HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) (2 page)

Hood walked back towards the cabin, but Whiskey held an arm out, stopping him.

“You all right, kid?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” Hood ran his thumb over the sights of the rifle hanging at his side.

“The number of people we've killed is never gonna get smaller.” Whiskey held his gaze. He had a fatherly look on his face, whether he knew it or not. “Just remember who we do this for.”

Whiskey would make a good dad one day. If that was ever a possibility, the way things were now. Another guy might have found it uncomfortable, but Hood was glad Whiskey and Taylor were a couple. Under the circumstances, it only brought Hood and Whiskey closer. It's not like they had a hell of a lot in common other than they both fought to keep Taylor safe. Along with all the other people of Clearwater.

“I'm fine. I'm okay.”

Whiskey's stern gaze lingered on him for a moment before he turned and walked to the fire to check the iron. Hood opened the screen door of the cabin and went inside. Whiskey was used to the darker side of humanity. He had been a cop for a long time before the collapse of civilization. The idea of someone trying to kill you wasn't foreign to him.

The poorly made, wood-framed couch and empty spaces on the floor were covered in bedding. Hood ambled slowly to the kitchenette, grabbed some salted jerky from a jar and chewed on it. He picked up the pan on the stove, scooped a few cold beans from the bottom and ate them while staring at a dark knot in the red woodgrain of the wall.

If a bear or a wolf came out of the woods he'd shoot it to stay alive. If a tree was going to collapse on his house he'd cut it down. If a pack of the Kaiser's men snuck towards their camp, he had to gun them down.

If they were all merciless killers it would be easier. Hood knew by now many of them were regular people just fighting to survive. Being a part of the Kaiser's army was the only chance for survival for countless refugees.

Maybe to them, Hood and Whiskey and the Clearwater crew were that bear in the woods.

Hood lay down on the couch, staring up at the defunct ceiling fan and the stained wood boards it was mounted to. The dead man's journal jabbed him in the back. He pulled it out of his pants, running his hands over the soft faux leather cover before opening it. The orange light from the campfire came in through the window. He could clearly read the man's surprisingly good handwriting. He opened the book to the first entry.

Maybe some other civilization will find this book some day and marvel at our great tragedy. I don't know why else I would bother to write this. I guess it's some kind of catharsis. It's been two years since the nukes and the chemical weapons destroyed our country. One day you're grocery shopping, the power cuts off. Everyone shrugs nervously and goes home and waits for it to come back on and it never does.

The weaponized virus or whatever the hell it was that made people into wild animals—that was what really ruined everything. Someone had the clever idea to call it the red death. It's catchy, I'll give them that. Most of the infected are gone now. Now the survivors just have to stop killing each other. Not like humanity's ever been able to do that.

I'm writing this because Bob is dead, and I have no idea what to do anymore. I have no one to talk to that I really trust. The Kaiser's officers are ruthless, and most of the other people are too afraid to go against them. Everyone stays in their lane, even if that lane is fucked.

One such ruthless asshole of the Kaiser's they call the Sheriff sends us out to take out U.N. remnants. I don't even know why they want them dead. They're so pathetically weak, just trying to survive like the rest of us. We fight rangers of the Sons of Liberty more often than not. They're the real threat to the Kaiser's dream of a new country. That's the idiotic party line the officers keep spouting. Honestly, I wish I could fight for the Sons instead. Supposedly the Crusader united the entire New England region under the banner of the Sons shortly after the fall. Though who knows, the Crusader might be as much of a self-righteous psychopath as the Kaiser is. People who've been here longer than I have said the Kaiser seized control over the mid-Atlantic region in only three months. Three goddamn months. The whole world has gone to shit.

I have to keep Danny and Kim alive. With Bob dead, I'm the only one left looking out for his kids. I never wanted to have to do that. That's why I never had any goddamned kids of my own. But they're good kids. They don't deserve this shitty world.

