Anthony Puyo's The Compelled

by Anthony Puyo

  Eva’s seen enough. She doesn’t like the direction this is going. “Hey!” She grabs their shirts in a fist. “You two need to get a grip. What would Bodo and Charlie think? . . . Huh? We’re a family, you got that? And we can’t let them split us up. Remember? That’s what Bodo said they wanted. He said to show them we’re stronger than that. Right now we need to watch ourselves. We don’t know how long before they come for us.”

  Seeing she has their attention, she lets go of them and continues. “In the meantime, I don’t like to live paranoid. I’m going to talk to that little jerk, Rico, and find out why he’s all of a sudden so goddamn giddy with the Captain’s men. But for now, we caused enough of a scene, so let’s get to work.”

  There’s a lot of man hours of hard labor going on. The piles of the dead grow substantial throughout the day. Both men and machinery take part in the piling, and when the mounds reach adequate size; they are smothered in gas and lit on fire. The smell is atrocious, but it has to be done. The threat of disease is a problem the survivors can’t afford.

  Up ahead, the army forges on, getting larger as many more people join in on the Captain’s New America. They clear block after block, taking ground back from the infected as they push east towards the airport. Halfway there, the battle stalls. The infected regroup and come back with force near the neighborhoods of Cedar and Olive. The bloodshed is heavy for both sides.

  Back at the base (hospital) the nearby homes and buildings are ordered to be looted for the sake of the brigade. The risk is fairly low of combat around there. The same can be said about the nearby city blocks the army has a strong grip on.

  A few days have passed, and the Captain’s plan to fence up around the base, using wire from Lowes and stacked crushed vehicles, is coming together. The vehicles, he insisted on being crushed. This added jagged, sharp edges to them. Good for puncturing unwanted trespassers.

  The outlook for him and his new army is reaching new heights. There’s the hiccup on Olive, that’s been going on for a while, but he was confident that would be solved soon with the arrival of a truck delivering over a hundred nail loaded pipe bombs, made from the survivors at the base.

  On tap, is the energy issue. Robert’s biggest problem. And yet he has a plan in the works for that as well.

  With no U.S. choppers in sight, bringing the missiles he was told could be coming, Robert starts to assume the city could be his after all. And with that assumption being more probable, he begins to scheme bigger. Planning the foundation of his empire to be.

  All the giddiness brought from his successes, even changed his approach on his nearby enemies: Charlie and Bodo’s clan. For entertainment purposes only, he chose not to strike them down hastily. He rather enjoyed the cat in mouse game. Without their leaders, they weren’t much of threat anymore, he figured.

  It’s midday. Doc labors away from the group—alone. His shirt is off, and his chiseled body shines with sweat. The soldier minds his business while he toils. It’s possible he chose to be out alone because he’s a guarded man. Or maybe—it’s his way of distancing himself from the group.

  Hearing of Charlie’s death was a huge disappointment to Dockery James. He didn’t sob or pout about it—that not his style. But let there be no mistake; he was devastated inside, and still is.

  Charlie was his last good friend, and now he’s gone. And with his passing, there’s less of a purpose for Doc to stick around. The only reason he hasn’t left, was Charlie did give him one last order of business. So his intentions were to follow through on it—if possible.

  The pants the deceased is wearing, gives an almost zipper sound as he’s dragged on the road pavement. Not even with a breath of a grunt, Doc flings the corpse on the pile.

  The man is a machine, hauling bodies and heaving them with the others. One after another, the same thing for four hours with no break. The sun beats on him, but can’t beat him. He has exceptional stamina, keeping his heart rate low and his breaths paced.

  Others that added to the huge six-foot mound, often took a five after lugging just one, then needed help to place it as high as Doc did.

  A loud voice shouts in the wind. “Get those last bodies on. This one’s about to ignite.”

  Doc tosses the corpse of an elderly woman at the edge of the pile. He examines her. She lies with her eyes open, seemingly gazing back at him. She’s Caucasian, in her seventies, skinny with thin white strands of hair. She had several bullet holes in her chest, bloodless and black in color. Similar to the markings of a put out cigar by twisting it.

