Anthony Puyo's The Compelled

by Anthony Puyo

  The water comes down heavy and fierce. Then, like dessert at the end of a meal, it arrived—lightning. Two kinds of it. The first scorches the sky with its signature form. The other struck in between; yellow in color and going across the sky, sometimes crossing paths with itself and forming many diamonds in unison. It looked similar to a large fishnet under the clouds.

  Chet, astonished, glances over at Bodo, “Have you ever seen anything like that?”

  Bodo shakes his head, “Never.”

  The regular lightning, lights the sky and grounds below.

  “Weird, real weird,” Chet replies.

  They once again move on, in the shower of rain, keeping their formation of walking a few feet apart.

  Time passes; they are only a block from their destination. Every now and then, a flash of lightning lights up the surroundings of old businesses, deserted cars (some wrecked), broken streets with large puddles of water, and lifeless bodies scattered about.

  The street block they are passing, has an open mud field with weeds and various junk discarded in it. It was a place people had left their unwanted tires, couches, appliances and other things found useless. It only adds to the scenery that would have been scary to walk through before the incident, but those worries took a back seat to the real danger that now loomed. There is no longer such a thing as a good neighborhood anymore. Death is grossly imminent on every corner of the city

  Dev, the skinny post teen with pimples, is the last guy to the left of the group. He keeps up with his crowbar in hand, slowly coming up to a car on his left. It’s hard to figure out the car’s Make in the dark, and the rain helped in the distortion. Dev could see it’s boxed shaped and a four-door.

  It must be from the seventies or eighties, he thinks.

  The rear window is cracked badly, but Dev could still see someone hunched over on the steering wheel as he approaches.

  The rain tapped everything and responded with a plethora of sounds from the different surfaces and materials.

  Dev’s stomach flutters, he doesn’t like that the passenger door is open half way. Not about to be surprised, he watches more intuitively while he walks.

  He’s dead, he’s got to be.

  About to pass the vehicle, he looks in. The guy who resting on the wheel, is definitely deceased in Dev’s opinion. There is not one shred of movement coming from him. He tried—but couldn’t see into the rest of the vehicle, it was too black, and he wasn’t going to go through it; there’s no reason to.

  Chet, who is next to Devin’s right, says something. Dev jerks towards him. He doesn’t know if he’s being asked or told. In the process of turning, he lightly taps the open car-door with his crowbar.

  A streak of lightning lights up the street.

  Dev catches the end of the light while glancing back into the car. There’s another body. This one lying in the back seat.

  No, it couldn’t be.

  The light was short lived, and maybe it was just his imagination, but he isn’t sure if he saw the whites of eyes.

  Finding himself dragging a little behind, Devin treads forward. Fifteen feet passed the car, thunder roars, and while at the same time, Devin believes to have heard the sound of a car-door opening. He stops—gazing back towards the car. The pounding rain makes it difficult to listen.

  Chet is to his right and twenty feet in front of him. He turns his neck, keeping his eyes moving—scanning. When he turns to his left, he doesn’t see Devin.

  “What?” he whispers to himself. The cowboy turns quickly, gaping in every direction. The darkness and the rain give him limited sight.

  “Where are you, boy?” he says to himself.

  He doesn’t want to do it, but there is no other choice, the situation calls for it, plus, he feels inside something is certainly wrong. He yells out for Dev.

  There’s no answer.

  Bodo and Jason; the quiet one, stop. Bodo begins to move quickly towards Chet. Jason stands in his tracks, confused. Bodo runs passed him, hurrying him to follow. Their feet plash in the water as they sprint.

  Raindrops run down the rim of Chet’s hat and on to his face. He’s drenched. They all are as they stand in a triangle huddle.

  Bodo, with trails of beaded water on his bald head, peers keenly at Chet. “What happened?”

  Chet points in the direction where he last saw Dev. “He was lagging a bit behind, right about there. Next thing I know, he’s gone.” He then points to where the old car with the open doors is. “He was looking in that car over there.”

