Anthony Puyo's The Compelled

by Anthony Puyo

  “Bravo! I told you could. Shouldn’t doubt yourself, kid, that just opens the door for others to doubt you.”

  He walks over to the shaken soldier and puts his arm around his neck, standing side by side with him. “Was I right?”

  Hiding his true feelings, Kelly nods at the smiling. He didn’t know how else to respond. Maybe he had passed the point of no return, and he couldn’t turn back. So he didn’t.

  “You ready to go home, soldier?”

  Kelly nods again, with a little more enthusiasm.

  Brimm keeps his arm in place, propelling Kelly to walk with him. “Good! Let’s go home, you’ve earned it.”

  “Thanks, Sarge.”

  After a few steps, Brimm’s arm locks around Kelly’s neck, bringing his head down. It’s a swift kill. The combat knife goes right through the top of the skull. Kelly’s body lands hard, twitching on the pavement.

  24

  The Awakening

  Just before 7 p.m., on the day Bodo and Charlie were murdered, something strange had happened to Craig. He had been called up to talk to the head man. Since the spying incident, Craig had kept his distance, staying very quiet, not bringing the slightest attention to himself, and he hadn’t been introduced to the Captain personally during this whole ordeal—but yet, he was summoned.

  What possibly could the Captain want with me? He thinks.

  Craig beams at the fetching soldier, asking for a minute, he then turns to a frowning Melissa.

  “Why does he want to see you?” she asks. Melissa didn’t care for the man who she felt was as venomous as a rattlesnake, so she’s a little worried for her husband. “I don’t like this.”

  Craig shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t have the slightest Idea nor do I feel good about it.”

  Eva overhears. She sits next to Ryan and the late teen, Isabell, on the bench. She happens to turn by chance towards the elevator. Sixty feet away, she catches a glimpse of Rico and his follower Jason, exiting. The two lock eyes for a brief few seconds. Rico grins at her happily before veering towards the lobby doors. She finds it odd that somehow he had access to the military quarters.

  Craig is led into military operations on the second floor. It is thin on personnel, but the few that are there keep busy.

  Many maps are pinned up on walls with markings across them. Craig doesn’t take a long enough glimpse at anything in particular to know exactly what the Captain is planning, but he has his Ideas.

  The Captain is positioned with his hands together behind his back, inspecting a large map of the city that hangs on the wall.

  Craig walks up behind, thinking to himself: This is one big hombre.

  Hawks’ back span is wide, and his forearms would put Popeye’s to shame. He’s of intimidating size for most men, and that happened to be the category of males Craig fell into.

  “You called for me, Mr. Hawks?” Craig utters, biting his teeth down with a stretched grin as soon as the words left his mouth. I hope that’s what you liked to be called.

  There is no reply for what seems like long time. Long enough to make Craig feel antsy inside. Another one of the many tricks the Captain uses.

  “Captain,” the intimidating figure finally responds.

  Craig baffled by the reply. “Excuse me?”

  Robert turns around. The big stud sours Craig’s stomach. “You said Mr.—It’s Captain . . . and a sir would be nice after you word it.”

  Though Craig is a person who is easier than most to be intimidated, he can’t help, at times, to be sarcastic in response to discomfort. It’s his way of dealing with his inferior complex, and the anxiety it causes.

  “Okay? Captain Sir . . . sure. Craig Bainy reporting to duty, Captain Sir.”

  Robert smirks, catching the slender man’s mock. “Tone it down.” He gazes down at Craig. “I got word your friends have successfully completed their mission, and now, they are on the way back. Regrettably, the pilot won’t be arriving with them. He died bravely, in the line of duty.”

  The news imbalances Craig. It’s good to know Charlie and Bodo made it out alive. But Jack—What a shame. Unlike the others who aren’t too fond of him, Craig didn’t mind Jack. There was the conflict of views, and Jack was responsible for leading them to the Captain, but Craig understood that it was done in good faith. Jack had no idea the Captain was a bad apple.

  The news of Charlie’s and Bodo’s eventual return, is still spectacular and the others will be happy to hear of it. And more than likely, it will overshadow the death of the pilot, which is unfortunate in Craig’s mind.

