Anthony Puyo's The Compelled

by Anthony Puyo

  Charlie can’t take the bull he’s being force fed. He doesn’t care about the Captain’s cockamamie plan. Instead, he points his index finger at him. “Look here—”

  Doc, standing behind Charlie, wants to put a cap on the escalation. He notices the itchy fingers of the soldiers who’ve surrounded them, and the hidden frustration of the Captain. He thought of their missions. The things they’ve been through: the assassinations, rescues, ambushes all done with finesse. Doc quickly grabs Charlie’s arm, interrupting him. Doc whispers over his shoulder. “Not here, not now, you dig?”

  Charlie holds his breath—easing up. It takes a moment, but Charlie’s anger subsides. He registers almost instantly. Doc’s right. He’s almost always is.

  Hawks snaps his fingers a few times and few of his men escort the group back into the hospital.

  20

  The Battle Within

  The place that once harbored over 300 people, is now without a third of that. The Captain and his men came in and came out with a cleansing reminiscent of the Nazis, but their philosophy stemmed from that of the ancient Spartans: by discarding the weak but retaining the strong.

  Over an hour has passed since the outside confrontation with the Captain, and he hadn’t yet come to administer his speech. The group meets at a table in the kitchen—waiting. If they could, they would option to skip it and be on their way. But the many eyes that are placed on them, took away any chance of that idea coming to fruition. So they sit quietly, disgusted and angry, trying to hold those simmering emotions in check. The food is being served, but most of their appetites are gone from the madness they had witnessed outside.

  Chet breaks the silence. “Eat everyone. You have too. We got to keep our strength, or else we won’t have any chance.”

  Melissa backs up Chet’s notion. “Chet’s right. Please, eat everyone.”

  Bodo rests next to a fidgety, emotional Charlie. “Whatever's going through that mind, I have a feeling it’s not righteous.”

  Charlie glances at him before gazing out onto the crowd that still being strained by the soldiers. “Murdering a murderer, does that make me unrighteous?”

  A scream blasts out from the people. A woman, mid-forties, yells violently towards a soldier. A young man, eighteen, is being escorted out by the regime, and the woman is furiously trying to stop it.

  “Looks like they ain’t done purifying the place. Who would think a hospital could become a place you would want to avoid when you're injured,” Chet cants.

  Charlie gets up off his seat. Doc grabs his shoulder. “Not this time, Doc. I can’t look away this time.” Charlie storms off towards the scene.

  “Shit,” Bodo blurts, eyeing the rest of the group. The men get up and follow Charlie’s trail.

  Agreeing or disagreeing with Charlie’s actions didn’t matter. They are a unit and units stick together. It’s the only way to stay reinforced as a pack.

  “Hey! Stop right there!” Charlie yells out to the soldiers escorting the young man. The army-men take notice.

  “What’s going on here, why are you taking that kid?” Charlie inquires sternly.

  The frantic, crying lady gets close to Charlie. “They’re taking my son, and no one will stop them.”

  The widowed woman fixates around at the many people the place harbors. Most don’t make direct eye-contact. There is shame among them, but their fear of getting involved outweighs there diminishing moral values.

  She continues. “They say they're going to help him because he’s sick, but I don’t believe them. They won’t let me be by his side.”

  A tough, young Hispanic soldier butts in with attitude. “This is none of your business, man. So back off!”

  The grieving woman begs for Charlie’s help. Her sorrow pulls the strings of his heart.

  “Leave the boy alone.” Charlie scolds.

  The demand thins the air.

  “You are in no position to request that. So back off or be arrested.” The soldier responds.

  Charlie steps to his face, angrily saying, “You back off, kid . . . or else.”

  The soldier’s face hardens; he’s not intimidated at all. He focuses his fiery eyes into Charlie’s, and with tight lips, he answers, “Do something, old-man? Do it . . . and die.” He then pushes Charlie back, violently, and pulls his handgun out on him. “I should shoot you right here. Blow those old, worthless, fucken brains out. Test me, come on.”

