Traveling Merchant (Book 2): Pestilence

by Seymour, William J.

  With a sigh, Kelly looks down at the ground and refuses to look at either one of them.

  "Fine. You will probably find us near the town square by the time you're done. We won't wait for you though."

  Bert wipes his hand through his dripping wet hair and then back at Red.

  "Don't look at me, handsome. She's the boss today," Red says with her thumb hooked over at Kelly.

  The smile on Bert's face beams and Kelly can feel the pride swell up enough to push back the annoyance of having him take away her moment.

  "We'll head down this way, Red. Follow me and I'll show you the best places that no one knows about."

  Red nods her head and steps up behind her. Before them awaits their whole world and Kelly is going to show her everything.

  Buzzards swirl in endless circles high over the town. The heat crackles with its own song and the water in the air sizzles beneath the high-noon sun. Dry tongues lap at sweaty skin and those forced to move beneath the hellish slaughter of heat and invisible burning rays walk with drooping shoulders and hats pulled tight against sweaty heads.

  Kelly rests beneath the shade of the Central Market store. Her skin burns though she tries to keep it from the sunlight as much as possible, but her back feels cool as it presses against the shaded boards.

  A dog barks in the distance and a dry wind scatters a ball of dead grass across the street. Boots clap against the dry boards and she looks back to the open doorway.

  Red bites down on a carrot and it crunches with loud snaps beneath her teeth.

  “You have a wonderful town here,” she says between bites. “And such wonderful food.”

  Small bits of orange flake away from the small wrinkles at the corner of her lips and fall to the dust at her feet.

  "This is your home now too," Kelly says.

  Red winks at her and the butterflies in her stomach jump.

  "Of course. It's going to take a lot of getting used to though," Red adds. "This world has been pretty fucked up for a long time and it won't go back to being normal again so easily."

  Kelly turns back to the road and its glaring yellow haze.

  "Brother George does his best to make sure everyone has what they need," she says.

  Red takes another bite and slides in next to her, the heat of her skin an inferno against Kelly's shoulder.

  "He means a lot to you all, doesn't he?"

  Kelly looks over at her.

  "To the people he is their leader and their savior. Next to God, his word is the law around here."

  With a final bite, Red flicks the green leaf of the carrot into the road.

  "A single man with power over others is a dangerous thing."

  "He's different. All he wants to do is save everyone he loves and show us that this world has not become so... fucked up... as people think."

  An eyebrow wrinkles over Red's eye.

  "Fucked up?"

  Kelly blushes and turns away.

  "Sorry. I mean that he believes this world can be a better place. Maybe one day return to the way it was before all the fighting and death. If people would treat each other with kindness and follow the word of God, maybe we wouldn't be in the middle of all of this."

  "Good luck with that. This whole fucking place went into the deep-end long before the bombs dropped. I can hardly remember a time when the world wasn't fighting itself. There is no returning to a better time, Kelly. A better time doesn't exist."

  Red pushes away from the wall and leans against one of the long-carved poles holding the roof over their head.

  "That isn't true. Brother George talks about it all the time. He shows us with his miracles what this world could really be. If people only believed and cared..."

  "Cared about what? People care about one thing and that is themselves. You seem to think rather fondly of this, Brother George. Is he your daddy or something?"

  Kelly wraps her arms around her chest regardless of the heat and leans away slightly at the memories trying to break free.

  "He's the same thing with me as he is with everyone else. Our leader, spiritual and in life."

  "You live with him though and you’re easily a woman grown now. Men, even as pious as he seems to be, have urges."

  Biting her lip, Kelly turns her back to her.

  "He is nothing like that. My parents died before I ever found this town. I would have been on the streets, not much unlike you, but this older couple took me in. Spent most of their time screaming about God and the damnation of man, but they were good at hiding. We traveled south from the Black Hills of South Dakota and ended up here."

  Red picks at a piece of carrot in her teeth.

  "Where are they now?"

  "Dead and buried up on the hill," Kelly answers and points at the rise in the land to their west. Grave-markers made of wood are hard to see but there are enough to form a small forest about the height of Red’s knees. "Died in their sleep holding each other's hand. Brother George took me in after when there weren't enough families in town to help."

  More dogs barking cuts through the dry air and the wind whips by with a harsh squeal.

  "He couldn't cure them like he does the others?"

  A small chuckle breaks the tension in Kelly’s chest.

  "Can't stop death itself, Red. Brother George can cure what makes you sick, make you better if a better person is what you are on the inside, but if it's your time, there is no stopping it."

  Red sighs.

  "A better person? I'm not sure about that, but it's good knowing it's not my time."

  The sound of dogs grows frantic off to the east where the road exits the town to a hill that climbs up the horizon. Red steps out from beneath the porch and shades her eyes from the sun.

  "What's going on over there?" she asks.

  Kelly can't think of anything special that would be happening this late in the day, so she steps out beside her.

  Dust clouds kick high into the air and the wind roars as the storm grows closer. Light reflects off surfaces within the building cloud and the roar takes a deafening tone.