  The three walk over to the car but see no sign of the skinny young man, they only notice the body in the front seat.

  Bodo does a quick look around while standing in place. “Fuck!”

  Lightning lights up the street again, the back seat of the car is seen to be empty.

  Chet looks to Bodo. “What you wanna do?”

  Bodo shakes his head, “They ain’t shit we can do . . . He could be anywhere, maybe even dead. I don’t want to risk yelling out for him anymore. He knows where we’re heading. Where we’re staying. If he’s alive, he’ll head there.”

  The men stare at each other. It’s a dismal moment. It was frustrating to leave with no answers, but they agreed with Bodo, if he didn’t respond, then he either got lost, which wasn’t likely, or he’s dead. They forge ahead, bolstering knotted ropes of dread in their stomachs.

  The gas-station/liquor-store is like most places: torn-up and desolate. There aren’t many cars in front. Which could possibly mean, it wasn’t very busy when it was abandoned. If that was the case, there might still be some necessities inside. That’s at least the hope from the guys.

  They cross the main street of Ventura. Cars lie crashed up against each other, in between them and the store. One car has a light-pole smashed across its hood, while another is flipped to its side on the sidewalk.

  The men make their way to the front of the store but stop short of going inside. They get down quickly. There’s a flashlight streaming around in the place. It appears someone, or someone’s, have the same Idea.

  The store’s front windows are broken along with the glass-door entrance that is half open.

  Bodo whispers to the others, “Were going to have to go in. We can’t wait out here. If it’s others like us, we’ll be peaceful. If it’s the crazies—we’re going to have to get down. That’s the plan.”

  Knowing at least one person is in there, Bodo, Chet, and Jason head towards the entrance. Walking in, the broken glass around the front doorway crackles. The noise causes the flashlight to turn off.

  Droplets of water cover Bodo’s bald head, with some rolling down his strong face, falling down off his chin. He yells out, tentatively, in the doorway. “I know someone’s here, I’m just a survivor looking for food and water. I’m not hoping for trouble.”

  Bodo knows better than to barge in. If the place has other looters, things had the possibility to get violent, and that could be a risk. Especially without knowing who or what is inside, or what they’re armed with. Not having those answers, could be fatal.

  At first, there is no answer. The pause makes Bodo feel whoever is in there, is thinking it might not be a good idea to answer him. He understands things could get messy in this kind of predicament, so he figures, whoever is in here, has to know and feel the same. His goal now is to calm them; let them know it’s okay.

  Bodo repeats, “We don’t want any trouble. Please believe me.”

  After a few seconds, Bodo and the guys see two rain-coated figures in the darkness walking towards them from an aisle. The shadow’s coats are grey with supporting hoods that cover their heads, and in the darkness, their faces can’t be seen.

  The guys fidget nervously. They don’t want to over or under react. As the mysterious ones get closer, the mood grows more unpleasant. Bodo begins to react cautiously. Feeling they could be hostile, his hand slowly reaches down his back for his handgun. The figures about fifteen feet away, and getting closer, say nothing. Bodo’s hand gr
ips the pistol.

  At ten feet the raincoats come to abrupt stop, and though it had only been for a second, it felt longer for the nervous scavengers. All of a sudden, a bright light brought blindness. The flashlight has been put on them by the rain-coated figures. What came next was unforeseen.

  A young high pitch voice comes from one of the two. “There’s not much left. We got what we wanted, so you can help yourselves.”

  Bodo shields the light, trying to make out the source of the voices. The beam shuts off. The two looters pull down their hoods. They weren’t more than seventeen, eighteen years of age. They guys can see that now. The fear that plagued them a moment ago, came from two teenaged girls. One younger than the other. It’s a humbling moment for the men. One they never speak of.

  Bodo, in unlike Bodo fashion, clears his throat and murmurs with an undertone of embarrassment. “Okay.”