  He stares for a few seconds. It’s the first time in a long time, something made him pause for a minute and feel a sadness for the things his profession has produced. These timeouts didn’t happen too often, for various reasons. The emotions it conjures, aren't healthy. It’s important they stay canned up, shelved away in the back cupboard of a soldier’s mind like a can of unwanted spam or sardines. This precaution helps keep a man like Doc, from losing his sanity.

  Doc closes her eyes. In doing so, something familiar caught the corner of his sight. It’s the wrist of a buried body that catches his attention. The image shakes his very soul. There is no mistaking the skull and bones tattoo his vision is upon. Without hesitation, Doc locks both hands on the wrist. He pulls fiercely, trying to dislodge the body, but it is submerged amongst the dead. It almost feels like the other bodies are holding him in there. He pulls again with great strength, and it moves just enough, where he could see the face of the fallen.

  Charlie? Boss?

  Loose hands and feet hung all around his friend’s face.

  He urgently moves the dead off his comrade.

  A voice in the background sounds. “Back up, she’s about to go!”

  Doc doesn’t hear, he’s far too focused on his friend—Charlie.

  The fire comes through like a title wave, flaming up quickly. The heat feels like dagger-tips on his skin, forcing him to abandon his cause. Doc falls to his behind with his last pull. Charlie’s body uncovers half way, but like the others, the flames engulf him.

  Doc stands up, peering at his friend for the last time. It was hard to see his fellow soldier burn up, skin melting, but he had to know. He scans for the fatal stab wounds. There isn’t any. Instead, he sees the single bullet hole in the chest.

  A mixture of anger and disgust cross over his face. He looks up to the heavens. One shot, close range. “They lied to me, boss. They lied.”

  27

  Building Equity

  Two more days pass, and out of the more than three hundred people that once resided in the hospital, the number has dwindled down to barely over fifty. Most of everyone else, had forged toward the airport, where they were needed.

  Back at the base, the group treads on pins and needles. The overall feeling that something was wrong, stemmed from none of them being asked to go on any of the fighting mission. They naturally assumed Hawks wanted to keep an eye on them. They were not far off on their theory. Robert did want them close. He enjoyed the squirming of their on-edge mannerisms.

  Hawks could have put them in cells, tortured them. But he’d done all that before. It was out of the question, due to the lack of imagination and ingenuity of it. Like a fine wine, that can only be had once, he was being patient with his endeavors for them. It had to be a special occasion. Robert would have his way, when the time was suitable.

  Since they’re stuck there, the group stays busy. Helping around the well-fortified place, wherever they’re allowed. The outside grounds are cleaned up and barricaded a couple blocks, on all sides, so there isn’t much to do out there.

  There are some jobs inside the hospital. Delivery trucks would come by every so often with collected items that needed to be sorted and put away: food, water, guns, ammo, toilet paper, soap, light bulbs, and many other things that could be of use.

  The Captain spent most of his time in his office working on a new constitution for the city. Of course, it wasn’t going to be unveiled till he knew it was hi
s, but he saw no harm in getting ready. He saw the foundation of a new civilization taking shape. Forming out of the demise of the event and guided by his will. What frontiers laid ahead for humanity? Only Hawks knew the answer to that question.

  “Come on, you can catch it!” An ecstatic Craig shouts as he tosses the football to the young girl, Violet. Ryan tries to defend the pass by waving his arms, but she catches it in dramatic fashion over his head. They both have the appearance of being surprised. A “Wow!” is heard from Craig, and the kids laugh in return.

  Ryan remarks, “Good job, Violet.”

  That’s a new one, Craig thinks. Nothing like the usual young boy, childish verbiage he would expect from a boy who got beat by a girl. Especially one of the same age.

  Craig watches from a distance, fascinated to see how his son interacts with the young girl. The two chat. Her with a smile, him with his hands tucked in pants pockets, kicking around his feet in the dirt in a shy sort of way.