  Kelly looks around and several other people find their way onto the street and stare off into the distance. Everyone seems mesmerized and no one moves.

  "I... I think I know who that is," Kelly stammers.

  The cloud of dust rushes into the first buildings that make their home and the screaming thunder that is engines revving over the hard-packed dirt is unmistakable.

  "Come... come with me, Red. We have to get Brother George."

  Red looks at her and then turns back to the approaching vehicles.

  "Who the fuck are these assholes and where did they get trucks?"

  "Please, Red. Follow me, now. These are not good men. We need Brother George. He'll know what to do."

  She pulls at the sleeve on Red's arm. The woman resists the tug at first, but then turns and follows behind her.

  "What is he going to do? Pray them to death?" Red says as she runs behind her.

  "I'm not sure, but he'll figure something out. Hurry, Red."

  Sweat and dry air slaps her face like an angry fist, but Kelly cannot slow down. Brother George will know what to do. He always does. What will they do if he doesn't?

  9

  A Monster by No Other Name

  Loud engines. Angry faces. Guns ready to bark and a haze of hanging dust and drying tears. Everyone stands together in front of the church, huddled in a big circle like mother hens holding onto their dear little chicks.

  Kelly clings onto Red's arm, the muscles beneath tense and unforgiving. Red's heart beats a mile a minute but not in fear. She does not shake like those around her. She has seen men like these before. Killers, rapists, thieves the whole lot of them. The silence of the world is painful as everyone watches the two men stare at one another and none know what she would do to have that revolver in her hand again.

  What the hell caused her to forget it back in her room? This place really is getting to her.

  The two leaders s
it jockeying for who has the bigger set of balls, yet no one is willing to whip it out and end this senseless waste of time. One a fat cowboy and the other a useless priest.

  "What is happening?" Kelly whispers.

  Red shrugs her shoulders.

  A pig oinks and yelps and nobody moves. Bert, the boy who sweats too much and smells as bad as his pet is huddled behind them. He keeps looking into the mass of bodies, but the crying and the frozen fear wouldn’t let him push through if he tried.

  “I see we meet again, Father Charles,” the big bellied asshole starts.

  “Brother George.”

  “What? Oh yes, Brother George. It looks like we meet again here at your lovely place of worship.”

  The cowboy opens his arms to the people gathered. A shiver runs through the group and Red grits her teeth. Everyone but her takes a collective step back and Red watches them. Like sheep they wait to be told what to do. A dozen men sit ready in their vehicles, all of them armed.

  Where did they get those working trucks?

  She eyes each one individually. These are definitely men used to getting their way. Their eyes are tired, but their jaws are set, and they are ready for whatever this man in the stupid cowboy hat tells them to do. She almost chuckles. Two very similar groups of people, yet each is the other side of the coin.

  Hunters and killers on one side, peaceful victims on the other.

  The world never changes does it?

  “You gathered us here for a second time by gunpoint, Mr. Barnett. There is no reason to frighten all these nice people. Tell us what you want, and we will gladly be of help if we are able. There is no reason for violence,” Brother George says.

  He does not move. He does not show any signs of flinching. The man is stronger than he should be with hundreds of pounds of lead aimed at his chest and nothing to stop it.

  “Miracles, my brother. I am looking for miracles.”

  Logan walks right up to the front row of people and tears flow freely behind sobs. Parents push the children into the middle.

  “Then I believe you have come to the wrong place as I told you before,” Brother George adds as he moves to separate the people from the man with the tipped cowboy hat.

  Red reaches behind her back but disappointment is quick as she remembers there is nothing there.

  Damn it.

  This place is already making her soft.

  “I know what you told me, priest. I don’t think I’m inclined to believe you. See, I have this little birdie who keeps talking in my ear. Says it flies over this town and watches what you do in the cover of darkness, Brother George. Do you know what this little birdie tells me?”

  Logan turns on his heels and stands nose to nose with Brother George.

  “I do not.”

  A devilish grin inches over Logan’s face.

  “You are hiding things from us, priest. I’ve been told more infected have come to your town and yet here you all stand as fit as a fiddle. I even had my men check your little hospital and the man who was there isn’t anywhere to be found. How do you explain that?”

  “The gentleman had a fever, and that was all. After a couple of days, he was good to return home. There is no miracle in a little chicken soup and prayer, is there Mr. Barnett?”

  A couple of chuckles escape the men with the guns and Logan is quick to silence them with a look.

  “I want to see him, priest.”

  “Who?”

  Logan pulls a fist full of shirt and forces Brother George up against him.

  “Show me this man with a fever. If you don’t, I think I might start filling your hospital with people who need a lot more help than chicken soup and prayer. You’ve got until the count of ten.”

  Women and children scream as the people in mass begin to panic and struggle to hold themselves upright. Red steps to the side and with a hand pushes the young girl, Kelly, behind her. That is a lot of guns pointed their way, but if she can just make it to the closest while they concentrate on everyone else, she might have a chance.

  She wouldn’t be able to save them all, but there is nothing to help that.

