along the pale skin of her arms and small streams of blood drip out. The muscle and bone beneath the denim of her jeans is pale where holes pull further apart and the little substance left of her frame barely fills out the attire. Snake-eyes squats behind her and pokes at them with his knife. She does not feel a thing.
“They called him, The Collector.”
“Who?”
She takes a deep breath.
“Those of us who still had the brains to talk, that is who, you damn asshole,” she says before picking up a stick and tossing it into the fire. Embers and sparks fly into the air and the smoke swirls as the ashes scatter. “He lived down in that pit. At first, he just wanted odds and ends. Small things easily taken from abandoned towns and cities. Then it changed.”
Merchant sits forward. He can’t feel the heat of the fire but the fire within his blood is enough to boil water.
“What changed?”
She never mentioned anything about changes the last two dozen times he asked her.
“I’m not sure but he started muttering about not being alone and how he was always right. How he would always be right because he was always the smart one.” Red bites down on a knuckle and draws blood. Then wiping it on the side of her crusty jeans, she tucks it under her folded arm and begins to rock back and forth even more. “Anyway, his tastes changed. Bastard started asking for people. Anyone and anything we could get our hands on. Children, men, women. Anything he could get those dirty, little, boney fingers on he’d drag down into that pit.”