The creature shuffles up to Merchant. The stench of disease and pus burns his nose and has its own heat. Reluctantly, Merchant tries to step away again.
"Oh, mercy was never your style brother. Never your style. You know, if I recall correctly, you did have a pungent love for the heroics though. Men of honor and all that what do they call? Bullshit? Not I, though, brother. My work is slow. All true art comes with the pain of time and perfection. Where your masterpieces were grand. Oh, they were magnificent when you were in your glory, but to be honest, I thought they lacked the… How do you say it? Je ne sais quoi? Of course, the other two never had it in them for anything but the direct approach. No imagination, no creativity. It's why you and I were always so close. Don't you remember?"
The thing moves in even closer. Merchant can feel its breath on his face and there is no air left around him to breathe.
"I'm not your fucking brother," Merchant coughs out.
It steps back and tilts its head. Then a rolling laugh echoes in a horrendous gritty sound travels through the corridor beyond.
"You really don't realize, do you? Did father take that away when he let you free?"
Ignoring the look of protest and hatred on Merchant's face, an arm or whatever it has that is closest to an arm reaches up and the sharp edge of a nail runs down Merchant's cheek.
Fire ignites through dull nerves and yellow and red floods Merchant's vision. His muscles cramp and the warm sticky feeling of blood runs down his neck.
The stench of decay floods beyond the thing that stands before him. Merchant can feel the tear in his flesh rotting and putrefying over his bones. A taste of bile fills his mouth before spewing a foot in front of him. His stomach turns. Knees grow weak.
"Ah, there. Now everything is better."
Merchant struggles to stay on his feet. The pain in his wrists is nothing compared to the agony that rips at his face. His vision doubles and the light of the torches dance across the walls. The entire world spins and begins to take him with it.
"What have... you done?" he stammers.
Reaching up, a pale white hand of gnarled knuckles pulls away the heavy coat and filthy rags that cover its body. A man stands there. Skin shriveled and wet with water running in streams from his hair. Disease marks flow across the sharp features of his cheekbones and yellowish pools of green make up where his eyebrows should be. A green tongue licks at blue lips and eyes as white as milk stare at him.
The smile he gives Merchant is so malformed that another rush of bile fills his throat.
"Don't you recognize me now, brother?" the man asks.
Merchant spits in his direction, the fire in his belly pushing away the pain and sickness. Stiffening his legs, he stands taller and towers over the bent monster in front of him.
"I've told you already. I'm not your brother, you sickly little piece of shit. Now let me out of this and I'll do you a favor and end your pathetic existence right here, right now."
The smell of rot and pain fades to the background as his so-called brother grips his own chin with twisted fingers.
"Never were one for small talk," he says and then waves all of it away before turning back to the pile on the floor. "Whatever has been done, I can see it in your eyes that you aren't ready to learn the truth yet. It will come, with time I suppose. Never thought you were part of the plan. Our brothers thought you were too much of a loose cannon. I argued of course, but you know how they can be. Stubborn bastards. In the end, it works out doesn't it? They always say daddy is right."
Merchant growls and pulls at his chains. The anger now fueling the need to tear the man limb from limb.
"I will track you down and kill you, slowly, I promise you that. You and your master," Merchant threatens.
The man stiffens and stands up straight. He does not turn away from the pile and then goes back to removing the last few blankets.
"I'm sure you will, brother. But understand one thing. That puppet you met upstairs is no master of mine. A tool to an end is all. Too many rumors and secrets floating around this world. Someone or something has found a way to undo one of my greatest creations. He thinks that we are looking for a cure to help protect him and his people. Ha! What the fuck does he even know? Once we find the source of this cure, we can squash it before it spreads like a disease. Then there will be nothing left to stop me. Not our brothers, not even yourself. Though I will enjoy coming back here and seeing how long it will take to jar that memory of yours back to life. How does that sound, brother?"
The man turns as he pulls the last of the pile away. Laying at his feet is Red. Curled up into a ball, her eyes are glazed as she shivers and her cracked lips drool blood and spit on the floor. All across her exposed skin are lesions and scales deeper than ever before and the rawest skin he has seen on anything still living leaks with open wounds.
"Red? Can you hear me?" Merchant asks.
She does not reply. Her mind is lost to the world.
"Your friend here has been fun to work with. So young, and yet I can still feel my touch on her though her skin is as smooth as a baby's bottom. I wanted to show you something, brother. Maybe help clear some of those murky waters you have swimming in your head."
Slowly the man lowers himself to the ground and sits beside the prone Red. Like a friend, he lifts her up enough to slide under and cradles her across his legs. Her senseless naked body slumps as if boneless across him.
"If you hurt her," Merchant starts.
"Give up the threats, brother. We both know you aren't getting out of here, and even if you did, would you kill your own family?"
Merchant smiles.
"If I have to."
The smile on the man's face flattens and an air of seriousness washes over him.
"Now that sounds more like you," he says. "Just to make my point and help you along your journey before I return. How about a small display of my creation for you to think about?"