  The other privates drop the sick, young man and walk towards Charlie. Clicks of guns are heard. They freeze in their tracks and gaze around. Bodo and the others have their weapons drawn on them.

  Bodo bursts out, “Fuck it, let’s go. Let’s have a bullet party, bitches.”

  Others in the regime that are nearby, but busy, take heed, coming over to help.

  The friction intensifies.

  A bloody mess seems eminent.

  An itchy trigger finger is all that is needed to make the place rain red.

  The silent, tense faces eye each other with alarm. Some wear nervous like a necklace, while others are willing and ready, all they need is the cue. It’s a classic standoff, reminiscent of the Old West. Who is going to make the first move, waivers through the minds of many.

  A sweat bead rolls into Jason’s left eye. It begins to burn and blink repeatedly underneath his glasses. His hands noticeably shake around the nine-millimeter pistol he has pointed. A soldier moves to the ground thirty feet away from him, setting up his rifle, aiming at the nervous, chubby gamer. Jason gears his weapon towards that soldier. His hands shake even more knowing there’s a weapon he’s all too familiar with from the video games he used to play, in his grandmother’s basement, pointed at him.

  Terrified, the civilians in the room get down, covering themselves with their arms and hands. The place is so quiet, hard breathing can be heard.

  Then—out-of-the-blue—A ding sound cuts through the room, making eyes gape. The sound repeats three times, gathering everyone's attention towards the elevator door. It opens twenty feet away from where the action is taking place.

  “Hold your fire, hold your fire!” The blond, blue-eyed, chiseled man yells out.

  Hawks comes out of the elevator, surprised to see the stalemate of armed men readying to go to war.

  “What the fuck is going on here, Diaz?” the Captain roars out to the Hispanic soldier standing in front of Charlie.

  “This man and his people disturbed your orders, sir.” Diaz presses his jaw down in anger, still beaming at Charlie.

  Hawks looks over to Charlie and the rest. “You again. Is this true . . . what did you say your name was again, soldier?”

  “The name is Charlie, and your private here, is an asshole. To answer your question, if your orders are to take a young man from his mother, then yes, it’s true, I did disrupt orders, Captain. Damn proud of it too.”

  The Beast smashes into the door again, undoing more latches. I told you, he is nothing but trouble. They all are. Shut up! I know how to handle this.

  “Well,” Hawks looks over at his men, as well as Charlie’s group, “Everyone, put down your weapons. There won’t be any need for bloodshed.”

  He walks over to the young man who lies on the floor. The boy is weak, malnourished. Robert notices his leg is bandaged with torn fabric.

  “He is wounded and not in very good health.” The Captain gazes at Charlie, making his inside point. Turning back to the grieving woman. “Your son can stay with you, if you'd like, sadly to say, he’s on borrowed time though.” He inspects the man. “I’d say, twenty-four hours, give or take.”

  The woman begins to wail. She knew, but it was intolerable to hear. She scurries next to her son, holding him in her arms. The pitied, distressed mother rocks her pale faced kid. Kissing his forehead.

  The boy says in a weak voice, “Mama?”

  She shushes him. Reciting a lullaby as she gently caresses his face and head. Just like the times she did when he was a baby eighteen years ago.

  Melissa,
behind Ryan, stands next to Craig witnessing this tragic moment unfold. She starts to snivel herself, holding Ryan tightly from behind, squeezing him with love. A mother understands another mother’s pain. It wasn’t long ago, in Jessie’s basement, in the backseat of the roaring Ford truck, and even in the old brick and tin garage, she held Ryan that same way. In that time, she had her own sorrowed filled thoughts of losing her child. Not knowing the woman didn’t matter, but knowing her pain is undeniable. Melissa cries along with her from a distance—that is all too close.

  “Now listen up! All of you!” The Captain shouts to the masses. He looks back at Charlie and the group, “This includes you.” He begins to speak with conviction, using one of his best gifts he was born with—Charisma. “The U.S. Army here in Fresno, California has declared martial law. The enemy has crippled the nation and the world. But we’re here to tell you, we’re taking it back. Consider yourself the chosen. Fate rounded us together in this very spot to live. To fight on. To carry on. Even from the ashes, from the dust, from the rubble, we will come back hard and harder still. Till we get back what was taken from us.”