  Cold sweat runs down her spine and the adrenaline stiffens her fingers as she readies herself to run as fast as her legs will carry her.

  “There is no need,” Brother George starts.

  “One… two…” Logan begins.

  “Please, Mr. Barnett. There is nothing but good people here,” Brother George tries to plead.

  “Three… four…” Logan continues.

  A warm body presses against Red’s back. She can feel the soft shudders of sobbing. Reaching back without turning, she puts her hand on the girl’s shoulder and feels the shakes slowly subside.

  “Mr. Barnett, will you…”

  “Five… six.”

  Logan backs away and several rifles are chambered. Brother George steps to follow but Logan puts up a finger and wags it back and forth.

  “Seven… eight.”

  “I’m right here,” a man’s voice cracks over the crying crowd.

  Men, women, and children part reluctantly as a figure steps forward. Red lets go of Kelly’s shoulder as the man comes into view. It’s the same one from the Sick House. His strength is back, but he still has a limp. A few red blotches scar pieces of his neck, but at least his face continues to fill in. If they weren’t surrounded by armed thugs, the man may even be cute in the right light.

  “I’m the one you are looking for,” the man says.

  Brother George pats him on the shoulder as he steps up beside him.

  “So, I hear you had a fever, my man. Is this true?” Logan asks.

  He walks around the two and looks them over like a new car or woman he’s about to purchase.

  “Yes, it is true.”

  “What is your name? Where are you from?”

  The man looks at Brother George.

  “What is the point in this, Mr. Barnett?” Brother George asks.

  Logan stops his circling and pulls the revolver from his belt.

  “The point is, priest, I asked this man a question and I want it answered. If I was asking you, I wouldn’t have to be pointing this at your fucking head, now would I?”

  The dangerous end of the barrel taps Brother George on the forehead.

  “My name is Martin. Martin Edelwood. I’m from Chicago,” Martin answers.

  He didn’t remember his name the other day. Probably made up, but better than nothing. Red clenches her fists. There is no way this is going to end well. She can already taste the blood.

  “Martin. You look pretty strong for a man who was suffering from such a bad fever the other day. How did you get here from Chicago? By train?”

  Logan goes back to his circling, this time tapping his thigh with the revolver with every step.

  “When the fighting got bad, I ran with friends and family. We… we headed west where the fighting and the sickness wasn’t so bad. I ended up here. Stumbled upon it one day.”

  “And the others?” Logan asks.

  Martin looks back at Brother George.

  “The others?” he asks.

  Pistol crunches as it connects with the soft spot of Martin’s gut. Air and wet coughs escape faster than anything can come in as the man topples over. Dust and dirt kick up into a cloud and screams crack into the afternoon light.

  “Your family, you fucking moron. You said you ran with your family and friends. Did we forget that little detail?” Logan demands.

  He spits on Martin’s curled body. Brother George kneels beside him and helps roll him over to steady his breathing.

  “They died before they ever reached us,” Brother George says. “Most people never make it this far into the country. Everyone knows that. Surely you do Mr. Barnett. The dangers out there are too great and even when you travel in groups, people are bound to be lost.”

  Logan waves off the answer and heads to the semi-circle of vehicles.

  “I still don’t trust you, priest. But seeing as I’m a
forgiving man, I’m ready to give you a chance to make it up to us.”

  With a nod of his head, the back door of the center Jeep opens. Two men shoulder rifles and reach in with grunts.

  “I have need of your services. One of my men, a good man I may add, has fallen sick while guarding our city. I want you to cure him.”

  Brother George turns from treating Martin.

  “Whoever told you these lies is playing a dangerous game, Mr. Barnett. There are no miracles here. If your friend is sick, try to give him some medicine. We have little enough for the people here and even that only helps with the common cold and simple injuries. Surely you have better stored with everything you control.”

  Logan waves the men forward and between them they are carrying another who is practically lifeless. Even from the side of the group, Red can see the infection making its way up his leg. Cheeks sunk in, his skin is pale and dark blue veins map out the muscles in his neck and hands. Beads of sweat cover his brow and he mumbles though he lays semi-conscious between the men’s arms.

  “Please, Mr. Barnett. There is nothing we can do for him,” Brother George pleads.

  “Come over here and help this poor man,” Logan demands.

  With a wave of his revolver, a couple of the younger men from the village step forward and lift the infected from the arms of the thugs and hold him steady as they back away.

  “You have a week, Brother George. When I come back, our friend here better be as healthy as these people you care for so much. If I see even a cracked piece of skin on his body, you’ll pay, priest. Miracles and prayer may protect you from the disease ravaging this great country, but as our Second Amendment always proclaimed was our God given right, does your prayers protect you from bullets?”

  The smile on the man’s face as he climbs into his Jeep is the most sinister thing Red has ever seen. His men keep their rifles trained on everyone as they climb into their own vehicles and with the roar of engines, they turn and leave.

  “What are we going to do?” everyone asks in a collection of a dozen voices.

  No one can answer.

  No one can move.

  Brother George struggles to help Martin back to his feet and those carrying the infected step beside him. Red moves in to help as well.