Anthony Puyo's The Compelled

by Anthony Puyo

  After a moment, Craig bends and takes the gun. The one time commodities-broker can’t help but shake his head

  How could I be so negligent, he thinks.

  Craig isn’t familiar with weapons, except knowing they’re dangerous. He makes no excuses. If he could, he would have tossed the thing a long time ago. But he refrained, knowing its value. But the experience is an eye-opener, having a weapon requires much responsibility. And this is a lesson he’s grateful he didn’t have to learn the hard way.

  “Honey?” Melissa says softly. She lies, eyes closed, in the same spot where she’s been not knowing anything that’s taken place.

  Eva lets go of Ryan; he runs over to his mother, burrowing next to her in shame. Even at seven, he displays many traits of his father. Like him, the child is also hard on himself.

  “Oh!” Melissa says. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Ryan doesn’t answer.

  Craig glances over at his wife, then back at Eva. Their thoughts synchronize: It’s best not to tell her.

  Craig holsters the gun in his back waistline, covering it with his shirt.” I’m right here, babe. Ryan’s got a tummy ache, that’s it. He’ll be fine, won’t you, boy?”

  Sergeant Brimm turns to Private Kelly who’s reading the map while sitting in the passenger seat. “Two hours is about up and one more to go still.”

  “Looks like that gas station up ahead is our last stop,” Kelly replies.

  Bodo leans up towards the front seats. “What are we supposed to do after that last explosive is set?”

  “We head back, enjoy the show along the way.” Gary Brimm answers pleasantly.

  Little light is left, and it’s getting colder. The thunder sounds in waves, lightning follows, but strangely, no rain ever comes. This pattern has been going on for a few hours.

  As the guys close in on their mark, gun blasts erupt in front of the gas station, making them stop thirty yards away.

  Two factions of people, seven in total, are battling each other for unknown reasons.

  Eli Kelly asks, “What now, that’s our target.”

  Brimm replies, “Damn pirates . . . Grab the horn, tell them who we are. Tell them they need to get back. Dumb asses are going to blow the place up before we can.”

  Bodo whispers to Charlie, “Like they’re gonna give a shit.”

  Kelly does as told and grabs the CB radio.

  “Grab your weapons just in case, men,” Brimm orders, he then gets out aiming his rifle over the open door.

  The people that are firing at each other seem angry, they didn’t even notice the guys pulling up.

  They Hide behind garbage cans, store walls, deserted cars, ice machines, etc., shooting at one another with poor accuracy.

  Over the loud Hummer speakers, Eli is heard. “This is the U.S. Army. We order you to cease your fire!”

  Kelley repeats the saying a couple of times. The citizens listen and stop. They’re a bit caught off to see a military vehicle, and of course, the military men.

  A tall Caucasian-man in a plaid jacket, wearing glasses, waves off his side. The group is dirty. The men support stubble faces, the two women have torn clothes, no makeup.

  The tall man shouts. “How do we know you’re telling the truth? Maybe you just want the water for yourselves?”

  Agreed blurts are heard in the background from his people and even the ones that were fighting against them.

  A huge explosion is heard from downtown, only two and half miles away. Brimm and his men don’t even turn back to see the huge fire and smoke cloud that rises. There is no reason to; they’re the ones who caused it. The factions flinch, their eyes widen and their mouths gape.

  “There’s your proof. A war is going on. The fighting will be heading this way. Share what’s here, then unite. Head towards the combat, staying to the north, you will see more soldiers and civilians like yourselves. Fight alongside. Help take back the city—that’s an order. You are now all a part of the New America Army.”

  The people soak in the words but are suspicious still. They talk amongst each other, saying. “Why should we believe this man? Why should we take his orders? We could be killed.”

  “If we refuse?” asks the tall man.

  Gary, stoned faced, grabs the horn. He has orders, and he isn’t about to negotiate with these two-bit civilians.

  “Then you will be executed—here—now—for deserting of your country.”

  The people are fazed by the comment and say nothing. The sounds of battle in the background are slightly louder than before, and everyone can hear them. Anxiety surfaces. The feeling of a wave made of chaos approaching, is startling.