  It’s obvious to Craig, his son has taken a liking to the button-nose Hispanic girl. It’s harmless enough to make him grin over it. Plus, he feels proud of kid. He liked the fact Ryan didn’t show his crush by treating his friend mean, which is often the case with schoolyard boys and girls. Where an “I stole your jacket, haha!” is code for “I think you’re cute, want to play?”

  Violet’s mother, Rose, yells out to her. She responds by saying a quick “By” to Ryan and giving a short wave to Craig before running off with her.

  Father and son stroll side by side to the hospital. Craig’s hand rests on his boy’s thin neck and shoulders. He stares down on his head, pondering a question.

  “You like her, don’t you?” The remark garners a smacking lip sigh and a shrug of the shoulders. “What, Ryan? It’s okay you know. Don’t feel embarrassed; your dad isn’t making fun of you . . . I was young once too, you know. It’s normal. It’s normal to have feelings—to care.”

  Ryan’s cheeks turn rosy. “Dad, she’s just my friend, okay?”

  Craig sighs, knowing he not going to make this door budge. “Okay, son . . . Just know I’m here whenever you want to talk.”

  Getting close to the door, Craig focuses on Ryan’s ear-muffs. “We need to really get your ear’s looked at you know.”

  Ryan, rebellious in reply, “No we don’t. They’re fine, Dad. Mom says as long as I’m not hurting or losing my hearing, I don’t have to do anything?”

  “For now maybe. But as soon as we run into a doctor, we’re going to have ‘em looked at. I’m only telling you now, because neither me nor your mother want you to overreact when it’s time. Okay? I know how you feel about your ears, but It’s not like we want to see you in pain. We want to make sure it’s nothing serious, that’s all. We do it because we care and love you . . . Got that, hombre?”

  Ryan, head down, nods yes.

  Evening approaches. Eva, Melissa, and Isabell sit around a cafeteria table gabbing. By the looks of it, the three women have gotten closer.

  Eva is in the midst of relaying her thoughts to the others. She laughs as she says, “And I swear, you have to baby their egos!”

  The two, just as bubbly, follow suit.

  “You are not easy to read, Eva!” Replies Melissa, who veers her sight towards Isabell. The two lock eyes in agreement, leading to more laughs.

  Out of nowhere, static and a sharp electrical noise is heard. The girls startle. Eva gapes at the others then rolls her eyes in irritation. “Announcement.”

  The Captain’s voice echoes through the place, loudly. “Congratulations, Army of the New America!”

  Most of the civilians in the place have no clue to what the Captain is talking about, but either way, Robert goes on. “Today saw another success that has been written for the record. Today, the soldiers of this new nation have restored a portion of the city’s power. It’s happening people. We are on the verge! Have faith all of you. We will—be great again! Now for your pleasure. Listen!” The Captain says in exhilarated and proud voice. Happy to show off the fruits of their momentous labor.

  There’s a slight pause before the sweet melody leaks out of the speaker. It is the harmonious but boring piano based elevator music that plays in most grocery stores. It doesn’t matter. The music falls mostly on deaf ears anyways.

  Melissa, who has her head resting in a kickstand position, sighs with a tight left cheek.

  Eva adds a bit of sarcasm to match her friend’s face. “He’s finally decided on how to kill us.”

  Melissa replies. “I rather be shot.” The three laugh again.

  Out of nowhere, Eva has a thought. “On a serious note, have any of you seen Rico or Jason? They seem to be avoiding us.”

  “I have. Going upstairs like always. They don’t even say hi anymore. I guess they know what they did,” Melissa answers.

  Eva shakes her head. “I still can’t wrap my head on why they did it. They should man up and tell us. It’s the least they can do.”

  Isabell interrupts. “I’ve seen them around here.”

  “Really? Why didn’t you let us know?” Eva responds.

  “I thought you talked to him already. I figured you forgave him or something.”

  “What, no way! Why would you think that?”

  “I talked to them before they left. I thought you knew, because Rico was looking for you. He appeared upset that you weren’t here. I figured you stood him up. They were in a hurry. Jason said they were doing a . . . Que deha? Oh yeah, a nation run.”

