Anthony Puyo's The Compelled

by Anthony Puyo

  Craig gets to the ground, sitting Indian style. Melissa caresses his shoulder and arm. “What's wrong, honey, you look like you saw a ghost.”

  “We should get down! All of us. Pretend we’re asleep.”

  “Why Craig?” Charlie asks.

  Craig lays to his side. “Just do it, I’ll tell you later. Trust me.”

  It was unexpected, strange—weird. But Craig wouldn’t act like this for no reason. The urgency in his voice is a warning of sorts. So they did as he said.

  A few minutes later, Craig hears the elevator door beep, then open. He purposely faces the opposite way like a child afraid to see behind themselves in the dark. He begins to hear the footsteps of military boots getting closer.

  They’re coming for me!

  Craig tries to relax his drum of a beating heart. A voice speaks behind him. “I know you're not asleep.”

  Craig’s eyes open instantly. He turns over and sees the short, dark-haired pilot. “Fuck! You scared me,” Craig exhausts.

  “Uh, ohhkay? That’s confusing. Why would that be?” Jack replies.

  Craig sits up rapidly. “No reason, you just did. But now that you’re here, I need you to do a favor for me, Jack?”

  Charlie, Chet, and Melissa, listen to the two speak. Craig keeps it to a loud whisper.

  “What do you need, Craig?” Jack asks, squatting down.

  “I need you to say, if asked by any of the soldiers or the Captain, that I was talking to you upstairs some—twenty minutes ago.”

  Jack’s curiosity peaks. “What?! Why?”

  “Because I really need you to, that’s why . . . Please? I aided you! When you landed, I opened that door. Help me in return.”

  Jack is hesitant. What has this guy gotten himself into. He knows Craig enough to know he’s not a trouble maker or criminal in anyway. “I hope you didn’t do anything stupid, Craig. Around these guys; you don’t want to. Believe me. If I cover for you, on whatever it is you did, you have to keep your nose clean. Don’t do whatever you did that’s got you spooked again. It’s my neck you know?” What am I getting myself into . . . Crap. “I’m only going to do this once.”

  The elevator makes its sound once again. Craig gazes in that direction seeing Captain Hawks with soldiers chatting with the guard. He quickly turns to Jack.

  “They’re going to come this way, Jack.”

  The pilot glances rearward, the Captain and his men are pacing towards him as Craig said they would.

  “Okay, you stay down, I’ll go see what they want.”

  Jack gets to his feet and walks towards the Captain to keep them at a distance from Craig. He solutes Robert.

  “How are you, Captain?”

  Robert stops. “At ease.” He peers past Jack for second; curious to know who he was talking to. “I’m dandy.”

  “Captain Jack Day. I am a Captain too, sir,” Jack answers, noticing Hawks inspecting his Air-Force jumpsuit.

  “Of course . . . Captain Day. Well, Captain, I was taking care of some—” he clears his throat, “official military business downstairs in the basement garage. I can’t say for certain, but I feel we might have had an intruder—a spy. We didn’t get a look at him, or her, but the guardsmen said a curly haired gentleman, by the name of Craig, went to visit you earlier. Can you confirm that?”

  Jack, trying hard to keep his cool in the face of the piercing blue eyed Captain. “Yes, that did happen—sir.”

  “When?”

  “About twenty, thirty, minutes ago.”

  Hawks examines Jack with a hard stare, trying to find any sign that would suggest untruth, but Jack holds his composer.

  Satisfied, Hawks replies, “Very well then. Good night to you—Captain Day.” With a grin, Hawks turns towards the elevator.

  “You too, sir.” Jack peers down, letting out a low, long breath. He passed the test, and begins to loosen up as Hawks boots fade. Suddenly, the steps stop.

  “Oh, Captain?”

  Jack gazes up.

  Robert Hawks takes a few steps forward. “One more question. What did you and this curly haired fellow discuss? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind, sir, not at all.” Jack’s mind went blank; he didn’t expect another question. With no time to be clever, he gushed whatever came to mind—unfortunately. “We talked about the weather . . . where I’m from—Utah.” He felt as dumb as a sack of rocks with the answer.