Hood let the journal rest under his nose, his hands starting to sweat.
You killed a good man today. You killed him because he happened to be on one side and you happened to be on the other. You did it because you had to. But it doesn't change the fact he's dead. Now those kids are alone.
The chemically treated paper had a sweet, nostalgic smell, one that reminded him of lying on his childhood bed reading fantasy novels as he wished he were on some grand adventure. He heard Whiskey's voice in his head.
Don't do this to yourself, kid. You've gotta let it go.
His hands acted on their own as he skipped ahead to the latest entry.

Just got our marching orders. I'm to go with Don and George to sneak into the camp of this country-ass gang that's been raiding supplies from everyone. The Sheriff says it’s a skeleton crew, and we can take them by surprise. I don't like it. It doesn't make that much sense, and it seems an awful lot like a suicide mission. But I don't have much of a choice. I should've kept my goddamned mouth shut. He probably knows I haven't been too happy with this bullshit they're making us do lately. I wish there was a way I could get Danny and Kim out of this disaster. Part of me wants to just run off. But lord knows what they'd do with those kids. God, you miserable prick, just give me a way out of this.

Hood exhaled slowly, closing the book. Every fight Hood won was someone else's loss.
Whiskey said it was us or them. The whole world thinks it’s ‘us or them,' though.

Hood could justify killing an evil man, if he had to. But this man? He felt a closeness to him in reading his raw thoughts. He could've easily been one of their crew.

Hood wanted no part of this war. All he wanted was peace and quiet with his family, and maybe to find a girl who lived like the world wasn't in ruins. That's a greedy thought in a world like this, though. He'd be happy with peace alone. Not that it would happen. He dreamed that Ian and Mom and Dad would just show up at Clearwater one day. But back in reality, all he could do was protect his sister and pray his family was still alive out there.

Billy's screams and curses reverberated through the walls of the cabin, interrupting his musings. Hood was glad he’d never had to sear any wounds closed with the iron.

The screen door creaked open and the main door swung in with a crash.

Billy's blue eyes were wide behind unkempt brown hair. He held his left hand in his right like it was a sick bunny.

“I NEED SOME BOOZE!” He shouted, hurling bedding and clothes every which way with his right hand, desperately digging for someone's stash.

Hood laughed, knowing full well Billy didn't want to hear a damn thing he had to say. He sat up slowly to make his way out of the cabin.

Lucky was standing over the campfire trying to ignite the end of his hand-rolled cigarette. The orange glow lit up his round, olive face and the flames reflected in his dark eyes.

Whiskey leaned back into the folding chair, crossing his arms and gazing absently at the dancing fire.

“You guys aren't going to give him any?” Hood said, nodding towards Billy in the cabin.

Whiskey
hmmphed
. “He already drank half of mine. Crybaby. I ain't giving him no more.”

The fire crackled and popped as one log broke into two and fell into the embers below. Hood sat down on a tree stump and basked in the heat from the fire. It was a subtle comfort, but it was something. The three of them stared at the flickering flames, the occasional pop and crack accompanying the birds starting to chirp in the distance. The smell of burning pine brought Hood back to the old world again; he and Taylor and Ian as teenagers sitting around a bonfire at their cousin's house in Maine, roasting marshmallows on metal shish-kabob sticks and talking about their future in a world that still had one.

Billy emerged from the cabin with another creak of the screen door. He walked over to a folding chair and plopped down, an entire bottle of vodka in one hand. He unscrewed the cap with his teeth and spat it into the dirt, taking a deep swig.

“Man, this is boring,” Lucky said, leaning back and puffing smoke into the air.

“Here, let me shoot you. It'll keep you distracted.” Billy pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Lucky, who flipped him off.

“Why ain't we found any stand-up comedians from back in the day?” Lucky said, spitting out some tobacco that had made its way out of the butt of the cig.

“Well damn Lucky, isn't that why you're here? I mean, you couldn't shoot a waster that was listening to the barrel of your gun to hear the ocean,” Hood said, aiming a finger gun and biting his lip in mock consternation.