  Craig stares around the lobby, noticing a filling of hope in many of the people’s eyes. It is coming from this man; a man who Craig knows to be a murderer.

  You got to be kidding me.

  A part of Craig begins to feel afraid inside. He traveled long and hard amongst the danger to get to his family. But now the feeling of danger is closer than ever. A different kind of danger. One that is cunning, scheming. It could strike at any time—day or night. Like a snake hiding in the thickets of weeds in his back yard. It’s a little too close for comfort for Craig.

  The Captain continues. “We are the start of a new beginning. You are a part of the army now . . . A family. And like any family, we must have rules.”

  As he says the last line, he lasers Craig dead in the eyes, making his knees weak. He only hopes the Captain didn’t see through him, sensing his guilt and fear.

  “Rule One: everyone must follow their orders when called upon. After all, what good are we if we can’t count on one another. Two: We must be trustworthy. That means no lies, no spying, no conspiring, no forming plans that are not a part of us all. Anyone caught doing any of these things will be punished—possibly by death!”

  The punishment, more than the rules, seemed to take the air out of the whole building. It definitely lowered the sails of Craig and the group’s ships.

  “Lastly,” the Captain continued, “I know many of you have romantic relationships. This is important to those of you, but it also goes for everyone. There will be no intercourse without my petitioned approval. We cannot take the chance of having pregnancies. As cruel as it sounds. We cannot lag the movement with maternities. Therefore, motherhood is banned till the appropriate time. If a pregnancy occurs, it will be defaulted and the parties involved punished—severely.”

  Outrage slowly makes its way over the people. They begin to utter words amongst each other. It gets louder. There are many thoughts and feelings that begin to leak from the masses. Boos begin to be heard along with shoutings for and against the Captain and his men. Small scuffles infuse amongst some of the people who are for the ideas, and the ones who are opposed to them. The place heightens with hostility. This makes the guarding soldiers nervous. The Captain, himself, feels pressure.

  Melissa frightened, shelters Ryan. “I’m not liking this, Craig!” she yells over the loud bickering of the swaying crowd towards Craig.

  Craig shields his family from the movement. “Watch it! Get back!” He yells to no avail.

  “Silence!” trumps the Captain, repeating himself a couple of times. It doesn’t work. He raises his pistol and shoots high across the room. The crowd finally subsides in fear of the sound.

  “Settle down, I said. All of you!” Robert hollers, and they do. “That’s better. We are in a new time in man’s evolution. I know things come across as harsh. It may take time in getting use to for some, but you will. Sooner rather than later. I promise you that. It’s for the greater good—you’ll see. We are a family, all of us. I want to make that clear. And there is another rule . . . one more. I hold this one highest of all.” He looks around at the multitudes, making sure they’re all ears. “No one is allowed to leave the family. To run, to desert, to a-wall, it’s all the same to me. It is treason, and treason carries a punishment of absolute death.” The people start bickering aloud again, but the captain shouted his words over them.

  “If you do not cooperate, you will be discarded. For you are an enemy. No different from the evils who are out there that are waiting to pounce on us who are good and patriotic!” Hawks gazes around the energized room that's filled with both boos and cheers. He finishes with a hard stare at Charlie and Bodo’s group. He wouldn’t forget about them. “That is all for now!”

  The Captain turns, and with his entourage of soldiers, he heads back into the elevator. The sounds of the masses confront him till the doors finally close.

  Through the pandemonium of the place, Bodo turns to Chet, Charlie, Eva, and Doc. “This muthafucka is crazy. We need to get out. I ain’t about to be a slave like my ancestors. Hell no!” The group nods with disheartened looks.

  “We got to make a solid plan if we’re going to do this. You heard him, he’s not going to let us walk out the front door,” Charlie replies.

  The young, twenty something, Rico pushes up from behind Eva, to hear what’s being said. Eva looks back with irritation; she feels his body touching hers—inappropriately. “Boy, you better back up!”