  “A nation run? Do you mean Initiation?”

  “Yeah, that. Initiation run!”

  Eva’s baffled gaze is received with stretched eyebrows and shrugged lips from the others. “I guess there’s no turning back for them. Now that they’re being promoted. Sad. So sad.”

  Isabell inexplicably asks Eva, “Is Rico your lover?”

  “What?” She says. With surprise, she adds. “Hell no! What would give you that Idea?”

  Isabell, feeling embarrassed, answers, “I just thought so. He seems to like you. He is kind of cute.”

  “Eww, Isabell!”

  Isabell, defending her notion. “I’m just saying. I know he did bad, and I don’t like it. I just thought you had a thing with him. Maybe before he became an ass.”

  Eva rebuttals. “He was then and still is now, just another boy with raging hormones. I can’t say I wasn’t looking before this, but when I date, I date men only. No boys.”

  Melissa and Isabell giggle at the very animated Eva.

  “Plus,” Eva’s tone lowers a gear, “I don’t want to forget what he’s done. Even if he didn’t do it on purpose. He should at least apologize. Tell us it was an accident. I really hope it was. I don’t want to believe that they willingly turned on us—to bring harm are way.”

  Melissa and Isabell mirror the grief in Eva’s voice, both agreeing with her statement.

  During the days that had passed, clearer heads prevailed. It was well conceived that the two men sold them out. Weather they did it knowing it would bring danger, was another story.

  When it came to the innocence or guilt on that charge, the women showed more wiggle room than the men. The boys themselves didn’t do much to help their cause by being no shows and leaving it up the group to figure it out.

  On the men side, it was only Craig who still held out hope that the two didn’t purposely want to hurt their friends. But with time moving forward, and no response from the Rico and Jason, Craig’s hope began to fade like the others.

  It’s after 8 p.m. Rico and Jason wearing dark clothes, stroll through an alley. It’s creepy, and the air reeks of many horrid smells. It’s not enough to deter them. They move on; eyes peeled and suspicious of everything.

  Rico carries a hunter’s crossbow, given to him by Hawks. Jason wields a machete and a fully loaded thirty-eight pistol holstered in front pants.

  “Almost there my friend. We’ll take a peek when we get to the edge. You follow and watch my back.” Rico orders.

  Up ahead,
is the store they were instructed to find. It’s located on a ragged street corner next to coffee shop and a cheap hotel. Both have some damage from looting.

  The name of the place: Chang’s Grocery and Liquor. Its sign flickers with fluorescent lights, red, blue in color. Next to the banged up store on each side, are two working street lights. One is fine, being perfectly straight, while the other is bent all the way down, flickering sparks in the cab of a crashed school bus. It’s amazing the darn thing hadn’t caught on fire.

  Near the end of the ally, they peek, staying low for good reason. They notice the store’s doors are smashed open. From where they stand, they see no lighting inside. There could be danger, but It’s something they can only find out once in the doors.

  A breeze sweeps through the street, pushing papers across it and making loose metal creak.

  “You ready?” Rico blurts. He begins to move before being thwarted by the strong grip of Jason’s. “What are you doing, man?” He’s shushed by his counterpart. About to say something defiant and probably insulting, the sound of an oncoming vehicle halts him.

  A small, yellow, early eighties Toyota truck rattles up to the curb of the store. The bed holds three passengers. That makes a total of five infected, with two being in the driver cab.

  The ones in the back jump off, wielding blunt and sharp weapons. They’re calm, which seems unusual. It doesn’t make them any less scary though. Not to Rico and Jason. Their clothes are old and torn and have no shortage of blood stains. The evils gaze around their surroundings.

  Rico and Jason dip back into the shadows of the alley’s walls. They slide down to their stomachs, keeping quiet.

  Four of the five crazies run into the store. The driver stays near the truck; the classic lookout. He’s a tall, slender, black man. And if his dark eyes and the large clever he holds didn’t make him frightening enough, he bares scrapes on his arms, and a laceration on his left cheek that’s grotesquely gaping. Deep enough the meat, chunky and exposed, lips over outward.