  Hawks, stoned faced, observes Jack. After a brief moment, he smiles, “I see . . . the weather. Good night, Captain.” Hawkes turns around and begins to leave a second time. He glances at Sergeant Brimm who treads by his side, “Keep an eye on the flyboy,” In which Brimm nods in reply.

  Soon as Jack couldn’t see them anymore, he leaves outside for a calming smoke.

  Charlie scoots towards Craig. Chet follows.

  “What the fuck was that all about?” Charlie whispers.

  Craig gets to his rear. “It’s what I saw down stairs.”

  “What did you see?”

  Chet jumps in. “Yeah, what did you see to bring the man down?

  “Food—water. A ton of it.”

  Chet adjusts his hat, “Food and water? Well hell, what's wrong with that. That ain't no reason to get your chickens in a roost.”

  “They have control of it. It’s up to them to decide who gets some. Plus, there was something else.” Craig pauses.

  Chet, Charlie, and Melissa, gaze in intrigue. They don’t like the frowning face of Craig’s.

  “Well, don’t hold us in suspense, tell us, partner?”

  “What is it, Craig? Tell us buddy?”

  “Honey?”

  Craig was shaken, he didn’t know if he should even mention what he heard. But he did. Well, some of it.

  “The group that they were talking to, the ones with the bandanas?”

  “Yes,” they answer, filled with curiosity.

  “I believe they got executed.”

  “What?! Why?” they ask.

  Craig felt it wasn’t the right time to tell the whole story. He didn't want an irrational response from his friends that could get them all killed. He wanted to protect Ryan and Melissa—especially.

  “These guys are serious about their plan, whatever it is. The fact they came to look for me, tells me they weren’t too happy if anyone saw what they did. That’s all I know. An execution is a harsh statement. We need to stay inline. Keep cool heads.”

  Melissa gets close to Craig, feeling worried. She nestles up to his body. “No more snooping, Craig, or any of you. We were lucky this time. Next time it could be worse. That man . . . the Captain, he’s got something in his eyes. Something dubious—vile. He scares me more than the crazies.”

  Craig turns and caresses her head into his shoulder. You’re right about that. “It’s okay, honey, nothing is going to happen. If we stick together, look after each other, everything will be fine.”

  It’s early morning. The freshness of the air is cold as it hovers over shivering bodies in the lobby. The sounds of boots and slight moans of anguish are the waking sounds for the light sleepers.

  Seven-year-old Ryan wakes his father by shaking his shoulder. “Dad! Dad! Get up!” He whispers.

  Craig opens his mouth with a yawn. His eyes are tight with the sharp feel of little pointed rocks. He rubs them out, “What is it, kid?”

  “They're taking people, Dad. Look!” Ryan points to soldiers throughout the room doing as he describes. Some of the taken are dead, others are alive but helpless and weak.

  Ryan adds to his bewildered father, “I’ve seen where they’re taking them too, Dad.”

  “What?! You shouldn’t be wandering alone like that, spying.” The words ran off Craig’s tongue bitterly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers the phrase: like father, like son.

  Ryan adjust his ear muffs. “I wasn’t alone. I was with Violet.” Ryan’s eyes look past his father—a way of pointing.

  Craig turns to see the shy looking Hispanic g
irl from the truck ride. On her knees, she avoids eye contact when Craig glances over to her. He veers back to Ryan. “Then it was dangerous for the both of you to go snooping around. You need to promise me you won't do that anymore? Plus—if your mother found out, she would have a cow.” Ryan nods to his dad’s request. “Good. Now what did you see?”

  “They are taking them outside to the back. Piling the ones that are dead and laying out the ones on the street that are sick. They hit their legs hard with their guns. I think they don’t want them to leave where they put them, Dad.”

  Craig is horrified at what Ryan’s witnessed. “How did you get out of the building? The guards—they’re everywhere.”

  The little girl surprisingly speaks. “We found a hole in a window in one of the rooms and went out it. We also found these.”

  Ryan shows Craig a pair of U.S. military-grade binoculars he has hidden in his coat.

  Craig’s eyes flare. “Give me those! You shouldn’t have taken these. They’re not yours to have!”

  Ryan’s face saddens a bit. “Sorry, Dad.”