One of his gnarled fingers extends from his fisted hand and the nail grows in seconds to a sharp point. Carefully, he touches the smooth skin above Red's collar bone and the moment the tip touches it begins to flake and peel. Blood and pus ooze from fissures that open holes across the pale surface and Red screams.
Dark liquid begins to bubble out and her wails grow louder. Merchant joins in with his own. Hers of pure pain and his of unrelenting fury. The man does not stop. His nail continues to trace lines across her body, turning what remains healthy into a diseased mess and there is nothing Merchant can do but watch.
In horror and frustration, he watches as the woman who has been at his side for weeks slowly succumbs to the disease of the infected.
18
Our World Ends
This no longer feels like home.
Fences built of charred wood and stones hauled from the river build makeshift walls and knives. Any sharp piece of usable metal is tied to sticks and held with shaking hands. Dark clouds hang overhead, ominous and slow moving.
God himself has moved on and the Devil sits in his wake.
Kelly hugs herself in the growing light of the morning. The shadows shrivel beside her but the one that covers her heart is too fresh. Like the mound of dirt by her feet, the pain and misery hold on to her with chains and locks.
"Oh, Bert, why did you have to fight?" she pleads to the silent sky.
Tears streak down her cheeks and the strength of her legs is gone. Falling to the ground, the newly turned dirt is soft beneath her. The smallest thought that her best friend is still looking out for her from his new home in heaven fights the pain deep inside, but it washes away with the cold dread that floods her with the haunting memories.
Kelly sniffs away the snot rolling from her nose. "You were always the one trying to prove to me how much you cared."
She chuckles and picking up a small handful of dirt she throws it at the base of the cross made of dry sticks.
"I already knew, Bert. I already knew," she sobs and the tears flow down her cheeks.
&nb
sp; Not fast enough to wash away the memory.
The screaming, the guns, and the fear that gripped them and held them all still. Men circling with cars and rifles. Angry words demanding to see the infected one they had left.
He steps forward. Wobbly legs and shaky hands, he presses through the crowded village. Woman sob and men growl while children cry and cling to skirts and pants. Kelly can feel her heart race. The anger in her belly is barely controllable. She doesn't know what she can do, but she wants to lash out. Be a real woman like Red is. If she was here, she would know what to do.
"You really can perform miracles, can't you?" one of the men asks.
The one who calls himself, Logan, is not here. This man is much leaner, wiry, and the hard look to his eyes is scarier than Logan's. His jaw is tight, and his hand keeps flickering to the pistol on his belt.
"The lord works in such mysterious ways, my son," Brother George says from the front of the group.
Unlike when Barnett came last time, their pastor does not approach. She does not see fear in his face, but he stays back with the others. Bert's father and oldest brother stand behind each of his shoulders.
"The lord, huh? God said fuck you to this place years ago, preacher. Something you have hidden in this little village of yours is the answer to a lot of our problems here, and you're going to start with what you did to our man here."
This time the men approach, leaving their vehicles behind. Guns make clicking noises and the circle draws tighter like a noose. Kelly can feel the space in her throat constricting. Her palms are sweaty, and she crouches as she pushes back into the nearest person.
If they get any closer, she is going to jump one of them. Claw at their eyes. They can't shoot what they can't see. It doesn't matter what Brother George says. These men are here for no good and letting them stay will not end well for any of them.
"As I see it, our man here has been cured," their new leader says.
He puts a hand on the survivor’s chin and turns his head from side to side. Anyone here can see there isn't a scar on the man's skin.
"Just leave these people be," the man says.
His voice is a gurgle of exhaustion and anger.
"You don't sound so happy to see us. And after what we did for you? Brought your sorry ass all the way out here after you fell sick? What kind of thanks is that?"
The leader turns back and steps away enough to be with the men he brought.
"These people have done nothing but show me kindness and compassion. I'm not sure what god they pray to, but whoever or whatever it is, it worked."
Pistol out, the leader of the soldiers grinds the heel of his palm into his eyes. The barrel of his weapon waves dangerously at them all. Kelly doesn't think about it, but she begins to slide behind the others. This is growing more out of hand by the minute.
"You see?" Brother George cuts in. "Our father above is the one that cured your friend here. Through love and prayer, he has been saved. Why don't you join us and—" Brother George does not finish his words.
Blood splatters as the back of the survivor's head erupts and people try to scatter. Screams and gunfire explode, and Kelly is pushed to the ground.
Legs and feet kick as she tries to claw her way back up. More gunfire and her ears ring. The ground shakes beneath her hands as something heavy hits the dirt beside her.
Mr. Jervis!
A dark pool begins to build beneath him. He is staring at her. His eyes already milky.
Why is he staring at her?
She screams and tries to get back onto her feet but pain bursts through her side and all the air is forced from her lungs.
Dust fills her mouth. More screams. Gunfire erupts like a thunderstorm and the world tastes of burned sulfur.
A warm rain falls across her face as shadows race through the nightmare. Salty, she tastes the liquid as it coats her lips. Wiping the rain away, her hands come back red.
Blood!
Kelly crawls on her butt until she hits the first thing that stops her. Someone's feet. Rolling over, she looks.
Mrs. Mary!