  He had nothing else to add—surprisingly. The man who always has an opinion. The man who leads like a fiery football coach who always had something to rant about, was in this moment, at a loss for words. He glances back at his men, who are still stunned in their own right.

  Bodo got back into character. His voice tough and deep. “You heard the ladies. Let’s get what we need.”

  The quiet, heavy set Jason goes to task immediately, while Chet walks by the two young ladies, dipping his hat to them with a light smile before heading into the aisles himself. The two brave girls walk by and walk out behind Bodo who stands by the doorway, arms crossed and trying to hide his embarrassment with a fluttering tough look.

  The aisles are about sixty percent empty from being looted by infected and the non-infected alike. Mostly the quick passerby type. It would have been completely empty if it was a natural disaster. But this kind of tragedy is very different—it kept going. There isn’t much time to stop and loot loosely with death on every corner, forcing people to move fast. Places like these are havens, but they can quickly turn to death traps if scavengers are there too long. Unless a group is big, people won’t risk too much time in a place like this, for fear of running into some sort of deadly confrontation.

  Bodo and the boys grab anything edible that don’t need refrigeration. They pack up three grocery bags of stuff, ranging from candy to soft drinks. There is little water as it was the first thing to go.

  Bodo, thinking of Melissa’s request, goes to the counter to look for cold and fever medicines. He sees only single pill packs scattered on the floor.

  I hope this will do, he thinks.

  He happens to peep outside, noticing the rain is light. It had finally calmed.

  Chet walks up to the counter with an energetic smile and lights a lighter from a box of them on the counter. “Say, howdy there, clerk, what kind of snort you got?”

  Bodo smiles, which seemed to be the first time in days, then turns to the liquor cabinet. lighting a counter lighter himself, he reads labels. He wasn’t looting in this moment; he was shopping. He finally comes across a bottle that interest him. The happy big man grabs it with a smirk that seemed to grow with every word he reads.

  “A little some of this will rock my world!” he says, putting the bottle of Patron-Tequila in his bag. He then turns to Chet. “What’s your flava, baby?!”

  Chet leans over the counter, pointing with squinted eyes and a stiff finger. “Grab me some of that old Jack? That will suit me just fine, partner.”

  Bodo grabs the bottle of Jack Daniels and hands it over to Chet who twist the cap. “There any shot glasses back there?”

  Bodo rummages around the counter finding a small stack of them.

  “Get three,” Chet says. He turns back towards the aisles. “Hey Mr. Quiet, get down over here. We’re gonna have a little snort together.”

  Jason comes up with some pastry filling around his mouth. Bodo can’t help but let off a good chuckle. “Get over here, bro? What were you eating over there, man—a Homer pie?”

  Jason, in his monotone voice that matches his expression, replies, “No . . . it was an apple pie.”

  Chet and Bodo crack up at the response. They thought the kid was funny. Not that he was a kid. Jason’s age is twenty-nine, but to them, he was still a kid through lack of experience. He hadn’t learned to be manly yet. What is that you ask? For one, it’s not living with grandma—unless you're supporting her. Which he wasn’t. Bodo and Chet, on the other hand, are at least twenty years or older as in Chet’s case, him being forty-six. And neither lived with grandma. Plus, Jason didn’t exude maturity by any means of his own.

  Chet sticks his arm out, inviting Jason into their circle. In his other hand, he holds a filled shot which he hands over to him. Jason grabs it, as usual, with little emotion, but inside he was plenty happy. It’s the first time since childhood that he recalls being invited to something.

  In the past, Friends didn’t come easy for Jason. He wasn’t more than an entertainment piece for most people, and it wasn’t like he was striving for that. Kids were cruel, and he wasn’t shown mercy growing up. His chubbiness and his dim personality were easy targets for bullies and others. Jason was more often than not, received with a cold shoulder. Growing up with this kind of treatment, made him retreat as he got older, and he became less and less social. If it wasn’t for video games, who knows where he would have found his sanctuary.