  “I was wondering why you sent for me, Captain . . . Sir. But I guess you knew they’re my friends. Thank you very much for the information. I will be telling the good news to the others.” Craig puts his hand out to be shook. The Captain examines it for few seconds, then musters up one of his award winning, fake smiles and obliges.

  Hawks eyes Craig keenly. He did this since the beginning of the conversation, though Craig hadn’t picked up on it. Like always, Robert’s gestures are never really “true” gestures. Especially the kind ones. A tactic, is a more accurate word. One of his means to gain information—and as wrong and conniving as it sounds, that’s precisely why he did it.

  Who would expect someone to do this all the time? Especially at the start of a conversations. Giving positive news just to read reactions, words, emotion, all to gain little bits of data. It’s devious—and even more scary. What will a man with his kind of morals do with the knowledge he accumulates? Use it to gain an advantage, that’s what.

  Craig thanks Hawks and begins to leave.

  “Wait, where are you going?!” Hawks asks.

  Craig stops and turns. “I’m sorry, Captain . . . Sir. I thought we were finished.”

  “You just got here. Why don’t you share a cup of fresh coffee with me? ‘Shoot the breeze’ as they say?”

  I prefer, as they say, shooting the shit, but okay. It’s your world, your analogy.

  Craig curbs his excitement. He knows he isn’t going anywhere till the Captain okays it. I should have known; nothing’s that easy. “Oh . . . sure. Sounds great!” A little off on his counterfeit enthusiasm.

  They walk into the Captain's office, and Craig is offered a seat. Robert gets on the CB radio and calls in an order of coffee with something sweet to accompany it.

  The two get comfortable in their chairs when a call on the radio interrupts. “Captain Sir, we are ready and waiting for the word.”

  Hawks peers at Craig with his piercing blue eyes. After a second, he gives a warm grin. “Sorry about this,” he picks up the radio. “Hold your position. I will give you instruction shortly.” He puts the radio down and slicks back his feathery blond hair with both hands. “Now, where were we? Oh yes! I have a question for you. What was your trade before the war?”

  Craig thinks it’s odd how Robert always regards the dilemma as a war.

  “I was a commodities broker.”

  “I see. Good trade to have in the valley . . . with the many crops and all. And your wife, what did she do?”

  “Homemaker. Which I will confess, is a harder job than mine. I was forced into it once. And I was fired—by her . . . Who knew you couldn’t pour bleach directly on clothes.”

  A slight chuckle from Hawks. “I see. She was a baby factory.” Hawks’ smile sends chills down Craig’s back.

  “No. We only have one child.”

  “A son, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “How old is he?”

  Craig feels uncomfortable. Hawks seems to have paid more attention to him than he thought. In a weird way, Craig felt like the Captain wanted him to know he knew these things about him. But why?

  “He’s seven.” Let’s turn this around. “Do you have a wife and kids, Captain Sir?”

  The Captain crosses his legs, giving off a reluctant smirk. The question catches him off guard a little. Are you trying to turn the tables? “It is a touchy subject, but I guess I asked for it.
I did have a wife, but sadly, she didn’t survive the ordeal. And I don’t know if it is a blessing, I feel bad sometimes for even thinking it, but we didn’t have any children.” In thought, the Captain sees himself punching his wife in the stomach during a drunken rage when she was pregnant. Each of the four times he made her miscarriage flashes through his mind.

  “Sorry to hear that, Captain.” I’m a real jerk.

  As Craig apologizes, Robert envisions his wife’s last call to him. It was the day of the incident. She begs him for help as one of the crazies are in their home, trying to get her. He stays on the line, talking calm, emotionless till it finally reached her. He recounts the desperate screams all the way to her death, and he didn’t even blink—then or now. It’s on a very short list of his most gratifying moments. Hearing her distress, nearly brought a tear to his eye. How perfect it was, Bitch.

  “Thank you. It’s been tough to get over it,” Robert expels.

