Anthony Puyo's The Compelled

by Anthony Puyo

  “Melissa, I’m not trying to put him at risk. The Captain made him our spokesperson. If anyone has a chance at finding out something from them, it’s Craig.”

  “I think he’s right, Melissa.” Inserts Eva.

  Melissa puts her hand to her forehead. “I don’t understand.”

  Chet further states his case to the worried Melissa. “Now, if we can find out what happened to our guys, we need to. If we find out it’s what Craig thinks it is, then it’s better we find out now, so we can make plans to leave sooner rather than later.”

  Another quiet one, Isabell, gets in the conversation. “Why don’t we make a plan to leave now?”

  Chet takes the liberty to answer. “Because the risk is too great, Darling. If we try now and don’t succeed, we’re all dead. On the other hand, if they have plans to rid all of us anyways, the risk of staying would be more dangerous.”

  Craig emphasizes. “First thing first, we need to find out what happened to Charlie and Bodo. All this speculation isn’t getting us anywhere. There’s plainly not enough answers.”

  Doc, who sits on the floor up against a ceiling pillar, wiping down his gun, begins to speak. “You said the Captain called you in?”

  Craig answers. “Yes.”

  “Night time, right? About two days after you saw what they were planning?”

  “That’s right. You find something odd about that?”

  “Captain Hawks has dealt with trouble severely and quickly in the past. Yet with you, he handled it differently. He could have questioned you anytime, but chooses to do it at night, in the middle of a battle that has most of his men occupied. That’s the first thing I find odd. It’s a little sudden, don’t you think?”

  Craig intrigued. “I guess.” He pauses for a moment. “What are you getting at?”

  Doc moves to the bench across the table from Craig. “He shows you things, things that are horrific; sure to bother you. He tries to persuade you with words . . . ideas, right?”

  “Yea, that’s right.”

  “Then he goes for the gusto, the kill shot. He hits you with an odd question. I think you’re on the right track with your thinking.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You said, ‘maybe it was all a test.’ So maybe it was.”

  “Okay? I did say that, but I have no clue to why. What are you assuming?”

  Everyone anticipates what the mysterious man has to say.

  Doc lays down his thoughts in his smooth raspy tone. “If he asked you that question in the beginning, and you failed; there would be no reason to go on any further. Knowing he got his man, he could be done with you.”

  “So why not just do that?” Craig curiously asks.

  “There could be a number of reasons. Maybe he didn’t want to risk an upheaval in here. Not just with us, but the citizens in here. Especially with most of his men out. He’s not that popular right now, and he knows that. That’s why it makes sense for him to get you to help ambassador his change. He may have even thought you would be on to that question anyways. If you were, you might tell a lie, it would be hard to prove it if you did.”

  “But it’s not like he didn’t ask the question at all. Couldn’t I have had the same answer.”

  “I don’t think so. After he smothered you with bullshit, he was convinced you wouldn’t link the question at all. I’m sure he had doubts too. Like Chet believes, the question you answered wrong alone, isn’t enough to say you are the spy. He may of had a suspicion at best. But something had to have fueled that suspicion for him to actually believe it when you answered that way . . . A tip—from a mole, perhaps.”

  The group is largely surprised to hear that. Craig, even more so, responds. “A mole? You’re saying someone from our group told him?”

  “It’s coming together isn’t it? That’s why he stripped you to your raw emotions. He wanted to hit you deep. Make you believe he wanted to conform us. Make you feel; we would be in danger if we didn’t. But what he was really doing, was covering his tracks. Make us think we’re on a trial period—away from danger. But it’s all a myth. We have never been not in danger.”

  Craig blurts. “It just occurred to me—”

  “What?” The group asks.

  “Right before we talked, he got a call on his radio. He told his men to stand down, wait for his orders. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Figured with the battle going on, he was talking to one of his units. But it wasn’t that at all. He was giving orders to his firing squad.”

  Eva asks. “What are you saying, Craig?”

