Anthony Puyo's The Compelled

by Anthony Puyo

  The wounds glisten in the yellow light as does his round eyes. Those wounds on a regular person would have made them faint, and if awake, had them wincing in excruciating pain.

  From the distance of twenty-five feet, where the guys are, it felt too close for comfort. Rico keeps staring into the man’s dark eyes as if searching for his soul. The infected seems to look back at him. He doesn’t gaze anywhere but towards the alley. He begins to turn his clever in circles, as if anxious to use it on someone.

  Rico’s feeling spooked. Come on, get your shit and leave already. You can’t possibly see me, he thinks.

  The crazies in the store can be heard scrounging for stuff, but the one outside doesn’t move an inch. Rico, getting more and more nervous with every second, quietly loads an arrow in his crossbow. His sweaty fingers almost drop the projectile. He’s lucky he didn’t. The noise could have triggered curiosity.

  The eye contact continues, along with the stress. Then the infected stops leaning and stops fiddling with the blade. One step becomes two, then three, and so forth—till he’s halfway across the street, towards the alley.

  What the fuck! Rico looks over to Jason who’s just as baffled.

  Rico wants to relay instruction, but he can’t, the infected is too close. He can only hope Jason’s ready. The crazy is only a few more steps away.

  Jason slowly reaches for his thirty-eight. To act or not to act, that is the question. The wrong decision could be costly. If the decision is to eliminate, it has to be done fast, before the others can engage.

  The infected man gets to edge of the alley—then—he just stands there, peering down it. Rico and Jason are a few feet from him, remarkably not seen. Their dark clothes hide them well.

  They stay completely still, avoiding the slightest movement. A loud sound of broken glass coming from the store makes Jason flinch, tensing up afterwards. Did the evil one hear him?

  Rico debates, Shoot or wait? . . . Fuck! Please, man, go away.

  Then—out-of-the-blue—the crazy pulls it out. He commences to urinate on the flat pavement of the alley. The waste ricochets as it hits.

  Rico closes his eyes, grossed out at the speckles of urine that land on his hands and face. There’s nothing he can do about it. He can’t move. So he takes it.

  Rico thinks to himself: It could be worse. He could’ve had the smarts enough to pee on the wall.

  A good thing he didn’t, or Rico would have taken a golden shower.

  The others come out the store with plenty of goods. One yells out to the driver, “We’re done.” They gather back into the truck.

  The driver finishes his business and goes on his way. A moment later, they’re gone.

  “Fucken gross, yo! Got his piss on my hands!” Rico mutters.

  Jason giggles. He was a couple of feet further and spared the humiliation. Rico responds bitterly, “Let me piss on you, and let’s see how much you laugh then.” Jason holds in his laughter. Rico still upset, shakes his head. “Let’s go, monkey brains.”

  The two get into store, immediately scavenging the place. They use the light from outside rather than their flashlights. Figuring, theirs can lead to unwanted guest.

  Rico in the snack area, there isn’t much left. “Is the stuff back there?”

  Jason replies from behind the counter. “Yeah, I’m getting what they wanted.”

  “Good, don’t fuck it up! We’re in if we don’t.”

  Moments later, they run down the alley from which they came, carrying filled bags.

  Rico puts his hand out, slowing Jason who’s breathing hard enough for the both of them. “Hold on, I think I hear something.” The bottles clink in the bags Jason’s holding. “Shush, you dope.”

  The sound impending, is a faint squeak that’s steadily getting louder.

  “Shit! Come on.” Rico whispers hard.

  The young men turn back into the alley, ducking behind some useless junk and boxes someone inexplicably dumped there.

  Jason still huffing from the run, pushes his words. “What—”

  Rico cuts him off, “Quiet!”

  Two men dressed in khaki cut-offs, on short bikes, stop at the end of the alley. They look like roughneck, street gangsters with their bald heads and various tattoos, done as high as their necks and faces. One of them pulls out a flashlight, shining it towards the junk.

  “Think there’s anything in there, Smoke?” One says.

  “Let’s check it out.” The other, who goes by Tiny, replies.

