HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) (27 page)

Fuck that. You have to kill them all.
A thought sent a shock through his body. Kerry had been taken here. He imagined her kicking and screaming.
What did they do to her? What if they killed her? What if they. . .ate her?
The thought nearly impulsed him into leaping off the shelves.
Get a hold of yourself. She's still alive. She has to be. But these sick fucks forfeited their right to live. You kill them, you're saving lives of god knows how many people they'd dice up.

He shook with anticipation. He never took pleasure in killing anyone. He'd struggled with it for a long time. But he had a desire to kill these men. He wanted to see them dead.
Are you getting numb to this?
No, this was something different. This is more than just killing to survive.
The bastards need to die.
The desperation of it all caused his heart to race, and he tried to breathe as softly as possible.
Relax, he repeated to himself. Stay calm. You have to be smarter than them.
He turned his head and saw the men inspecting the refrigerated corpses in the back wall. He could hear them better now.
How could she have escaped this?
His fear resounded in his head.

“Think they'll still be good?” one man with a twangy voice said.

“Haven't been hangin' long. And we gots' gas now,” another deeper voice responded.

“Whoever it was, he kill' them dogs,” The raspy voiced man said as he walked over to the two them.

“You think he got out?” twangy asked.

“Naw, we sealed off all the vents. She's still here,” Raspy replied. “Ain't that right, beautiful?” he shouted.

“It ain't a girl, dumbass. Wishful thinkin',” deeper voice quipped.

They resumed their search. The longer it took, the more comfortable they got, the more they spread out. They'd regroup, murmuring to each other, “Maybe the motherfucker did escape,” only to set out again more relaxed than before. Finally one of them walked around the back of his aisle and sauntered past him. The other flashlights were on the other side of the warehouse.

Hood jumped down, landed on his feet and pressed the pistol into the side of the man's head as he spun around. Hood grabbed the barrel of the sawed-off shotgun the man held with his free hand before the man could point it towards him.

“Let it go,” Hood said quietly. The man didn't move. “Let it go.” he repeated in a low growl.

“If ya shoot me, they'll hear and come kill you,” Twangy said.

“And you won't be around to see it.” Hood tugged on the shotgun and the man let it go. Even in the dark he could feel the man's sideways gaze. Hood could smell the nervous sweat on the man, eyes wide. Hood slid the shotgun handle into his left hand. The man shoved him as he adjusted his grip, turned and ran.

“He's over here!” Twangy shouted. Hood hefted the shotgun as he regained his footing, firing twice as the man was about to turn the corner. Two echoing booms. Twangy's body collapsed onto the ground. Immediately Hood ran farther back into the warehouse, getting to one knee and ripping a box of shotgun shells out of his backpack.

He grabbed a handful and jammed them into his hoodie pocket. He put two shells in his mouth, stood up, opened the shotgun and threw the empty shells across the warehouse. They hit the ground with a distant echoing clatter. He loaded two more into the barrels and spun around the corner to the furthest back aisle. He peered around the corner. He could see the flashlights coming, scanning aisles as they hustled down.

Quietly he climbed to the top shelf again. The flashlights worked in Hood's favor. He could see wherever they were and their peripheral vision was worthless in the dark. Again, he'd play the waiting game. They discovered their friend's body and cursed, moving together quickly, scanning the aisles.
Don't try to get away. You're going to die here.

He waited until they were about an aisle away and stood up slowly. He pulled the shotgun to his shoulder and fired both shots into the men. One of them cried out.

“I can't see nothin'!” Deep voice screamed. “Oh God, I’m blind. Rog, where are you?”

The other man had retreated. He’d figured out what was going on, and turned off his flashlight. Hood hopped down from the shelves, reloading. He put the two empty shells in his mouth, not wanting them to make a sound on the floor. The heat from the plastic casing burned his lips, the smell and taste of gunpowder filling him. One of the bodies in the refrigerators had looked female. His mind struggled to process the information, the possibilities.
That's not her. It's not.
He pleaded with himself, while his need to kill the last slaver surged within him.

He knew where the man had last been. And he knew he'd be scared. He'd be on the move. He'd be retreating. Or at least, that's what Hood was banking on.
There's nowhere you can run, you sick fuck.

“Rog, I can't fuckin' see. Don't leave me like this!” Deeper Voice continued to cry out. There was no response.

Silently Hood crept past the dying deep-voiced man, weaving through the aisles towards the entrance.

He looked around the corner near the front of the store. The light of the sunset came through the front doors, and Hood could see Raspy, a thin, squirrelly man with tattoos on his neck and hands backing towards the doors, frenetically scanning his surroundings.

Hood realized the man didn’t know if he was facing one or more enemies.

Hood took the two shells out of his mouth and threw them over Raspy's head. They clattered on the other side of the warehouse and Raspy spun around to face the sound, turning his back to Hood. Hood snuck up behind Raspy and fired.

A spray of blood covered the checkout counter behind the man, the deep boom echoing. Raspy fell to his knees. Hood fired again as he stepped closer, the man collapsing to the floor.

Hood reloaded, walked over to Raspy and flipped him over with his foot. He had a braided chin beard and thin straw hair. The man looked up though dying, terror-stricken eyes, chest rising and falling laboriously. Hood leaned over him.

“Don't fucking eat people.” Hood pulled the trigger, blasting the man in his chest.

“Was that you Rog? Did you get the sumbitch?” Deep Voice boomed from the store’s interior.

Hood reloaded one barrel and walked back towards the man.

“No.”

“You're the god damned devil!” Hood didn't respond, moving towards the man. He could hear his breath racing, before he switched from ranting to pleading for his life. "I swear I didn't do nothin'. They gave me no choice. I had to help 'em."