  “Don’t you see? It was planned from the moment I walked in. He had to know about our plans to escape. The men that were executed were escapees. He told me he despised deserters more than anything else, and next on his list was spies. I wasn’t being paranoid guys. Like Doc said: he was putting me through a gauntlet. The gauntlet he set had many outcomes depending on how I did”

  “Clever bastard.” Chet inserts.

  “He wasn’t totally convinced we were going to escape. He was getting confirmation on what he was told about us, about me.”

  “Then for sure there has to be a mole.” Chet implies.

  “There has to be. He was setting up outcomes based on how I answered just in case the allegations were false. Basic trial and error. The way I answered his questions, the way I responded to what he showed me; I was already failing. But when I wronged his last question, it was the cherry on top. And sorry to say guys, I don’t think Bodo and Charlie are coming back.”

  Chet scolds angrily, “Mother Fucker.”

  “Who’s the mole?” Melissa asks.

  Eva utters. “That’s an easy one.”

  “How much time we got, Doc?” Chet queries.

  “Not as much as you think. He’ll come when we least expect it. There's a plan in place. That I can assure you. If our boys come back or not, I wouldn’t trust that man. The Captain is a bad dude.” Doc sees something behind the group. He points with his chin. The group takes notice.

  Chet’s the first to say something. “This can’t be happening. I can’t believe they would betray us.”

  Rico and Jason, all smiles, are having some words with Sergeant Gary Brimm. Their talk ends with a handshake and salute before the two young men head for the elevators.

  Doc murmurs. “Since when did your boys get VIP passes to the elevator?”

  Immediately, Eva’s temper flares. “That little, tattooed weasel! He’s luring that poor naive kid with him too.”

  Chet implies. “They’re traitors. Fucking traitors. I can see now why the Captain has hatred for those types.”

  Craig responds calmly. “Hold on everyone. Let’s not get too carried away. I know it doesn’t look good, but we need more answers. Right now, everyone needs to stay on their toes and watch each other’s back, along with your own. If we get too aggressive, we might find ourselves in deeper water.”

  Chet adds. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. C Y A, people. That’s ‘cover your ass.’ Got it?”

  It’s close to noon on a sunny day. The streets around the hospital are being cleaned, both with large tractors that clear cars off the roads, and by a blend of soldiers and citizens who pile bodies to be burned. It’s part of larger project the Captain has planned. But for right now, his concern is in fortifying his base.

  The day drags hotter than most for this time of the year. The weather has been a bit sporadic to say the least, since the incident. It didn’t matter much though. There’s jobs to be done, and Hawks is going to make sure, they’re to get completed in any weather.

  People sweat and get horribly dirty on the rubble filled streets. It’s extremely difficult to hull lifeless bodies over chunks of pavement, and the released dust from the process, makes it damn near unbearable. No matter the hardship, people work as guarding soldiers lie watch for fainters, laziness, and more importantly, escapees.

  Melissa, Ryan, and the late teen Isabell, are of the group that is spared from outside work. Instead, they
’ve been put on house cleaning duty.

  Little Ryan didn’t help much. The nine-year-old spent most of his day, running around, playing with his friend Violet; the Hispanic girl of the same age, with no care in the world while the ladies scrubbed the kitchen down.

  Isabell, with her long black hair swaying left to right, cleans the stainless-steel counter. At the corner of her eye, she sees Ryan streaking around with his Spiderman figure, talking in different voices—something he often did. The child liked to act out his toy’s made-up scenarios.

  A group of ragtag children of different ages follow suit. Isabell stoops over the counter. The scene makes her giggle.

  “He’s an energetic one, isn’t he?” She says to Melissa, who’s on the floor scrubbing.

  Melissa stands, resting her fists above her hips. She gazes at her playful son being silly with the other kids. “At least someone's having fun.”

  “He’s a cute boy, Mrs. Bainy.”

  Melissa shifts her head to Isabell. “Thank you, but please call me Melissa, the ‘Mrs.’ makes me feel old,” she says with a smidge of playfulness.