  The slender man is about to answer—a huge detonation ferociously rocks the city less than a mile away. The onlookers cringe before standing tall again. Their persona’s say it all. The fire and smoke acted as the perfect sales pitch for some. It ignites a sense of belief and hope.

  “We accept!” the man yells. He begins to wave his gun in the air turning to the others. A few holler proudly behind him. They begin to chant “USA” and shoot towards the sky. One of the men; chubby, Asian, and one of the women, drop their weapons and take off running. They wanted no part of what their intuition told them was imminent. The rest of the group turns to see them disappear from sight. It leads them to shrug their shoulders and scratch their heads.

  “That’s it, we’re done,” Brimm expels to Eli Kelly as they place the last C-4 on the gas pump.

  Kelly replies. “Then let’s get out Sarge. It’s creepy out here in the dark.”

  An excruciating scream passed where the eyes can see, raises the hairs on the men’s spines.

  “Jeez, tell me about it.” Gary answers, eyes wide, gazing into the darkness.

  The ride back is like entering the eye of a hurricane. The road is treacherous as fighting is heavy with random battles taking place on almost every corner. The positive being they could see. A diversity of street fires are lit all along the path.

  Not knowing what to expect block to block, the men press on, never stopping to partake in any scenario. Their mission is to get back to the hospital in one piece—if possible. That’s what Hawks ordered them to do.

  They whisk through the rubbly roads and hellish flames that light up the sky sporadically. A gift from the C-4 and mines that they strategically placed.

  Kelly, the driver, is breathing hard. It catches the attention of Brimm who sits in the passenger seat. He notices the soldier’s perspiring forehead. Kelly, unsuspecting of Gary, wipes his forehead, eyes peeled on the road.

  Brimm moves his sight to Eli’s hands—they gleam with sweat.

  Kelly swerves, brakes, turns, skids while the others sway left to right in their seats.

  Brimm, holding on to his hand grip, keeps a tight face through the rough drive. “Take it easy. No ones on our tail, private.”

  From the back seat, Charlie interjects. “Calm down, son, or none of us will make it home.”

  Kelly, in deep concentration, peers at Charlie through the rearview mirror, “Huh?” He didn’t hear a word anyone said.

  They come up on barrage of vehicles at a high speed in a very dark area.

  “Watch the road!” Gary shouts.

  Kelly—eyes wide—slams the brake and jerks the wheel hard left, skidding the Hummer sideways; impacting the side into a parked car. Sparks fly from the bash. Luckily he braked when he did or it could have been worse.

  “Darn it, Kelly, you could have killed me!” Brimm scolds. It’s his side that was hit.

  Kelly’s focused and too high sprung to make out what Brimm said. He doesn’t answer or explain himself. His breathing escalates to erratic, and his movements are trending faster—he’s on the brink of panic mode.

  The private punches the gas, peeling the wheels. Out-of-nowhere, a crazed infected jumps on the hood wielding a handgun. He crawls quickly to windshield, taking a swing and smashes into it. The window doesn’t collapse completely, but Kelly can’t see either w
ay.

  The crazed man on his knees, about to shoot. Eli pulls the steering wheel to his left, veering off to an unknown path of front yards. The infected loses aim, falling to his side. The gun goes off but hits nothing. The crazy, holding on with one hand, tries to get his balance. Kelly gets them back on the road.

  Brimm, swaying and bouncing, reaches for his sidearm more than once, but with the constant moving, he couldn’t grip it.

  The infected takes aim again. This time taking a shot in the cab. A pothole causes the bullet to shatter the back window, but missing everyone.

  “Damn you!” Brimm thunders. He finally gets a sturdy hold of his weapon. He whips it out, arm jerking everywhere while trying to aim. The engine roars, the tires screech. No perfect shot is going to happen, he knows that. The Sergeant fires multiple times and missing almost as many. Blood sprays onto their faces.

  The crazy let’s go, sliding off the hood getting trampled in the process. The right tire lifts over the corpse’s head and chest. Kelly loses control.