The flowers on her white dress are darkening across her chest. Chin drooping, she leans to the side and then hits the ground with a soundless thud after Kelly shakes her sandaled feet.
Kelly tries to scream. Maybe she does, but most likely she does not. She cannot tell. Shadows and strangers run around. Flashes of yellow lightning and thunder tears at her ears from all around her.
She doesn't know a soul. Everyone is a stranger and a monster. Crawling away, she goes toward the first path where there are no monsters.
The corner of the church is within reach. There is a door in the back. If she can get there and find a way in, she'll be safe. Too many places to hide and they'll have no idea they need to look for her.
One painful crawl at a time, she moves forward. Dirt, stones, and blood coat and cut at her skin. More warm liquid runs down her face. She fights back the tears that want to break loose with those already falling to the ground.
Only a dozen feet left to go.
The thunder is quieting. Even the screams are far away. Freedom is less than a few minutes...
"No you don't, you little bitch," a man barks and pain bursts through the side of Kelly's ribs.
Muscles spasm across her stomach as she collapses to the ground. Blood and dirt fill her mouth as she struggles for air.
A dark shadow stands above her. Rifle points at her face. She tries to turn and crawl away. A hard boot cracks her hip as it crushes the skin beneath its sole.
Kelly screams out.
"What did I tell you?" the man demands.
She tries to respond. The words are lost, her hope missing, and desperation a memory of the past.
"Ah!" a familiar voice screams.
Shadows collide and the monster above her is driven away. Air floods into her lungs and Kelly starts to cough. Dust kicks up into the air.
More gunfire erupts, and she watches as the bodies roll in a tangle of arms and threats. The tumbling stops. The monster grows large as it hits the other with a fist and the body doubles in pain.
Kelly tries to crawl forward.
"You're going to pay for this you fucking, little, piece of shit," the soldier yells.
Digging into the dirt with her nails, Kelly draws closer. A pale face glares at the man with the rifle. Mud and blood smear against a visage of defiance and rage.
"No," the words gurgle out of her mouth.
A sweat drenched head of hair. Round cheeks and soft face are hard and unlike anything she has ever seen from him.
Bert!
Her Bert. Her best friend. Staring at the end of a rifle. The man continues to scream but she can no longer hear the words.
Only a last few feet separate them. Pain is gone. Lost to the need to protect her best friend.
"No," she mutters again.
Bert screams in defiance and the shot that rings out stops all of time. A thunder loud enough to crack her world in half. The echoes bleed her ears and all the strength in her body drains through fingers and into the muddy earth choked full of blood and dreams.
The next two shots mean nothing to her. All she can see is the look of shock on his face. Eyes wide, his lips move but nothing comes out other than the blood that wells across his chest.
She reaches him and pulls him to her. The soldier tries to rip her away, and she bites at his hand. A slap rips across her face, but she refuses to let go.
Bert is shaking. Dark pools fill beneath him, and his mouth drips a red river that will carry her away.
"Please, Bert, stay with me," she whispers.
His hands squeeze her arms tight and it hurts. The worst and best pain she has ever felt. He looks into her eyes. Tears burn in hers, and there are no more words.
His lips move, but she can barely hear him. Weight pulling on her body, she leans forward. The secret is short. Spoken softly, the last message of her only friend.
She can hear those words repla
ying in her mind. Sitting here on his fresh grave, the soil barely settled as repairs and construction continue within the village below.
This is no longer her home. Not after all of this. Where will she go? Who will she run to?
The image of Red and Mr. Merchant pass through her thoughts, but that doesn't help. They could be dead, or so far away from here they are as lost as Bert is.
No, she'll have to do this on her own.
"Remembering the dead is a wonderful thing, my daughter, but do not mourn for those who now sit by the side of our father," Brother George's voice cuts in.
Shock and frayed nerves force Kelly to roll forward and she grabs a rock as she turns around, the weapon of chance held above her head.
The priest holds out his hands and the anger and fight fall away with the wind. He smiles, the same one that has comforted her for years, yet today it means little more than the defenses will if Logan and his men return.
"I'm sorry, Brother George. I just miss him so much," Kelly says and crawls back to the grave where she'll probably lay down and let her own life pass away.
"We all do, Kelly," he says before sitting beside her. The strength she once felt as she slouches against him is gone, the thick cords of muscle and bone beneath his shirt brittle and hollow like their chances in this world. "But Bert and the others died doing what God put them on this world to do. He would not have called them home if it wasn't so."
Kelly thinks on those words as she watches more pikes of sharpened wood driven into the hard earth.
"Do you really think so? God wanted Bert to be shot while trying to protect me? Fighting a man he should have never even tried to in the first place? What small hopes were there to get me away?"
Brother George shrugs.
"What other purpose was there? You are still here, and he is not. I think God has a plan for us all and in this case, maybe he means something special for you, Kelly. Have you ever thought about that?"
She does as the wind brushing against the sweaty skin of her neck tingles her spine with the tiny touches of ice. A death's touch. Sitting in a graveyard, her entire world buried beneath its clay filled soil, yeah, she has thought about that.
Traveling Merchant (Book 2): Pestilence Page 20