HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) (35 page)

“They tend to have a short life expectancy.”

“That's why they should work together.”

Whiskey scrutinized him. “You sayin' we should join the Sons?”

Hood stared at the shimmering sun reflected in the river as it washed by him. “I don't know what I'm saying.”

Whiskey grinned. “Yeah, I don't either.”

They spent a few minutes in silence reveling in the river, listening to the chirping birds as they arced from tree to tree. Hood started to feel chilled, so he moved to the bank, picked up his backpack and clothes, and carried them across to the other side of the river. Whiskey followed suit. They sat in the sun, skipping rocks across the flowing water as the cool wind whipped downstream.

His appreciation of the beauty of the day gave way to anxiety. Hood felt wound up like a spring knowing that this was it. They were close to Ian's stronghold. He didn't know how they had made it this far, but the enormity of what lay ahead of them seemed to dwarf everything else.Maybe Whiskey had a plan. But Ian had an army.

All they had was a handful of bullets.

They put themselves together, gingerly replacing their clothes over their battered bodies and shouldering their packs before moving into the woods once more. Angular pillars of light between the trees carried the warmth of the sun to Hood's wet skin as he walked.

Ian did all of this to get to you. He kept Whiskey alive to get to you. He kept Taylor alive to get to you. He's waiting for you to come to him. He wants you to believe what he believes. He needs you to believe what he believes.

“Whiskey?”

“Mhmm.”

“You know this place. But they know you too. How would you do this?”

Whiskey ducked underneath a low-hanging branch. “I know where he's got Taylor. There are underground classrooms they use as holding cells. Usually he keeps captives from the Sons or wastelanders there. All we have to do is wait for an opportunity to sneak in the south entrance, then make our way to the earth science building, where the captives are. Hopefully they'll all be too busy with the war to stop and ask questions. It's gonna get dicey when we try to free her, though. We're going to need a lot of luck.”

Even if we do pull it off, where will we go? How long will Ian hunt us?
Hood remembered the man Donte, whom they’d found in the church. He’d said he was the only survivor. . .

“That's not going to work.”

Whiskey looked over his shoulder at him. “Oh yeah? Why not?”

Hood shook his head. “Ever since Ian realized I was still alive, he's been trying to do something. He's trying to change me. This, all of this, he did in order to get to me. Taking Taylor away when he sacked Clearwater, telling the Sheriff where I could find him, meeting me in D.C., taking Kerry from the refugee camp, the trail of breadcrumbs from the slavers to you. . . he kept you alive for the sole purpose of finding me. He's
expecting
us. This whole time he’s known what we were going to do before we did it. And that’s because he knows we'll do anything to keep Taylor alive. He's doing this for a reason.”

Whiskey stared at Hood, expressionless. “Why?”

“Because he's alone. Because he still sees me as a brother, no matter what he believes. I know there's nothing he wants more in the world than for me to fight this war alongside him. He thinks if I go through the same hell he did I'll come out the other side thinking what he thinks.”

Whiskey turned his head, staring at the mossy bark of an oak. He ran the side of his pointer finger along his mouth before letting it drop into a balled fist. “So what do we do?”

Hood sneezed, rubbing his nose in annoyance.
God damn pollen everywhere.

“The one thing he doesn't expect.”

♦ ♦ ♦

The modern buildings of the University were full of weathered glass that reflected the sunlight. The campus sat quiet, nestled beneath the long, sloping tree-covered mountains of the Appalachians. The rolling foothills leading up to the college were striped with old college roads and ancient, emptied-out shops, diners and convenience stores.

Hood left his pack with Whiskey. He wasn't going to need it. His CD player had broken in the bike crash, but Whiskey had given him his. The squishy pads of the headphones were soft against his ears. Hood breathed in the warm mountain air as he strolled past the overgrown stone pillar that read
Greenridge University.

The disc in the Walkman whirred to the next track as he walked up the empty, two-lane road with it’s mangled and gun-blasted speed limit sign.

“I heard you cryin' loud, all the way across town. You've been searching for that someone and it's me out on the prowl as you sit around feeling sorry from yourself!”
Hood sang along to the old Green Day track.

This is as good a day as any to die.
The thought scared the shit out of him.

You're a resourceful bastard. Yeah, that’d be helpful, maybe, if one of those resources was a portable Panzer tank.

The road sloped up to the walled-in perimeter of the campus. Two men with rifles clearly had him in their sights. He held up his hands.
Please God, don't shoot me for no reason.

The song continued as he walked at a relaxed pace to the gates:
No time to search the world around, cause you know where I'll be found, When I come around.

Huh, that's pretty funny,
Hood thought.

All right, no dicking around. Moment of truth.

Hood inhaled until it hurt, pulling off his headphones as he approached the gate.

“Who the fuck are you?” A gunman's melodious, annoyed voice came over the wall.

“I'm looking for Ian,” Hood said calmly, keeping his hands up.

“Ian who?”

“Ian Lacland.”

Laughter came back from several different voices atop the wall. “You've got about five seconds to tell me what you want with the Kaiser. My finger is getting tired of staying in place.”

“I'm his brother. I've been looking for him.”

There was a pause, and the murmur of low voices.

“What's your name?”

“Rob Huntington.”

“Open your hoodie.”

Hood zipped it open.

“Both sides. And lift up your shirt. And your pant legs. And turn out your pockets.”

Hood obliged, taking the time to show he was unarmed. “Happy?”

The reinforced metal gate slid open to show three militants standing with their rifles raised and pointed at Hood.

“It's been a long, long trip to get here,” Hood said, making eye contact with one of the soldiers. “Getting shot at this point would really suck.”