  “I can’t see!” he pulls the wheel a bit too hard trying to straighten. Rather than slowing, he accelerates through the swerve.

  “Slow down, man!” Bodo yells while gripping the front seat.

  Something has to be done, their vision is skewed, and the kid is swerving. Brimm raises his leg, kicking out the remainder of the window. No sooner than he does it, a house garage comes into view. There is no eluding this one. Kelly’s foot smashes down hard, locking the tires and sending the Hummer to a slide. His eyes nearly jump out his skull. Everyone braces for the impact. The beat up armored vehicle, disintegrates the garage door on its way through it. Kelly crosses his arms over his face as does Brimm. The impact is fast, hard, and furious; all four airbags deploy. Shooting debris scatters in all directions. The men’s heads whip into the whiteness of the bags violently, as the Hummer finds its resting place.

  Unknown minutes go by. The ongoing sound of steam leaving the engine and water dripping from the radiator is constant.

  Semi-automatic shots and faint yelling a few blocks away are enough to open Bodo’s eyes. Blood leaks from his swollen mouth. He tries to recover, but he’s woozy. He slowly sits up, muscles hurting, bruises throbbing, sounds of the small particles of glass moving around him as he adjusts in his seat.

  The fog in Bodo’s mind, slowly evaporates. He faces Charlie who’s next to him. The man’s head is leaned back, blood trails out his nose.

  Bodo lifts his hand slowly, reaching towards Charlie. Pain shoots up his arm, making him grunt. “Hey, man . . . you alive?”

  Charlie doesn’t move. Bodo, wincing in pain, tugs on his friend’s shoulder.

  Charlie, slowly coming into his own, groans tenderly. He lifts his head and reaches for his nose. He brushes off the small pieces of glass that are on it, then feels it—it’s swollen. His fingertips now bloodied.

  “My nose is broken.”

  “We need to get up and get out of here,” Bodo’s whispers. “Think you can walk?”

  Charlie feels out his legs. “Yeah.”

  “We should leave ‘em,” Bodo blurts.

  “We should.”

  “But we ain’t cold like them, right?”

  “Yeah . . . I guess you’re right—sad to say.”

  The two get out of the Hummer and open the front doors. They check to see if the other two are dead. They’re not. They wake them with a few pushes and light slaps they don’t mind giving.

  The toughness of the Hummer’s frame saved their lives.

  Bruised and sore, the four quickly gather themselves. The sounds of death are approaching swiftly with no clue to who’s winning, so they hightail out of there with their weapons. Destination: the hospital. It’s a gamble taking the neighborhood route, as they don’t know what to expect, but it feels like the best option.

  The thunder and lightning stop, and just like that, the temperature rises, making for pleasantly cool night.

  “I don’t get this weather.” Charlie spouts, no longer able to see his breath.

  “There’s no use trying to solve mother nature, let’s just move.” Brimm irks.

  Absolute darkness is the path ahead of them. It is only when they glance northwest they can see light. It comes from the many fires of burning cars and buildings, and the active burning gas lines in that direction. Explosions erupt out that way, littering the air along with the sounds of gunshots that spout off in bunches from time to time, causing echoes that seem to bounce of all four corners of the downtown area.

  The men are in a neighborhood a few blocks west and east of major conflict areas. They keep heading north.

  Before long, they reach Ventura and First Street. This particular street also runs parallel to downtown Fresno Street where the hospital resides and where the others are. Now all they have to do is stay on it for a few more blocks. Then head north on “R” Street.

  They move in a controlled hurry. Their hard breaths fizzle in and out as they turn their heads often in all directions, and sometimes their bodies.

  Brimm sticks his hand out, stopping everyone. They look around. Shadowy figures scurry about, hiding. They move almost in a blur. The men gaze about suspiciously.

  Brimm whispers, “Come on, let’s keep moving.”

  The figures must have known they were spotted because they began coming out in the open on all sides surrounding the guys.

  This block is relatively clean compared to most, but all that is about to change.

  Foretelling trouble, the men get back to back with each other, keeping their vision moving, but they are almost blind in this obscurity. It appears the fight has found its way to them. Can they survive? They’re out numbered in the dark with an enemy hell bent on slaughtering them.