“Hey, fuck you, I got bad depth perception, all right?”

Whiskey snorted. “Bad depth perception? That's a new one. I always thought it was on account of you being about as jittery as a cat in a washing machine.”

“Y'all are just jealous of my devilish charm and good looks,” Lucky said through the cigarette, each breath punctuated with puffs of smoke. “You're lookin' at a superior male specimen, fellas.”

“Male specimen, my ass,” Whiskey grumbled.

Billy came up for air with a sigh, in between swigs from the bottle he clutched to his chest. “Seriously though, anyone know any new stories? I could stand to be distracted.”

“I'm not sure we haven't heard every true story and twice as many made up ones at this point,” Whiskey said, unscrewing the top of his flask and taking a drink. Hood smacked him in the knee and beckoned it over with two fingers. Whiskey handed the flask off to him. Hood tipped it back, holding his breath to keep the taste but not the burn.

“Yeah, actually, I got one,” Hood said wiping his lips on his knuckles. He looked down at the stainless steel flask, a smile growing from the fond memory. “It's from high school, actually. You aren't gonna believe it's true.”

Hood looked up at the three of them. Billy and Lucky stared back, attending to their bottle and cigarette respectively, while Whiskey kept staring into the fire. Hood handed the flask back to him, breaking his reverie.

“Well shit, don't keep us in suspense,” Billy said, resting the bottle on his knee.

“Bet a bottle it's another one about his adopted brother Isaac or whoever,” Lucky pointed at Billy.

Hood picked up a pebble and threw it at Lucky over the fire. Lucky snatched it out of the air, and jumped to his feet in a crane stance.

“You see that Mr. Miyagi shit? Like a ninja, son!”

“Congrats you caught a rock, sit down and let him tell the damn story,” Billy grumbled.

“Nah that's cool, Lucky wants to practice his Tai Chi,” Hood said.

“Stop being an asshole,” Billy gestured at Lucky with his bottle.

“Don't get all butthurt. Go on, tell your fuckin' story,” Lucky sat down, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth.

Hood rubbed his palm with his thumb, launching into the saga. “So yeah. Way back in high school Ian was all about this girl Deirdre Connelly. Ian's the kinda kid who was single-minded in his focus. She was a pretty girl, but spoken for all through high school until senior year she and her dude broke up. She skipped class one day, apparently getting pretty high and sexting Ian with her address, saying her parents weren't home. Problem is, his teacher saw him on his phone and took it away, giving it to the front office for my mom to pick up. . .”

Lucky had perked up at the mention of a pretty girl and sexting, taking a strong pull from the cigarette as he watched intently. Hood chuckled to himself remembering it. The memories almost didn't feel real, like it was a different world.

“Anyway, so Ian obviously isn't going to let this stop him. He sneaks out at lunch, meets up with this chick he knows who's a makeup artist at the mall. They come up with a plan, and they go full Mrs. Doubtfire, turning Ian into my mom. I mean full-blown: dress, stockings, heels, wig, makeup, everything. I swear, it was pretty goddamned convincing. He strolls right into the front office claiming to be Mrs. Huntington, there to pick up her son's phone. He had the voice pretty good too. Unbeknownst to him, I had just got caught drinking cheap vodka in the bathroom and they decide that while 'my mom' was there, they should take me to her for discipline. So I'm in the front office and I see him all done up. Immediately I lose it, I'm howling, dying, I can't help it. Afraid his cover is going to be blown, he launches into a rant about me being more responsible and taking away my phone and X-box and grounding me and how mad my father is going to be when he finds out, and the whole time I'm in tears. Someone finally musters the nerve to question Ian's facade. Ian tries desperately to whisk me and his phone away but is caught when the Dean calls my mom's cell. Ian was so pissed I thought he was going to kill me, but I didn't care, it felt like the best day of my life. The dean rambled to us about integrity and the whole time I couldn't stop laughing and Ian wanted to stab me.”