  “Okay.” Isabell answers in her distinct Mexican accent. She smiles, debating her approach on the next question. “How is it . . . Melissa?” It comes off her tongue like, Meleesa.

  “How is what?”

  “You know . . . Having a husband and child?” She inquires with shy curiosity. The kind that conveys she has never been in love. She would have been pure too, if it weren’t for them rapist that stole that from her.

  “It’s great! It’s everything I always wanted. Growing up, I didn’t have my parents”

  “No, Melissa?”

  “No. I lived in an orphanage till the age of eleven. That was one of many promises I made to myself in those days. I promised myself if I ever had a family of my own, I would cherish them, love them, and never let them out of my sight.”

  Isabell frowns.

  “What's wrong, did I say something?” a soft-spoken Melissa asks, feeling she might have rehashed a bad memory.

  “No, it’s nothing.” Isabell replies.

  There’s a slight pause between them, as their hearts share a similar beat. Melissa knows there’s something bitterly painful floating around in the young woman. She wants to be gentle; hoping Isabell has finally found a moment to release some pain she has harbored till now.

  Melissa isn’t of the nosey type, but because she had many lonely nights in the orphanage when her sister wasn’t there, and the only one to talk to was herself, she saw the value in a good ear. Those empty nights were the worst times for her. Nothing was more miserable than having her thoughts and ideas imprisoned from the world. When she got out of that place, she made another promise—never to be alone.

  Everyone has a moment. If she needs to talk, she’ll talk. Melissa thinks. She stays quiet with the hope that Isabell would release. After a few more tear edge moments, Isabell takes refuge.

  “Hearing you, makes me remember my family. It was the same size as yours. There was two of us kids, and my mother, Lily. My father passed away when I was three, and I don’t remember much of him. My little brother Alfonzo is ten, and he’s the most annoying kid on the planet, I swear! Always going in my room, taking things, listening to my phone calls, and making fun of what I would say to people. How I talk, too. I would tell him, I wished he would grow up and leave home already.” Isabell abruptly gets quiet. Her chest flutters with emotion, rendering her speechless. The tears finally broke over her bottom lids and bead down. Her breaths ball as she begins weeping.

  Being a mother, Melissa does what comes naturally. She puts her arms around the teen. It took a minute, but Isabell got one more thing out. “He was a brat, but I loved him. I loved my mother. I wish I could trade my life for them.”

  Melissa offers a few words, hoping to ease her pain. “They know you would. But that’s not what they want. They love you just as much as you love them. And in time, you will see them again. But right now, they’re rooting for you. They are in heaven wanting you to live. And one day, for you to have your own family so they can live on, in your memories and your words of them.”

  Woman to woman, heart to heart, the two stay in an embrace for as long as Isabell needs. But she isn’t the only one benefiting from the moment. Melissa feels happiness giving what she lacked so much back in the orphanage. In doing so, she completed another oath—being a shoulder for another in need.

  Craig, Doc, Chet and Eva head towards the long line. They were ordered to help with street clean up.

  Getting closer to the exit, the group notices Sergeant Gary Brimm by the doorway passing out dust masks. It’s a nice gesture to say the least—even if it is paper thin. The surrounding air is definitely filthy outside with all the work going on, and let’s not forget about the horrid stench that loomed from the decayed and burnt bodies.

  The group moves along, sweaty and dirty like the rest of the people in line. Rumors have been floating around that the electricity was being worked on which would put enough juice in the hospital to allow for showers. It would be a welcome luxury if true. Till then, everyone would have to stay on routine: a quick sink wash with no soap.

  Some people, mainly the low in spirit, didn’t partake in this ritual no longer. I guess hygiene wasn’t that important to them, or they succumbed to the fact that it wasn’t all that effective anymore. The first day or two maybe, but now—not a chance.

  Craig receives his mask from the bruised face Sergeant who grins showing teeth, almost taunting in nature.

  Craig asks. “Your back, but our friends aren’t. Why not?”

  Brimm answers coldly, smirk still intact. “They didn’t make it.”