  The men point their weapons with stiff aims. Grunting, snarling, wicked laughter ensues all around them.

  Brimm, overwhelmed by suspense, yells out, “Friend or foe?”

  No answer.

  “Answer us or be ready to die?” he hollers.

  Charlie locks and loads. “Don’t waste your breath. We know who they are.”

  One of the shadows starts to cling together two sharp objects. The hair stands up on Kelly’s neck.

  A vile voice slurs out, “You are foe, and you will die. We’ll use your blood to paint the street.” The voice slithers out in a wicked laugh.

  Brimm puffs his nostrils, “So be it.” He quickly grabs a grenade from his belt, unpinning at the same time, and tosses it towards a parked vehicle twenty feet away then shouts, “Fire!”

  Bullets whip the air, and as fast, finish with liquid tight thuds. The burst flashes from the automatic weapons light up the area around them, exposing the charging infected that cross over from the blackness. The reflections of the gunfire mirror in the crazies’ huge pupils. The strobing bursts causes the evil ones to appear more ghoulish in nature. Their hands seem boney with pointy fingers, their mouths; angry like and droopy, and their eyes—empty; a stairway to their menacing hearts.

  The kill is on.

  A huge detonation shakes the ground, sending debris whistling overhead. A few infected are thrown to the floor, while one is flung into a tree, his organs crush on impact.

  There’s too many. The men brake rank-- moving around. Bodo has an infected in his sight—a woman in her thirties, she charges vigorously with her robe swinging open. Bodo’s face is animated with anger. He shoots till the gun clicks empty. The woman, hit several times, doesn’t stop. Behind her, is a child no older than nine years old.

  Bodo drops the rifle and pulls out his combat knife. “C’mon, bitch!” He gets in battle stance.

  The woman bends, covered in blood, looking like a bull reading to charge. She screams with a hell rotten tone, then lunges towards Bodo. Whoosh went the sound of the knife through the air, dividing the flesh from her chest to her torso, delivering her intestines to the pavement. But it isn’t over, Bodo feels the bite of the young boy on his thigh. In quick reaction, he backhands the kid
pushing him away a few feet. The kid glowers, mouth open like a rabid dog showing his bloodied teeth.

  Bodo gapes at the boy. “You got to be shitting me?”

  This is Bodo’s first encounter with an infected child. It isn’t pleasant. It’s just a shell, Bodo. Evil has engulfed this vessel now.

  The boy thrusts wildly. Bodo gets in a stance; not sure if he can go through with it. The boy leaves the ground towards Bodo’s neck. He didn’t have to decide. Less than a foot in front of Bodo’s face, the boy’s head comes apart like a melon, sending chunks of skull, brains and flesh, and what seems like a gallon of blood, all over him. A 5.56mm bullet from Kelley’s M-60 does the damage.

  Bodo wipes his face in disgust, “Fucken gross, man!”

  Sergeant Brimm is a short and stocky man with a mean streak. He battles fiercely. Good with guns, knives, and his fist. He shoots, punches, and kicks many infected down. He resembles a tornado the way he deals punishment on all sides.

  Charlie is savvy in his ways. Killing with every shot till he empties his twelve gage shotgun. He then uses the weapon like a bat, breaking ribs and jaws till he’s out of breath.

  Kelly does what he can. He’s the least experienced of the men, even more so than Bodo who was never in the service. But Kelly is effective, shooting down Infected and watching the others back.

  The infected die and die but keep coming. The guys put out twenty-two infected that were wild like cigarette buds. But an unknown number hid, throwing rocks and other junk at them. Suddenly—gunfire emerges from the crazies.

  The guys get down, hiding behind the dead bodies.

  Charlie, catches his breath. “The bastards are learning. They charged us with their feral, wasting our ammo, now they’re trying to flank us with fire power.”

  “I’m almost out of ammo.” Brimm replies. He glances by the burning vehicle; he sees a dead body being drug behind a tree. “Sick fucks, they’re eating the dead.”

  Shots hit the pavement around them.