  “Look, the information is good, kid. It’s just—I love you, your mother loves you,” he shakes his head, “We don’t want anything to happen to you. I’m sure Violet’s mother would be upset too. Why don’t you two go play away from the soldiers. And no more spying. Alright?”

  “Okay, Dad, we won’t.” Ryan jumps up, smiles, and says, “let’s go Violet!” and the two scamper off.

  “Stay where I can see you!” Craig shouts, only to hear stern shushes from the nearby sleepers.

  Craig doesn’t waste no time in waking the group to explain what he heard from Ryan. As he tells the story, small outburst and small arguments spout off with some of the civilians towards the soldiers. Most are short lived. The soldiers quickly use intimidation and force to deter. It’s not a pleasant sight, but most people are too hungry, thirsty, and weak to do anything about it. If the problems didn’t include them, people didn’t put their two cents in. The “me first” society seems to be taking form. It’s hard to blame most of them. Their hope had been pummeled to nothing.

  “This isn’t right, guys. We have to do something,” Eva argues.

  “Like what? Are you guys ready to fight if we half to?” the young Rico rebuttals.

  Eva answers, “I don’t know, but we can’t let them do this. What if they come for you, Rico? Then what? Would you want us to stop them then?”

  Rico stands down with no further comment. If they came for you, then I would, he thinks to himself.

  Charlie steps in, “First, we need to find out why they are doing this.”

  “No we don’t. I say we leave this place; we don’t need to be here. We need to do our plan and get out of town.” Explains Bodo.

  “Whatever we decide, we need go at it as a group. Our strength is in our numbers,” Craig adds.

  They look upon each other with a variety of concern, but they say nothing. Their silence is the form in which they make their pact.

  Mixed emotions run through them as they trek to the stairs. They follow the soldiers that are escorting civilians. Staying behind, is Melissa, Ryan, Isabell. Charlie and Doc take the lead on this endeavor, being that they have military backgrounds.

  They get to the steps. A soldier, rifle dangling in one hand, sees the armed group and the business look in their eyes coming towards him. The young man is chubby, looks a little unorthodox. He straightens up, putting his rifle to his chest. There’s a fumble in his tone as he skittishly speaks.

  “You have to stop there; no civilians are allowed up or down stairs.”

  Soldiers escorting a tired and sick looking man walk past them down the stairs.

  “That looks like a civilian to me. Unless he’s a new recruit,” Charlie says with a smirk, sensing the kid’s nervousness.

  “That’s a deadly M-16, soldier. You know how to use it?” Doc says, taking the gun out of the man’s hands with no resistance. He inspects it. “I knew a greenhorn once who blew his own head off, because he didn’t know his gun was loaded when he decided to clean it.”

  The young man gulps.

  Doc grins—exposing his gap tooth. He hands the weapon back to the wide eyed soldier. The private can’t help but notice the huge scar on Doc’s forearm that runs all the way up to his middle finger.

  “What happened there?”

  “. . . Knife fight. It’s one of my fondest memories. Killed 54 with my blade. You should’ve seen the guy that did this. Let’s just say, if he was alive—food would never make it to his stomach.”

  The chubby greenhorn fidgets, face turning red. It’s over for him.

  Charlie gets his attention. “Tell you what, soldier, see this tattoo?” Charlies shows the bottom of his wrist. “Special Forces Green Beret, so is my guy here.” He points to Doc who shows his tattoo. “We’ll make it easy for you. You don’t have to give us permission, personally. I want you to look that way—towards the elevators. You can say you never saw us.” Charlie gives a stonewall stare into the man’s eyes.

  It doesn’t take much thought; the young man slowly turns his head away.

  The barricade that blocked the downstairs exit has been removed. The group follows the military men who resembled ants moving back and forth, up and down, almost in the same tracks as the other before them, escorting weak civilians and dead ones.

  “God, what are they doing?” Eva spouts.

  Chet replies, “Trimming the fat like the kid said.”

  They travel from the basement parking, up to street. The air that drifts in from the rolled up doors smells burnt—rotten and seemingly getting stronger with every step.