“The Kaiser's expecting you.” The melodious-voiced man said, with a hint of surprise and confusion about the entire scenario. Letting strangers in of their own free will was clearly not a common occurrence.

One of the other soldiers was staring at Hood's CD player in skepticism. Hood took it off, offering it to the man.

“Here, take it. I won't need it anymore.”

The man stared at it, then looked back at Hood, rifle still raised.

“Fine, suit yourself.” Hood shrugged.

Two militants took him through the checkpoint and into the open central square of the campus. A huge stone fountain stood in the center, dry. Massive tents filled much of the open space between buildings, while other areas were filled with buses, trucks and cars parked in an organized fashion.

The place was well lived in, but also meticulously kept. No garbage littered the area. It felt like a military base. The smell of manure wafted to Hood’s nostrils.

A short administrative building and surrounding fenced area had been converted to a stables. It was much as Whiskey had described.

Except there was hardly anyone around.
They're all off fighting Ian's war with the Sons.
Hood breathed more easily.
For once, just a little bit of luck. We have a chance.

The two soldiers flanked Hood, one on either side of him. They walked him towards a huge central campus building. Hood kept his eyes up, looking for the building Whiskey had described.
It's tall and faces west, with sheer walls of plexi-glass.

Hood stopped.

“This is the wrong place. He told me he was meeting me at another building.”

The soldiers looked annoyed.

“We know where he is. I don't care what you heard.” The man with the gruffer voice said, from behind his thick beard.

“He told me specifically he was going to meet me at that building, right there.” Hood pointed up to the plexi-glass building with his left hand. The soldiers turned to look at it, the blinding sun glaring bright off the windows.

Hood snatched the holstered pistol of the man in front of him. He whipped it behind his back and fired twice at the soldier standing behind him, then forward, firing into the heart of the bearded soldier in front of him. The man stared at him in wide-eyed shock and rage. Both men slumped to the ground.

Now's your chance, Whiskey. They're going to be awfully fucking busy with me.

Hood grabbed the other man's pistol in his left hand and dashed towards the Central Campus building, pulling open a heavy glass door. He heard distant shots behind him.

To the left four soldiers with cigarettes hanging form their mouths had risen from a table covered in playing cards, their game disturbed by the commotion. Their eyes grew wide at the sight of Hood. Clearly the last thing they expected was an outsider running free.

Hood raised both weapons.
Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack-crack
. Hood unloaded as the soldiers scrambled for their weapons, diving away from the table in vain.

The last casings clinked against the cement floor, worn smooth from countless footsteps. One soldier was groaning but they all lay still. Outside an alarm sounded, and he could hear distant voices yelling. Hood grabbed two more semi-auto pistols from the fallen soldiers and tucked them into the back of his pants.

It was easy to imagine Tommy, Billy, Lucky and Whiskey sitting around a table playing cards, staving off boredom like those soldiers.
You don't know who these guys were. They could've been good men or evil men or something in between. But they were in your way. Is that all that matters anymore?

Hood threw himself towards the short open staircase to the upper level of the lobby.
I never wanted this. But I'm the only one Ian would let close. I have to stop this. Not just for Taylor, not just for Whiskey or for the friends and family I've lost. Because this war needs to end. I loved you like a brother my whole life, Ian. But I'm not afraid to kill you. Not anymore.

The lobby extended down a long corridor, with open doors to dark empty ballrooms on either side. A shop, emptied of merchandise, featured a mannequin with a paper cigarette taped to its mouth. It proudly wore a Greenridge University sweatshirt, a water gun around its neck and a baseball cap that read
Mountaineer Militia.

He's gotta be upstairs somewhere.

Hood ran towards the stairwell with the pistols in his hands. He kicked the door open and stepped inside.

From atop the stairs, a soldier wearing a camo cadet cap and flak jacket locked eyes with Hood. They both raised their weapons, the stairwell exploding with the echo of gunfire. The side of Hood's left shoulder exploded in pain, still not fully healed from the fight in the Metro. The soldier's head snapped back as blood sprayed onto the wall. He slumped to the floor.

“
Fuuuuck!
” Hood screamed. The empty pistol clattered to the floor. He pressed his right hand to his left shoulder. His fingers came back red when he pulled away. The shot had only clipped the side of it. Hood clenched his hand slowly into a fist. The entire arm’s worth of nerves was on fire. He crouched down on one knee, picking up the pistol he hadn't realized he dropped. He tried to raise it to sight. The pain was immense.

Hood breathed in an out rapidly.
You can't stop. You have to keep moving.

He stood up and pulled one of the pistols out of the back of his pants and cocked it painfully. He pushed himself forward, one foot after another, charging up the staircase with the right pistol raised around each corner.

He pulled open the heavy door atop the staircase and hopped back away from the doorway. A soldier on one knee fired two blasts from a shotgun.

Hood went careening backwards, tumbling down the staircase, desperately clutching onto his pistols. The world spun end over end as the pain of each step smacked into his bones. He landed sprawled out on his back on the landing, his body aching everywhere. A grenade thumped into his chest and landed in his armpit.

Oh shit.

In one motion he dropped his pistol and tossed the grenade down the lower level of the staircase, covering his head as the deafening boom shook the building. His ears echoed with a high-pitched whine. Dazed, he picked up the pistol again and put it to sight atop the staircase. Slowly his vision steadied. His chest rose and fell quickly.

He's jittery. He fired too quickly and he tossed the grenade without cooking it enough.
Hood lay there on his back, staring down the sight.
Don't make a sound. He's going to sneak a glance.