HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) (24 page)

The images ran through his head. The picture of his parents hanging quietly struck him in the gut.

They were waiting for you to come home,
Ian had said.

Hood turned his head away from her, feeling a stinging in his eyes and his nose. He wanted to get away from these idle thoughts. His legs wanted to yank him up off the mattress, run out the door, start his search anew for Taylor, for Whiskey, for both. . .

No, fuck you, don't run from this. Don't push it away. This is reality. They are dead. You are alive. Look her in the eyes and tell her.

He turned to face Kerry. Her backlit, kneeling figure on the mattress was a blurry watercolor already.

“I didn't even get a chance to bury them. They're still hanging there.” Hood's words cracked.

“What? Who?” Kerry said, placing a hand on his back.

“My parents. They fucking came home for us. And we never came back.” Hood sank his head into his hands, the warm tears rolling down his face.

Yes, this is real. This is how you should feel.

Hood's mind raced to Lucky, Billy, Whiskey, everyone he knew in Clearwater. It all felt real, all at once.

They are all gone and you have to keep going. For some reason they had to die and you get to live.

“Who did it?”

“Kaiser.” Hood let his hate out on the word.

“You saw him?” It was a poorly contained astonishment.

“Ian is the Kaiser
.
He's. . .” Speaking it aloud still felt insane. That it wasn't possible. But in his heart, he knew it was the unassailable truth. Growing up, Ian had been brilliant–but his worldview had always been quite different than most people’s. On some level, he knew how he could become what he is now.

Hood always sought tranquility; Ian sought answers. He was always desperately searching for something, and never seemed to accept the explanations people wanted to give.

Except for starting a family. Ian was only thirteen, lying on a lumpy bed in his uncle's cabin in Maine when he told Hood late one night:
I'm going to be there for my son, for my daughter.

Memories flooded Hood's mind unabated. Ian climbing up the tree next to the school at night, Hood hopping from the branch onto the roof, his heart pounding. The two of them lying on the roof, looking up at the city-lit purple sky, drinking a backpack full of warm beers together.

Dad singing
Wild Horses
to him when he had a fever so high he slept on wet towels. Staring up at Taylor's guilty fawn eyes the summer she spiked a volleyball so hard into his face and said: the good news is, now you have something to talk about with that hot girl working in the infirmary. His eyes burned.

Kerry's expression was stoic despite its soft intensity.

“Part of me wanted Whiskey to pull the trigger that day,” she said. “The weight of it all is just unbearable.” Her words were soft, matter-of-fact. They carried no guilt or angst. “But you find something to hold on to. To carry you through the sea of hopelessness.”

“I'm not made for this. I have to kill who I am in order just to have a chance to save anyone.” The words poured out of Hood without thought.
This is the truth. There is nothing left of what I want the world to be. Either become the demon you have to, or die holding onto your halo.

“
I don't believe that.” Kerry looked down at the mattress, her hair spilling from behind her ears beside her face. She hesitated, looking Hood in the eyes. “
You
were what I held on to.”

Her cheeks reddened, but her face remained calm, deeply accepting of the truth.

He hadn't realized the depth of her strength of will–whether she'd always been this way, or she had become something greater through her own losses.
How long has she had to fight through hell alone? She's lost everyone, she's been hated, mistrusted, betrayed. And still she stays strong.

She flashed a sheepish smile, still looking at him. He couldn't look away from her. He leaned over, reaching his hand out and touching her neck, his thumb on her cheek. The pain radiated in his ribs and his shoulder as he reached for her. Her chest rose and fell as her breathing quickened.

His own heart was running wild.

He pulled her head to his, her soft lips brushing the corner of his mouth; then he kissed her slowly, drawing her closer to him. He pulled her on top of him as he lay down, feeling the dimples in the small of her back, holding her neck as they kissed. She held onto his neck with both hands, kissing him passionately. He ran his hand over her curves, approaching the front of her jeans, where he pulled the button open, sliding his hand south.

Her breath caught as he touched her. She pulled off her shirt and he eased her onto her back. She held onto his forearms as he lowered himself down to kiss her. The pain in his body seemed farther and farther away. She reached down and grabbed hold of him, and he bit her bottom lip. Hood held her close, and thought nothing of the future.

♦ ♦ ♦

Feeling slowly came back to Hood, the aching in his shoulder and his ribs more pronounced now. He exhaled slowly until his lungs emptied, feeling a satisfying tingling in his brain. The clouds in the sky outside the window moved sluggishly, the sun muted behind them. Kerry lay on her side, her arms and legs around him. He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. Her hair got caught in his scruff.

“Mmm,” she murmured.

“Was it good?”

“Really?” She looked up at him.

“I want to know.”

“You can't tell?” She furrowed her brow, but smiled.

“I think so,” He smiled back. “Actually, I don't know.”

“Idiot.” She nuzzled into his chest.

“Would you tell me if it wasn't?”

She paused. He felt her eyebrows move against his skin. “No.”

Hood laughed, rubbing the hair on the top of his head. He felt the desperate desire for amnesia, wishing he could just lie in this room and that it would become the scope of the world as he knew it.

“What should we do now?”

“I think we should lie here a while longer.” She ran her finger along the edge of the bandages around his ribs. “If you keep throwing yourself at everything, you're going to get killed.”

“I just have to do a better job of getting out of the way.” He wrapped his arm around her, running his finger softly over the rise and fall of her spine. “I have to get out of here and start tracking down Taylor again. And Whiskey. Will you come with me?”