  The two men lean their bikes up against the walls. Rico pulls out his crossbow and whispers to Jason. “I know you’re scared, man, but I don’t think we can escape this one.” The footsteps of the looming men get closer.

  Jason nods and puts down the bags carefully. As he grabs for his gun, he accidentally taps the goods with his shoe, knocking them over. The bottles clink on the pavement.

  Tiny shines his light towards the sound, pulling his pistol. “Did you hear something?”

  Smoke pulls his gun. “I did, holmes.” The two move cautiously, weapons pointing.

  Tiny blurts, “If someone’s there, you a dead motherfucker if you try anything.”

  Rico grips the crossbow—Jason holds his thirty-eight tightly. Their insides rumble with dread. Rico nods to Jason who nods back. On cue, they both stand up, taking the first shots in the direction of the blinding light.

  Rico’s arrow zips through the air, sticking Smoke in the arm. He growls, shooting in reflex of the pain. One of the bullets goes into his friend’s foot. Tiny yells in anguish before taking two bullets in the stomach and chest from Jason’s thirty-eight.

  “Don’t shoot, man!” Smoke hollers, going to the ground on his knees. He holds his bleeding arm. The arrow went all the way through his muscle. He puts his hands up gingerly but doesn’t get to say another word. An arrow pierces his neck, shutting him up for good.

  Rico, ecstatic. “Dude! We fucken did it, man! We fucken did it!” Jason shares the same enthusiasm. They hug, jumping, excited like a couple of women who found out one’s been proposed to.

  A dog barking and some unexplained noises are heard not too far away. This gets the attention of the two young men, who stop jumping but are still resting in each other’s arms.

  Rico says with wondering eyes, “We better split. Get your bags. We’ll take the bikes.”

  It’s a little after 10 p.m. as Rico and Jason get back to hospital. Eva happened to be in the restroom when they went up the elevator. Had she seen Rico, she would have confronted him harshly with the group’s suspicions.

  The two victors walk into an ovation of claps and hollers from the soldiers. Robert Hawks lounges comfortably on a leather office chair with a gratifying sneer. Rico and Jason stand proud, center stage, with ear to ear smiles. They raise the bounty bags in the air to even louder cheers. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought they raised Medusa’s head.

  Only some of the ceiling lights are on, giving the room a soft touch.

  Hawks leans forward, calling with his hand. “Let’s see whatcha got, soldiers?”

  The cheers settle down. The guys hand the bags over. Hawks searches in one, passing the other to Sergeant Gary Brimm.

  Robert’s eyes light up; he pulls out an amber bottle of Jim Beam. It shines like polished brass in the soft lighting. “Perfect. Pop it open, soldier,” he hands the bottle over to Rico before going back into the bag. A teeth showing beam, “Jack pot!” He touts, holding the cigars in the air to the tune of another eruption of enjoyment from the room.

  Brimm deals the Captain over a bottle of Sky Vodka. “Whataya think, sir?” The Captain frowns in disgust.

  Rico sulks. Crap! He’s not happy.

  Hawks hums a gasp, then says, “You can give that pussy piss, Russian drink to Blake.” The room burst into laughter.

  “Good one, Cap.” Brimm replies, tapping the man’s shoulder.

  Edward, in his room down the hall, doesn’t celebrate with the others. He heard the co
mmotion but didn’t care for the hoopla. He’s fine on his cot with no care reading Anthony Puyo’s Criminal; a crime novel.

  “I got some cool tunes, Cap!” One of the soldiers shouts, bringing his phone over. “I recorded some oldies,” he pushes a button: Clearwater Revival flows out the speaker.

  The men, full of life, drinks in hand, start to groove. Hawks bobs his head in his chair. He’s certainly feeling it. He puts the cigar to his lips, “Now we got a party!” He glares over at Rico and Jason. “Give a big round of applause to our new members!”

  Everyone starts to hoot and howl, “Hooah!” Patting them on the shoulders and back.

  The Captain, in his chair, raises his glass and gives a wink to Rico. The praise is ongoing. Rico soaks it all in; happy as he’s ever been. Jason got less of the attention, but that is nothing new to him. He downs a few drinks before making his way to a corner of the room. He doesn’t mind watching his friend get the glory he so desperately wanted. Or should I say—needed.