  They get quiet for a moment. Craig feels remorse for the Captain. He could only imagine what the man had to go through. Losing his wife, never having children; it must be awful.

  Hawks notices Craig’s regret. He could nearly read his mind through his body language. Oh brother, what a schmuck.

  The elevator door buzzes, killing the silence. A thin, shy asian woman comes in with coffee and individually wrapped pastries. She’s in her late thirties, very delicate in her demeanor, shamefully avoiding eye contact. Before she leaves, Robert gawks at her backside, grabbing a handful of it before letting her go. He smiles and winks at Craig devilishly.

  Craig quickly recants his sorrowed thoughts of the man. The woman bothered, but walks out as quiet as she came in.

  Poor thing, having to deal with this pig. Who knows what else he’s done to her—what they’ve done to her? He thinks of Melissa. I can’t let that happen to you.

  They sip their coffee, in another silent moment that is awkward for Craig. So he takes the opportunity to look around the Captain’s lodgings. It’s close to royalty for what the world is now. The Captain’s bed has burgundy satin covers with overhanging drapes. There’s some nicely scented candles on the bed side dresser. There’s even some art pictures hanging on the walls that Craig remembers seeing at the downtown museum. It is obvious the Captain is living beyond his rank.

  The Captain begins to speak again. “I really like your group. There’s some great diversity, some strong people there.”

  “I guess if you look at it that way. We’re survivors. We wanted to keep it up . . . peacefully.”

  “Don’t we all?” the Captain says. He adjusts in his seat. “Your people can be of great use to the war effort. I know things haven’t gone well between us in these few days, but I feel there is more understanding that needs to be realized. Would you agree, Craig?”

  “I’m not sure, Captain Sir. I think, with all due respect, there is an understanding. We only care to live in peace. The death, the war as you call this, it’s not for us. But we understand it’s what you desire. We’re not soldiers. Most of us anyway. We just want to live. Without killing—if possible.”

  “I understand your position, Craig. War can be scary, but it is necessary to gain peace. Our people, and yours even, their existence hinges on it. Peace can only be accomplished through battle. A show of strong military force. I’m sorry. I can’t let you and your people leave. We need you . . . The country needs you.”

  “I’m not sure if I agree with those things, Captain.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. But in time, I believe you and your friends will see that we made things better. And you will be glad that you were a part of it.”

  “I’m not sure why you feel the need to convince me, when you made it very clear—there is no choice.”

  The Captain displays a gratifying smile. “That is true, but I wanted to be diplomatic. A soldier that fights for a cause he believes in, is a much better soldier.” The Captain sits up in his seat for the big moment. “Plus, it prevents treason. I need to know if you and your men can be trusted?”

  Craig draws a blank. He didn’t know how to answer, and it shows in his eyes. There is a plan to leave, but it wasn’t treason to them—but also, there’s no secret how Hawks sees that kind of Idea.

  This kind of reaction from Craig, is exactly what the Captain was searching for. He stands up, walks over to the draped window, parting it. With one hand behind his back, he stares out the window to the grounds below.

  “Can you and your men be trusted, Craig?”

  Craig sighs and peers over at Hawks. Feeling a bit nervous but even more frustrated. He answers, “They are not my men, Captain—Sir. And you don’t have to worry about treason. As you said, three of our group members have completed one of your missions. Doesn’t that validate trust. Isn’t that what you wanted from us—to follow orders.”

  Hawks beams over at Craig. “You’re right. They did come through. But I have some troubling news.”

  Craig’s about had it with all the news; Good or bad. “Yeah, what’s that?”

  “Food and water are low. I know there will be unrest if we don’t gather more.”

  The memory of the stashed food in the basement comes to Craig. Lying bastard!

  Hawks continues. “I would appreciate it if you helped by swaying some of the civilians. Let them know we’re doing the best we can, and their patients and help is needed.”

  Craig, sitting loosely on the wooden chair, hoping the conversation will come to its dreadful end soon. “You bet, Captain Sir. Are we almost done here? I got a wife and kid who I need to get back to. I’m sure they’re worried by now.”

  Robert, with one of his warm smiles, turns and gestures Craig over. “Come? I want you to see something.”