Hood walked past the blinded man, picked up his automatic rifle and slung it over his shoulder. He retrieved the two gas cans the group had brought and walked back to front of the store. When the man heard him walking away, he started thanking god loudly.

Hood picked up Raspy's hunting rifle. He lifted it, got Deep Voice in his sights, and fired. The man lay still, his lies dying with him. Hood turned on his heel and marched to the front door.
That wasn't Kerry in those refrigerators.
He wasn't about to go back and check. If found anything, her hair, some of her clothes. . .
He ducked under the doorhandle of the shattered window door and stepped back outside.
No. She's too good at survival. You know that. She's still alive.

Hood was so focused on Kerry that he almost didn’t see them.

A semicircle of men with rifles pointed at Hood flanked one side of the building, the sun setting behind them. They all wore deep red armbands and were well-outfitted with combat vests and automatic weapons, though they weren’t in uniform.

“Drop it all,” one man said.

Fuck me.
Hood dropped all the guns onto the asphalt with a clatter.
You've got to be joking.

“Making quite a commotion in there, partner,” said an olive-skinned man with a salt-and- pepper beard and slicked-back, dark hair.

Hood couldn't believe his bad luck.
I wouldn't mind something going right for a change.

The wind blew and a cloud of dirt billowed over all of them.

They haven't shot you. There's a way out of this.

“Who else is with you?” The same man asked at length.

“About forty dudes with mini-guns, so you guys should leave,” Hood replied with a grin.

The man chuckled, and nodded at the skinny black soldier next to him. The soldier hustled to the other side of the building. Another group of armed men with the same red armbands walked around the corner. Damn, there were a lot of these guys.

When it rains, it pours legions of bastards who could kill you.

“It's clear,” one of them said to the first man. He inclined his head towards the entrance, and they all moved inside.

“So you just killed some of the Kaiser's slavers all by your lonesome?” The man with slicked back hair motioned to Hood's bloody clothes.

“When you say it like that, you make it sound easy,” Hood quipped.

The man took his left hand off the rifle and rubbed the side of his head.

“You should come with us.” It was not as much of a suggestion as a statement of fact.

“Why do I get the feeling I don't have a say in the matter?” Hood asked. “Besides, I don't even know who you are.”

The man continued to size up Hood. “My name is Gene Mercadier, Captain of the Deliverance of the Crusader, 21st infantry.” He flashed a smile. “We are The Sons of Liberty. And we are the rebirth of this country.”

Yeah, you and everyone else,
Hood sighed.

Chapter 16 – Crusader

It wasn't so much that Hood didn't know what to expect from the Sons of Liberty. He had heard some things that were vaguely positive about them, the dead man's journal, for one. But he'd long since abandoned thinking his expectations would meet reality. He had a bulldozer's finesse when it came to guessing the future.

They took his guns and left him with his backpack after searching him thoroughly. They handcuffed him, and he marched uncomfortably in front of the 21st as they moved away from the slavers’ den to their hidden Humvees in the woods. The soldiers made fun of each other as soldiers always do. It reminded Hood of his crew in Clearwater, and he couldn't stop the longing he felt for those days.
I'm still alive, guys. I haven't forgotten you.
A few of the soldiers ribbed Hood as he walked in front of the company, calling him “Bad Meat”—they thought he had been captured by the cannibals and fought his way out. Hood just looked at them, smelled himself and gave a disgusted look, which inspired some laughter among the ranks.
Maybe if I get them to like me, they won't kill me.

Though they hadn't mistreated him, Hood feared execution. He knew nothing of the Sons outside of hearsay, and he felt that he was being lulled into a false sense of security. He thought of every possible escape opportunity or bargain he might be able to negotiate. All of these options were weak, but he refused to have none.

“Where are you taking me?” Hood said to Gene, who walked among his soldiers.

“You'll see,” he said, looking straight ahead.

Hood was terrified of the response to his next question, but it was better than staying silent. “Why am I here?”

Gene said nothing, though he seemed to be in contemplation.

“The Crusader will know what to do with you.”

The Crusader? Like, THE Crusader, leader of the Sons?
Hood was dumbfounded.
Why would he want me? Why is he here?
At the very least, this meant Hood's death wasn't predetermined.
Only a possibility. Great.
Hood tugged at his handcuffed wrists.
Make yourself valuable.

When they reached the Humvees hidden atop a tree-covered hill, Captain Mercadier spoke to his men away from Hood. He could hear little of what was being said. Several of the soldiers kept their gaze on Hood with their fingers hovering on the triggers of their rifles. Their faces showed surprise at Gene's words, but they saluted him nonetheless, splitting up into predetermined groups. Some of them climbed into Humvees and drove away. Four more soldiers came out of the woods to meet Gene. He discussed something with them in a low voice, and headed off deeper into the woods with one of the soldiers. The other three stood watch over Hood, a guy and a girl, both black, and a white guy, all wearing former U.S. army uniforms, except they had a red lion patch on their shoulders.
They guardsmen for the Crusader?

“Nice day,” Hood said, looking up at the blue sky between the trees. The three of them just kept their rifles sighted on him. Hood looked down at his bloodstained clothes, and realized how insane he must've sounded. “You guys take a vow of silence, or. . .?”

The three of them glowered at him.

“Alright. Good talk,” Hood said, nodding sardonically.

A two-way radio beeped on one of the soldier's belts.
“Bring him.”
it crackled. Without hesitation they ushered him deeper into the woods. Southwest, if Hood's sense of direction was right. His heart began to pick up speed.
Oh man. What the hell am I supposed to do here?