  Once at the top, the sight is a spectacle. Horrid to the eyes. The source of the smell is also revealed. A pile of dead bodies is blazing with flames thirty feet high. It’s precisely like Ryan had described. Soldiers carrying the dead, fed the fire without hesitation. Like logs being tossed into a furnace, they ignited rapidly. The smoke, yellow in color, carried into the clear sky.

  After getting passed the grisly sight, the group moves on. They gander past the tank where Captain Robert Hawks is positioned, seeing scattered soldiers in the distance carrying the still living but gravely weak. The unfavorables are being placed down on streets corners. Afterwards, the soldiers smash the legs of the wounded with their boots, or rifle stocks till broken; to disable them further. The sufferers moan in pain, but they are too exhausted to do much else. They can only squirm on the pavement. The irony of it all, was most undesirables were too weak to move even if their legs weren’t broken. But it didn’t matter to the military, they were just following their orders—unmercifully so.

  Robert Hawks stands with Gary Brimm; his second in command. He peers through his sniper rifle scope out onto the streets were the live civilians are placed. Brimm trails with a pair of binoculars.

  Charlie, disgusted at the scene, leads the steaming-with-anger pack. “What the fuck is going on here, Captain?!”

  Brimm is the first to turn. Seeing the flaming passion in Charlie, he pulls his handgun. The Captain veers slowly. He doesn’t seem too concerned. That’s because he isn’t. His arrogance has grown mightily.

  “May I help you . . . soldier?” he says, scrutinizing the group over, but mostly Charlie.

  “Why are you doing this to these people?”

  “Not that I have to explain myself to you, soldier, but I will. They are the weak that have slim chances of survival. I’m sure you made that distinction by now. But what you haven’t figured out, is they have been given a last chance at serving their nation. They are patriotic.” His attention is taken from the group.

  “Here comes a few, Captain. About eighty yards.” A lookout soldier sitting on the tank yells.

  Hawks gazes back at Charlie, “See what these patriotic civilians are accomplishing?”

  The Captain lifts his sniper rifle, aiming in the distance. A few infected have got a hold of one of the disabled civilians, tearing and eating the flesh of th
e poor soul. The group is appalled. Eva turns away. Hawks takes his time—aiming—letting a light breeze pass. He steadies up. The surrounding watch quietly.

  The sound is piercing. Four shots, five seconds, one on top of the other. One by one they fall—killed with deadly accuracy. Once again, the Captain shows his excellent marksmanship. His men holler and whistle while clapping all around. Robert gloats. Not by words, but by the cocky smile he displays.

  “Do you understand now . . . soldier?” he says to Charlie.

  Charlie’s impressed, but he hates that he is. Like the others, he did not feel there is anything patriotic about what he just saw. So he let it be known.

  “The only thing I comprehend, Captain, is you’re getting off on target practice! At the expense of those who you are supposed to protect! You use them as bait for your own benefit, pure and simple. And there is nothing patriotic about that.”

  The Captain’s grin shrinks with every word that spills out of Charlie mouth till he is outright bothered.

  “You look here, soldier, you don’t have to agree with the tactics, but you will follow orders like everyone else. We don’t have food and water to waste on the weak. We are in a war here, and only the strong survive . . . Understand? Evolution—Darwin, I’m sure you’re familiar with the theory.”

  Robert sternly stares everyone in the eye from the group. The sight of them brought forth a title wave of anger.

  Who are they to question me? They would all be dead if it wasn’t for me and my regime. And they sought after us. We didn’t ask for them. Look at them? Rebels!

  The beast within, slams into the door of Robert’s conscience barricade. Bending his mind and cracking some of the hinges. Almost free.

  Kill them. I can’t. Not yet. Yes, you can. You’re sloppy. Do it now you coward! I’m am not a coward. I have to be smart. You don’t understand.

  The Captain’s unaware he’s gnashing his teeth and scowling.

  “Captain?” Brimm calls.

  Robert snaps back to reality. “Yes?” His face eases to normal. Shit! He tries to relax himself. He hides his contempt behind a smile. “Listen? Why don’t all you go back inside and get something to eat. You must be hungry, thirsty. I will be in shortly to give a speech and make it clear what we're here to do. It’s not as bad as you believe. Really.”