  It’s early morning. The light weights are out, but the heavy hitters keep going. The music plays over a card game the men got going strong, on the coffee table near the nurse’s center. Snacks are a plenty, and the liquor flows wildly.

  The whole time, Jason keeps a drink in hand while he watches Rico bond with the Captain. In a way, it looks like he’s protecting him—or maybe, just maybe, there is a hint of jealousy brewing there. If that is the case, it wouldn’t be from the attention Rico is getting, but rather the attention lost from him. They’re supposed to be friends.

  Jason watches and watches. From where he sits, he might as well be on a distant island, off in the corner, seemingly non-existent to the others.

  Are you gonna go my way by Lenny Kravitz, begins to play. And slowly, it becomes the only thing Jason can hear, as the voices and sounds in the room begin to drown out. All the chubby man-child could see, is Rico’s and the Captain’s expressions. The laughing, cheering of their glasses, having a great time.

  Certain thoughts creep into Jason’s mind, getting stronger with each sip of the alcohol he takes. Then. A piercing beam of sound cuts through his forehead. He begins to rub his eyes underneath his glasses. He grunts. It’s uncomfortable—painful—and tittering towards agonizing. He can’t take it! He opens his eyes, gazes at everyone. No one’s looking. No one seems to care. The pain . . . oh the pain.

  About to yell, Jason slaps himself on the sides of his head. If the music wasn’t so loud, everyone would have surely heard the thump from his palms. He tightens his eyes, hoping to shake it off.

  A moment passes.

  Finally, relief comes. The room’s natural sounds come back as the piercing one fades away. He hadn’t had a migraine in years. He use to get them in the past when he was stressed.

  The tipsy Captain pours a drink for himself and Rico. “Get some ice out of that bucket. On the rocks is the only way to go with some Beam.”

  Rico searches—nothing! “Sorry, Cap, we’re out,” he replies.

  “Well, shit.” Hawks searches around with his eyes till he sees one of his soldiers who he feels like ordering. “Private Moss, we need a refill of Ice.”

  “Sure thing, Captain.” Moss, who’s a plump one, takes his order and jiggles towards the elevator.

  Hawks turns his attention back to Rico. “You’re a good one, son. You got potential. Hell, I see a bit of me in you.”

  Rico, indulging on the compliment, asks, “Have I done good enough to earn a prize, sir?” giving the captain a peculiar gaze afterwards.

  The Captain smiles, admiring the boy’s ambition. “Oh yeah? And what prize would that be?”

  “A woman.”

  Hawks smirks then chuckles, arrogant in his demeanor—a little drunk too. “You know who’s the boss. I like that.” He turns and shouts to the room, “The one that gets things done around here.” He peers into Rico’s eyes. “Who is this woman you want? Where can we find her?”

  “Her name is Eva. She’s down in the lobby.”

  The soldiers stop playing cards. They come up behind Hawks and Rico, interested in the conversation. Jason doesn’t bother, he’s fixed on his own thoughts and not paying attention.

  The Captain intrigued. “Oh? One of the marked ones? How do you know she’ll want you?”

  “It doesn’t matter . . . Because what you say goes.”

  The Captain chortles at the notion. “I see . . . You are wise. A man that knows what he wants, and even better, a man who chooses to take rather than earn naturally.”

  Hawks lights another cigar and puts his feet up on the counter, crossed. He sizes up Rico. The leather seat chirps. “There is the law of no intercourse, I’ll have you know.”

  “I thought the rule was to prevent pregnancy? I got condoms.” A laugh from the soldiers follow the remark.

  The Captain blows some smoke. He gives a devilish grin. “Not only wise but resourceful too. Aren’t you just a basket of surprises.” His cronies snicker behind him.

  Hawks raises his voice. “Listen up, men. Escort this man down to the lobby—find his piece. While you’re at it, find us some as well.” The men holler in enthusiasm. Robert adds. “What’s a party without the favors? And if anyone gives you any trouble; put them in their place. And if the marked ones give you any trouble . . . shoot them.”