  His face alone, pisses them off. It crosses their mind to add another bruise to it. For now, they hold their composer as they stand there, blocking the exit.

  Craig isn’t satisfied with the short answer, and he knows the others shared the same opinion. “There has to be more to it than that. Explain please?”

  “Your boys were brave and good soldiers, but they were stabbed to death by the infected, and there was no helping them . . . Sorry.”

  The feeling is sour one, making its way through the groups veins. Chet, in particular, is fiercely upset. He doesn’t like the smirk or the cold way the Sergeant broke the news to them. He tries to contain himself, but he can’t.

  “That’s the biggest pile of bullshit I heard in some time!”

  So much for keeping it cool, Craig thinks. He keeps an eye on Chet, making sure he doesn’t go too far.

  Brimm’s sneer moves to the side of his face. He has no reaction to Chet’s claims, or the groups emotions. Almost teasing them with his relaxed demeanor. “Move along, men, we got work to do out there. Don’t forget to put your mask on. Wouldn’t want you guys to end up catching something.”

  “Fuck you! Fuck you and your precious work!” Chet begins to shout, face and neck turning red. Craig and Eva grab his arms and move him out the door while he still yelling.

  They didn’t like the explanation either, but now is not the time to express their complaints. Their leaders are gone now—their theory is just about proven. Now they have to really stick together and maneuver smartly; if they are to survive this ordeal. They all have to understand this. Or a grave without a hole could be their fate.

  The only one who doesn’t show much of anything, and is cool as always, is Doc. He lifts his shades, stares into Brimm’s eyes for a chilling couple of seconds, without saying a word, then walks out calmly. To Doc, action was always louder than words.

  The streets are filled with people bustling. Many mind their own business, needing no direction, while soldiers with rifles supervise others, making sure all work is getting finished.

  The group walks and talks with emotions spilling over.

  “That was some bullshit! You all know that, right?” Chet says, still submerged with anger, moving around animatedly.

  Craig explains. “I don’t think anyone would
disagree. But we need to keep our calm. The only thing we have, or had anyway, going for us, is that they don’t know we know; they have it in for us. I’m not sure it gives us an edge, but it gives us a chance. And we can’t put that at risk by acting bonkers.”

  “Hell, I know! But they let ‘em die or killed them. And that just pisses me off . . . Motherfuckers!”

  The group tries to stop Chet’s rant, in fear of it causing a stir. Some soldiers are already beginning to take notice. Chet starts to sob with nearly dry eyes from the lack of water intake. “Bodo was my friend, man. Those sons of bitches took him. That ain’t right. They ain’t fucken right.”

  Eva cuts in sternly. Her eyes watching the curious on duty soldiers. She gives a discipline tone without yelling. “Look, Chet, he was our friend too, but you seriously got to get your shit together. Right now. Because we’re looking at meeting him real soon, if you keep it up. And you know Bodo wouldn’t approve of that shit. Now calm the fuck down! You hear me?”

  Chet, still sobbing, nods. Craig pats his back, finishing with a half hug. “It’s okay, buddy. He didn’t die in vain. I promise you that.”

  Chet listens for moment then pushes out of his grasp and walks on, upset. Craig turns to Doc, but he’s walked off too. “Maybe I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. All it’s done is made things worse. Probably putting us in more danger.”

  Eva’s arms are folded. “No, you did the right—”

  Chet hears Craig and storms back, getting in his face. “Those assholes killed our friends. Both in which helped your prissy ass and your family. So what the fuck are you talking about, ‘you shouldn’t have told us.’ The least you can do, is not sound so fucking selfish. It’d be nice to see you worry about someone else other than your kin.”

  Eva steps in between the two men. Craig, upset, defends himself. “Oh, fuck you, Chet! You got it all wrong. I didn’t mean it like you’re putting it. I do care. I care for everyone. If I didn’t and only cared about me and my family’s hide; then I would have done what Rico’s done. But I didn’t. So fuck you and your shitty insults.”