  Rico winks with a smile, moving back a step. His dark wild hair, along with his nose and lip piercings, made him think he was hot shit. But none of that did it for Eva. He’s not her type by a mile. Rico’s nothing but a kid in her eyes and gradually becoming a little punk.

  “What’s the matter, afraid you're going to get pregnant?” He jokes.

  His happy-go-lucky tone annoys Eva even more. Plus, his timing is totally horrible.

  Eva, twice his age and about ten times more mature, rolls her eyes. She harbors a tired glare. Without wasting another word on him, she turns to hear the men talk.

  Rico turns to the older Jason who cracks a smile and snickers. He understood Rico’s humor. Then again, Jason maturity is quite below his age.

  The time is approaching noon on a day that already has given a lot to soak in. And, sadly, it isn’t over.

  Staff Sergeant Blake Edward walks briskly out of the elevator towards Charlie who sits up against a wall, east of the elevator. Next to him is Doc. On the other side, Bodo and the rest of the tight nit group lounge. The exception is Craig and his family. They’re over in the indoor patio area. Craig, oblivious to what is going on inside, found an incomplete card set in which him and his family are playing a friendly game of poker.

  “Charlie, Bodo, the Captain would like to speak to you both.” Blake Edward says, standing before of the men.

  “Who are you?” Bodo asks, almost defiantly.

  “The name’s Blake Edward. Staff Sergeant Blake Edward. The Captain said to find the rough looking, sandy-blond Green Beret named Charlie, and the big, muscled black man. He seems to have describe you two, to the ‘T.’ He wants to meet with you.”

  “What if we refuse?” Charlie asks.

  “I understand, but I can’t say that would be a good idea. The Captain . . . well he’s different. He’s tough.”

  “I would add madman and shithead to your description,” Bodo casts in, getting a low chuckle from Charlie and a smile from the Staff Sergeant.

  “That’s an accurate statement,” replies Edward, still holding a smile.

  Charlie points. “I like this guy.”

  The two get to their feet while Doc stays sitting; shades on, eyes closed.

  “Need me to go with you, Boss?” Doc asks, pushing his toothpick to side of his mouth.

  Edward answers, “Sorry man, the Captain only needs these two.”

  Doc peeks over his glasses. �
�I didn’t ask for your permission.”

  Charlie waves him off. “It’s okay, Doc, I’ll be fine.”

  To that, Doc nods and lies his head back.

  Gunfire and explosions are heard outside in the distance. This sends soldiers scurrying, bringing tables, tools, kitchen knives, setting them on the floor. They yell out to the masses. “Grab what you can. Make a weapon, find a weapon. You need to be ready! Orders will be given shortly.”

  Movement starts to pick up. Soldiers on their radios go either upstairs, downstairs, some out the front exit.

  Bodo and Charlie walk with Blake. Intrigued over the sudden energy of the place.

  “Something’s going down,” Bodo says, tapping Charlie on his shoulder, pointing out the front doors. There’s movement of the vehicles outside.

  “Looks like we got some unwanted company,” Charlie replies.

  The thin, freckled Blake leads the two men to the office where the Captain resides. A couple of privates stand a few feet in the room. Making them halt at the doorway, waiting. The Air-Force pilot, Jack Day, sits on one of the three empty chairs close the Captain and his desk. Blake waits for the heated Robert who is occupied yelling over the CB.

  “Excuse me, men.” Sergeant Gary Brimm squeezes in the crowded doorway. Taking a seat in the room.

  “You listen to me. If you fight on from there, heading west to us, and we fight on here; in your direction, we will be successful. We’ll get the enemy in the crossfire with nowhere to retreat. Then we can help you better defend that damn airport.”

  “Negative, Captain. We don’t have the men to push that plan. We will stay here and wait till reinforcements arrive from the boys in Visalia or L.A.” The voice on the radio explains.

  The frustrated Captain argues. “L.A. is tens time the mess this place is. The boys won't be coming this way for weeks, maybe months. We need to defend our own and not depend on outsiders. You copy that?”