  It’s nighttime but hospital lamplights keep the grounds lighted. Craig strolls over to window. What he sees causes an almost automatic churning of his intestines. A horrid hunch warns him something bad is about to happen.

  Hawks’ soldiers are gathered around three men who are on their knees with blindfolds. The captive’s hands are tied behind their backs along with their ankles.

  The Captain speaks into his static filled radio, but nothing goes through. “What the hell is wrong with this thing.” He smacks it, hoping to solve the problem, which it doesn’t. “Damn thing’s supposed to be made in America.”

  With the radio giving him trouble, he speaks to Craig, giving him the rundown. “Those three tried to flee and were caught. I’m not fond of deserters, Craig. There’s almost nothing worse. Spies are next in line, along with any other unpatriotic criminals. As you’ll shall see, death is the only solutions to such cowards and malcontents.”

  Craig gulps and looks away from the window. “I don’t want to see this, I’ll show myself out, thank you.”

  A layer of sternness exudes Hawks’ voice. “Don’t move.” Craig’s vitals amp; unwillingly, he stays.

  Hawks keeps pressing the buttons and repeats, “Copy.” Finally, an answer. He talks into the radio, his blue eyes digging into Craig’s. “Proceed . . . No bullets. I repeat, no bullets. We need to conserve ammo.”

  “Ten-four, Captain Sir!” one of the men reply on the radio.

  The soldiers respond by taking out their rifle’s ammo cartridges. The instructed men casually walk up to their victims. Once in front, they lift their rifles by the barrels with both hands.

  Craig’s eyes are about to burst. The blood vessels in the whites of his eyes become strained.

  It begins—the soldiers ferociously beat the three men with no care to where they hit them. The heavy, solid gun stocks pummel the flesh till it is soft to the tear. The sprays of blood, the moans of pain, have no effect on the merciless. They keep on till they are tired.

  The bodies are bloodied, bruised and move only because of the triggering of nerves in the muscles. To the punishers, this isn’t a clear sign of death. Instead of checking their pulses, the soldiers catch their winds, gaining new energy, and walk up to their victims with the barrels
of their guns raised to the sky. And with the brunt of their weapons, they come down with extreme force, over and over, proceeding till the faces of the criminals are caved in.

  Craig can’t watch. He didn’t want to. But the Captain makes sure he does. He raised his voice telling him to keep his eyes open. In the painstaking two minutes, Craig sees the real Robert. He is far more dangerous than he could have ever imagined. And it became deadly clear: he wasn’t being shown the killings of these deserters for just any reason. He now knew, he was being shown this atrocity because Hawks wanted him to know and to tell the others of their fate, if they didn’t share his Ideas and conform.

  Craig proceeds to put it together: The run-ins with you and your men must have made you feel threatened, Captain. Who would have thought a few rebellious episodes would have caused so much of a stir in such a strong man? It must have, Craig imagines. Still, he wonders: Was there something more to it?

  He can’t know for certain. But what Craig without a doubt knows, is he is more afraid now than ever. For his family, the others—himself. We have to do something.

  The Captain shows pleasure in the episode. He could see the sight had a dramatic impact on Craig—as intended. He’s rattled. Ripe for the picking, the beast echoes in his thoughts. Robert calmly tells Craig he can leave.

  Craig speechless, hand over his mouth, still coming to grips, briskly heads for the exit.

  At the doorway, Hawks stops him with a rather odd out of place question. “Craig?!

  Craig stops and faces what he deems a psychopath to be.

  “Before you leave,” the Captain continues, “Can you tell me what the weather is like in Utah this time of year?”

  Craig upset, is caught off guard by the ridiculous question. His focus is on departing, nothing else. He squints his face and shrugs his shoulders as he answers. “How would I know, I’m from California.” He’s absolutely insane! Shaking his head, he storms out to the elevator.

  Robert veers out the window, eyes empty in thought. “I see.” A moment later, he gathers his Radio up to his lips. The soldiers are dragging the dead bodies away as he speaks. “Sergeant Brimm, do you copy?”