Merchant by William J. Seymour

Author:William J. Seymour [Seymour, William J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror | Post-Apocalyptic | Infected
Publisher: Book Furnace Publications
Published: 2018-02-02T05:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

Five Years Ago

Music pulses deep enough to change the beating of the heart. A rhythm rolls into thunder, and the crowd cheers the man with the cupped ears as he beats his head up and down with the pounding of the bass. Green light dances with the techno music, strobing across hundreds of sweaty bodies as they dance across the floor. Arms up, bodies jumping, breasts bouncing, and a hundred peckers standing at attention. The clueless keep their adrenaline pulsing and the alcohol drowning as they dance, and Merchant watches.

No one notices the shadow hasn’t moved from the corner for the last thirty minutes. A few stray eyes turn his way but are quickly disinterested and back to the lust of youth and sexuality that is the dance floor.

There is no distinguishing one from another. The entire pool of people is shadows moving in mass, yet going nowhere in time or space. He has his eyes locked on one individual. Travis, slumped at the bar. Unless he has missed one, this shot of clear liquid poison is his sixth since he walked in here shortly after leaving the diner. Hair plastered against his face, his skin is paler and his cheeks sunken beneath the rays of green sunshine. He pushes away the next patron who steps too close, the young brat falling to the ground as Travis tips a finger to the bartender for another.

Full of bravado and inebriation, the fallen fellow stands with fists balled and chest out. Travis turns, a big ‘Try it Fucker’ in his eyes, and the college kid quickly changes his mind and slides himself back into the mass that sways like the waters of the ocean.

Another glass is slammed down in front of the drunk soldier. Movements slowed, he picks up the thumb-tall drink and pours it down his throat. He turns back to the bartender with his index finger up. The server shakes his head from side to side. Broad shoulders, and shaved head, he is a match pound for pound with the teetering drunk. A look of his own ‘Fuck You’ crosses his eyes, and Travis slams the shot-glass down.

No one notices the staggering man at the bar. A wad of money is pulled from a rear pocket and a single bill hits the table. The lips of the bartender lift his ears as he slides it into his own pocket before turning to the women off to his left.

Travis moves into the crowd. His eyes are cloudy, the tilt of his walk uneven, but Merchant recognizes it immediately.

A predator on the prowl.

Sliding between bodies, the drunken soldier rubs up against every female he can find. Hands sliding over asses and bellies. Cupping a few breasts, he makes his way to the center of the pile and begins his own wild gyrations. They do not notice him. The mass has claimed him as their own.

Smelling of alcohol and stale piss, he loses his form in the shadows that grow wild as the DJ changes the song without a hesitation in the beat.

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