  The men nod, thrilled at the chance to plunder the stock. They get in the elevator with Rico. Sergeant Brimm follows, going along for the show.

  The group has no idea what’s about to ascend on them.

  28

  Igniting a Flame

  The soldiers storm out of the elevator with their guns pointing. Half the place is asleep but some wake from the stomping boots. Confusion engulfs the people at first.

  With no remorse or compassion, the soldiers move amongst the tired eyes, gathering the pretty faces. If the wanted are asleep, they’re picked up off the ground like vegetables in a harvest. Even worse; the restrictions aren't tough on age.

  The place unravels, chirping with fearful chatter. Some try to resist, for the sake of their mothers, wives, and daughters, but the defiant get physically assaulted. Even threatened with death.

  The dreaded leader watches from above, amused at the panic—as is the beast.

  The group takes notice of the mayhem and are appalled. Craig pulls his 357. He quickly scoots to his family, holding his son and wife in his arms. They all can see what is going on.

  Craig has it in his mind: Melissa could be one of the taken. It’s a frightening thought. He begins to contemplate what he would do, if they came for her or any of the other women in the group.

  Has our time come?

  If so, they were horribly outmanned and outgunned.

  Chet, Eva, and Isabell move closer to Craig and his family, hoping sticking together will deter trouble from them.

  Doc, aware of what is taking place, stays away from his friends. Now is not the time.

  Rico strolls up to the group like everything is normal. Chet doesn’t wait for him to speak. “Hey, man, what the hell are those animals up to?!”

  Rico at first doesn’t know how to respond to his old friend. He hasn’t forgotten them. The memories are still there, but his desires are different now—he’s different.

  “Those animals are my family, but they’re not here to harm you guys.”

  Out-of-nowhere, a hysterically, crying Violet comes running into the arms of Craig and his family.

  “What is it, Violet?” a concerned Ryan asks.

  “They’re taking my mom!” She responds. Her tears uncontrollable.

  Ryan upset. “Dad, you have to do something?!”

  Craig turns to Melissa as if she has the answer to the dilemma. She’s just as stunned by the situation and request.

  Craig wants to help, but there’s more reasons not to. He has a family of his own to look out for. A hero mentality could be his demise. Then what would happen to his kin? Who would take care of them? Captain Hawks and his men? Craig isn’t about to
let that happen. On the other hand, what is he teaching Ryan? To be coward? To not help the helpless? The situation shamefully splits him.

  Melissa thoughts are similar. She sees the battle within Craig. It shows on his face. A decision has to be made. A tough one. And to a degree, a selfish one. In Melissa’s mind; her family came first. She spares Craig on this endeavor. She coddles Ryan and Violet. “It’s okay, Violet. Your mom will be fine.” Even as she says it, the bitterness poisons her tongue.

  Craig, throttled with mixed emotions, aimlessly stares—handcuffed by his own fear and guilty conscience. Rico enters into his view while debating with Chet. Craig Bainy’s disappointment in himself, spews as anger towards Rico. “Harming people, Rico? Why would you be a part of that?”

  “Yeah, man, you were one of us. Can’t you stop this?” Chet reasons with a mild dose of irritation in his tone.

  Eva, burning with sentiment, attacks scornfully. “How dare you, Rico! Have you lost it completely? Why are you against us—what we believe in?”

  Rico’s compassion begins to rise. He quickly rejects it, suppressing it with anger of his own. “You all need to calm down. This is a different world. The old world rules don’t apply any longer. And if you don’t start to change your way of thinking, you will all get buried like it.” A couple of soldiers get behind Rico. He talks more adamantly. “This is reality now, the strong have survived, the strong rule—”

  Eva interrupts, disgust in demeanor. “The strong are rapist? Traitors to their friends? Leaving them to get killed?” The cat was now out of the bag, and the group is ready for his explanation.

  “What are you saying?” A slur from the liquor accompanies the young man’s voice.

  Chet answers. “You know damn well what she means. You had Bodo and Charlie killed, man.”

  Rico shrugs his face as it is news to him. He really didn’t know anything about that. He was told they were killed in the line of duty. He gazes at the soldiers behind him. Their eyes bare questioning looks.