“A promise is a promise.” She rolled onto her back, closing her eyes and leaning her head against his arm.

“Good. I'll need your help. And I don't mean as my portable triage unit.”

“You're lucky my mother was a nurse.”

“I was thinking more of your ability to point a gun at things and pull the trigger.”

“And my dad loved to hunt.”

The sun reappeared from behind the clouds. Hood lay his forearm over his eyes.

How the hell am I gonna do this?
His mind thought back to Ian. To his wild visions of a new world. A world he was trying to birth with violence.

An idea snapped into Hood’s mind.
Of course. He wants me to join him. If I do, I can locate Taylor and find some way to get us out of there.
The idea was tempting. But he was sure escape wouldn't be easy. The journal of the dead man he’d found was a testament to that. He needed to know more. Whatever he was going to do, he needed to track down Ian and his Kaiser militants again first.

“We're probably going to die,” he said to Kerry.

“Long full lives don't really happen anymore.”

“Are you sure you want to help me do this? You don't have to. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to go live your life.”

“I am living my life. Do you still doubt me?” She turned her head, her eyes searching him.

“No. I think I know who you are.”

“Good.” She returned to her resting state.

Hood placed his hand on her side, feeling her chest expand with each breath. He was grateful she was with him. Grateful for the warmth as she lay next to him. He was drawn to her will, her ability to survive.
You're being selfish. Bringing you with her is going to get her killed. You can't save her. You can't even save yourself.
She looked utterly peaceful, undisturbed by the moment.
Grow up. She's making her own choice. You care about her. You want her to be here. Embrace it.

Maybe they could really do this. Maybe they could make it out alive.
Mom, Dad, I wont leave Taylor alone out there. I promise, I'm going to get her free of this mess.
He wanted to find Whiskey. He'd need his help.
Is he even still alive? Of course. He had to be. He'd be looking for Taylor too. Are we just animals desperately protecting our own?
Ian's insane theories swirling in his head. Hood didn't care what the truth was. It didn't matter. All he knew was that he would fight to be with the ones he loved. An unwelcome thought entered his mind:
Being in your company hasn't kept the people you love very safe thus far.

“I'm doing what I can.” Hood said aloud without realizing it.

“Mhmm,” Kerry responded. “Can you do me a favor?”

Hood looked over at her. She opened one eye to look at him. “Can you stop talking and sleep with me?” She paused. “Sleep
beside
me,” she corrected.

Hood smiled. “Yeah.”

He closed his eyes, shifting to get comfortable next to her.

She rolled over on her side.

He felt the blood wriggling through his veins near the glancing shot he’d taken between his ribs. He grimaced. The area throbbed, refusing to be ignored.
Ian shot you. Ian killed all your friends. He killed your parents. He's killed countless people you'll never know. He took Taylor just so you'd have to hunt him down. So you'd drag yourself through hell. Because he wanted you to see the world how he saw it.
Despite his thoughts, Hood couldn't shake the image of a young Ian lying on the roof beside him, staring up at the sky with the most serene countenance, a beer can resting on his stomach.

The brother you knew is gone. He's dead. He's just the Kaiser, just another person who snapped under the weight of the world. Except he's leading armies. Waging wars.

For a brief few minutes before they entered the church, he wasn't, though.
Don't pretend it's not him. He's still Ian. You may live long enough to confront him again. Will you be able to pull the trigger if you have to?

Hood lurched into a sitting position as he awoke, looking around the room. Kerry wasn't beside him. He’d dreamed deeply, but he couldn't remember about what. The tension in his body and his mind told him the dreams hadn’t been peaceful. Something about being hunted, and a green book that he kept trying to read, but the pages were blank.

“Kerry?” His voice rattled.

Silence.

The daylight had diminished, but yet remained. Slowly Hood hoisted himself upright, the linoleum tile flooring cool on the pads of his feet. His side and shoulder ached as the blood rushed away from the wounds. The bathroom door sat open, the dingy pale blue room dark and empty. He walked to the kitchen of the open floor plan, and peered into the bedroom in the back. It featured ransacked armoires and a bed frame with no mattress.

He moved slowly back to the living room, stepping over the mattress to the couch where his backpack lay. Inside he still had the C.D. player, the journal, a bag of peanuts, a nearly empty jug of water, two unused tee shirts and his bloodstained hoodie. Of course, his weapons were gone. They had refused to let him take them inside the refugee camp. He couldn’t help a moment of panic at their loss.

He closed his eyes, purging his mind of his racing thoughts.
You're on an even playing field in here. But obviously, you'll have to find something before you put yourself in harm's way.

Hood nabbed the bag of peanuts and wolfed them down without regard, washing the distinctly nutty taste away with the cool, metallic water.
Kerry should be back from wherever she is soon. Then we can set our sights on leaving this rat cellar.
He sat down on the couch, reaching his hand into in his pack. He caressed the soft exterior of the dead man's journal. He plucked it out, pulling it open to a random page.

Sometimes I want to throw myself into the refuse trolley filled with fish carcasses and get dumped out onto the fields for fertilizer. Instead I have to dream up some way to strap Danny and Kim to my back and Shawshank my way out of here.

Not that it's going to happen. I don't even think the kids want to leave. Why would they? They get to be around other kids, and sure . . . they have to work hard but they don't have to kill anyone. Not yet anyway. By the time they do, they'll probably believe they're fighting for the right side. They don't have a clue what horrible things I've done. I did them because if I didn't . . . What, they'd kill me? The hell do I have to live for, anyway? My best reason for surviving is I'm afraid to die.