  Family, and friends of the family, figured the gaming to be unhealthy—then again, it’s not like they walked a day in his shoes, nevertheless, they were rarely short on giving advice. To Jason, he felt the gaming world had corruption, evil, and horror too, but none of it was harsher or scarred him the way real life did.

  In the midst of this god-forsaken tragedy, there was a positive. He found himself with the cool crowd. Bodo, Chet, are people that would’ve fit that description in Jason’s school years—his most dreadful years. They are the kind of people/kids/peers who never gave him a chance in those days. They made life extremely tough for him. But now things are different. Life is different. For Jason, it is a new and good feeling he welcomes. Because for the first time in his adult life, he feels accepted.

  They all lift their glasses. Bodo about to say a few words, but Jason, not being used to these kind of traditions, slams his drink down. The guys chortle in surprise.

  Knowing the kid don’t know any better, Chet taps Jason on the shoulder light heartedly. “Kid, you jumped the gun. Hold on till we can slam together.” Chet looks over to Bodo, “Give ‘em a refill.”

  Jason recovers from a bit of bitter face and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

  Chet grins and hands him another. They raise their glasses—again

  “To family and friends . . . and that bitch we call survival,” Bodo expels.

  Chet dips his hat in agreement. The three men drink up and slam their empty glasses on the counter.

  It sure is good to feel at ease.

  11

  Another Day at the Beach

  &

  the Season of Change

  The infected bangs and bangs not showing much fatigue. Captain Hawks stands halfway between the restroom and the stockroom door. He hurries Staff Sergeant Blake Edward and the others in.

  “Get in here. Close that door and make sure it's locked!” Robert turns to them, there’s an antsy demeanor about him. He puts the tips of his fingers on the side of his head, summoning Ideas. “Okay. Tao, Feathers, take your clips out them rifles. Make sure the chambers are empty.”

  The two men, privates, did as the Captain said. The skinny freckled Blake Edward, puts the bucket of water and the utility tape down. He stands by the door and watches with confusion, since no directives were given his way.

  The Captain moves hastily, giving orders on the fly. Blake, who is considerably more tranquil, adjusted his glasses with his index finger while asking, “Captain, what’s your plan here?”

  The Captain stops moving erratically. “I’m going to open that restroom door. When—it—comes out,” the Captain turns to the skinny black man with poin
ty features known as Feathers, “You’re going to tackle him down and subdue him. You got that?”

  It’s plain that Feathers is a little worried by the look in his eyes. He nods yes anyway.

  The Captain then gazes towards the short, spiky hair Asian man named Tao. “You’re going to help him.” Hawks looks in all their eyes collectively. “Be ready . . . even with no food in two days, I’m sure that thing is still one strong motherfucker.”

  Hawks grabs Feathers’ rifle and hands it to Blake, then he grabs Tao’s for himself. “If these two can’t get ‘em down, we beat the sonofabitch . . . without killing him of course.”

  Blake, still confused, asks, “Why are we doing this, Captain? The reports say they don’t feel pain. And you can’t believe that mindless thing can give us any useful information anyway, do you? It’s . . . it’s crazy, Captain.”

  Hawks stares and Edward with piercing eyes. “I know the reports. I know what they say, but how do we know? Do you know of anyone who’s tried? I believe we have to find out for ourselves . . . as crazy as those people—those things are, we need to try.” The Captain stands the rifle against the wall. “If there’s information to get; we got to get it. It would be invaluable. And there is no one on this planet that’s not for giving up information—when you use the right tools and method,” Hawks finishes with a devious smile and almost obsessed mannerism.

  A tool cabinet and cart with heavy items barricades the restroom door, leaving it to open but only a few inches.

  “Come here,” Hawks says to Edward in a struggling tone while trying to move the heavy cart.

  Edward scurries over. Feathers and Tao keep watch on the anger riddled man who waits for his release.

  With a huge heave, the two slowly move the cart out of the way. No sooner than they do that, the infected pushes the door with great might, sending the metal tool cabinet crashing down towards them.