HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) (36 page)

The man's head popped out for a second around the doorway. It was all Hood needed.

Crack.
The shot echoed, the hot casing landing on Hood's stomach. He brushed it off clumsily with his left hand, keeping the pistol raised, waiting for more. No one came.

He struggled to his feet. His head spun and swam. The back of his skull felt as if it had been split in two. He reached back and touched it with his left hand, but there was no blood.

Slowly he pulled himself up each step, keeping the pistol to sight. The closer he felt to death, the less he cared about the people he killed to survive.
We're just animals.

Hood swung the pistol around to either side of the hallway before entering. It was dark, save for some light that emanated from an open doorway at the east end of the hallway. A placard on the wall read
Mountainview Terrace
with an arrow pointing east, and
Rooms 303-320
with an arrow pointing west.

Nothing Ian liked better than a good view.
Hood urged himself down the hall
.
He could hear the distant clatter of boots as more soldiers came to find him.
Nowhere else to go.

Hood looked over his shoulder more than once. The hallway remained still for now, lit only by the ambient light surging from the doorway ahead of him.

Hood forced himself into a run to the double doors. He closed them quietly behind him, twisting the lock shut with a light
click.
Hood winced at the sight of a short staircase leading to yet another level.

Hood moved deliberately up each step, not making a sound.
Don't hesitate.

Light enveloped the entire room, illuminating tables and chairs and couches along the walls. The entire west-facing wall was made of glass, with an open double door out to a balcony.

“You always were late to everything.” Ian's voice came from the east side of the room.

Hood spun around to face him. Simultaneous shots rang out. Hood's right hand blossomed with pain as he dropped the pistol. He stared down at it, shaking uncontrollably. His pinky had been blown clean off at the first knuckle, and was now pouring out blood. He clutched it in his left hand. He felt weak, enervated except for the burning nerves all over his body.

He looked up at Ian, who lowered his silver revolver.

“Hi, Rob.” He said with a dark, almost sentimental smile. “Some timing. I almost couldn’t wait any longer.”

Hood stared at him, his heart racing.
You aren't the man I grew up with.

“With all but a handful of my men deployed, this was still pretty reckless, even by your standards,” Ian said.

“Fuck you.” Hood said, breathing heavily. “Murderer. Family killer. Where is the man I was proud to call my brother? How can you live with how much death you’ve brought to this country?”

Ian shook his head. “If it wasn't me, it would just be someone else. At least I'm fighting for a future.” Ian looked down at the table beside him, covered in maps that were anchored by a single bottle of scotch and highball glasses. “Everyone else is fighting for themselves.”

“You're not fighting for a future. You can fool everyone else, but I know you.” Soldiers began to pound on the locked double doors at the bottom of the stairs. “You've spent your whole life searching for something to hold on to. You're just fighting to prove your existence is
worth
something. Your fighting for you own glory.”

Ian said nothing, staring at him.

“Kaiser. What a fucking stupid name,” Hood said with a smirk.

“How many people did you kill to get here?” Ian jibed. “For what? To 'save' Taylor? Did it ever occur to you that she wasn't free only because
you
were chasing her?” Ian shook his head. “Do you really think I'd kill or imprison my sister for no reason?”

Hood snorted. “You massacred everyone I cared about at Clearwater. You took Taylor captive in some insane hope I’d sink down to your level. I've seen firsthand the slavers who work for you. You're the Goddamned devil.”

Ian looked away, as if searching for some new method of communication.

“You're smarter than this, Rob. You've just been living on raw survival for too long. Defending your little outlaw country town, fighting and stealing so you can plug your ears and pretend the world isn't doomed—that's the very way of living that got us here. Every damn person kept their head down and ignored the state of the world as we slowly tore each other apart. You know it's true.”

Hood wanted to bind up his pinky but didn't even have the capacity to tear his own shirt in the weakened state he was in. Blood dripped out of the stump of his finger. He clenched his teeth hard, the pain in his gums distracting him from the pain everywhere else. He took in a deep breath.

“You're right.” Hood said, nodding. “Believe me, killing to survive—it's something I've fought for a long time. But no matter how great a war you fight, you can't change human nature. We will hate and love and fight and make peace and die and live on. You say we have to kill the very idea of family? You're wrong. That's not possible. People will always forge bonds of family. Like we did. Even though we weren't blood. Every good person worth fighting for, every person who wants peace. They are family.”

Ian sighed, looking forlorn. “I really thought you might get it.” He ran his hand through his short blond hair, working his mouth. “You, out of everyone, I thought would understand. I don't
like
having to kill and manipulate and spend my life fighting a war against human nature. But this shattered civilization is a rare opportunity to really change the course of history. How many more chances will humanity get to change before we wipe ourselves out? America was a great country, but we hated ourselves. Political parties, racial hatred, religious division. It was a matter of time before we tore ourselves apart. As long people see each other as others, humanity will die. Maybe not this generation, or the next, or ten generations from now, but we will destroy ourselves. I know the chances are slim I can change the course of history. A lot has to go right. But I know I can build a new country that is truly unified, where loyalty is not to your blood but to everyone who stands beside you. Even if it takes our lives and the lives of millions more of our generation, isn't it worth it?”

Hood locked eyes with Ian. “Even if you win your war, build your new civilization, nothing will change.”

The words felt strangely familiar, and Hood had a strong sense of deja vu.
Why does it feel like I've done this before?

“Everything will change. It has already started. Anyone smart enough to see the need to unify will join, and all those who can't will die. We have to force the hand of natural selection. People believe the world is me versus you, us versus them. But it's not. It's humanity versus time, and we're losing badly because of our own weakness. Animals can drive themselves to extinction fighting for their bloodline. But we are something greater than animals. Rise above that primal instinct. Become a part of something great, Rob.”

Hood smiled. “I already am.” He reached back and grabbed the last pistol he had tucked into the back of his pants, ignoring the searing pain.
Save Taylor. Save her and run, Whiskey. Love each other and be free of all this.

Images of Kerry flooded his mind. Sitting in the truck on the bridge, looking nervous. Talking to him in the cellar of Leonard's bar. Smiling at him outside D.C. as the wind blew the hair in her face.

I know you're doing well out there.
Hood smiled.
You're a lot better at survival than I ever was.

He squeezed the grip of the pistol, ignoring the burning pain in his hand.
Do this, and people you love can live on. People you don't know can live on. Whether it’s for one more hour or for the rest of time, it's worth it.

“Don't do it Rob. You're not thinking clearly.”

Hood's expression relaxed, and he met Ian's worried gaze.

“Yeah. For once, I am.”

In one motion he whipped the pistol in front of him and fired, just as Ian raised his revolver and fired back.

Everything felt numb for a second. Hood fell to one knee, then onto his back. Pain spread through his chest like a bolt of lightning. Hood craned his neck to look up.

Ian clutched at his chest. He tore off his blue shirt, the sleek Kevlar vest beneath sporting a compressed bullet square over his heart. He coughed, propping himself up on his knees. He gasped for breath, the wind fully knocked out of him. Slowly he rose to his feet.

“Jesus Christ, that was some shot.” He took a swig of scotch from the highball on the table and walked methodically towards Hood.

“Why did you have to make it like this. . .” Ian's voice carrying a heavy weight. “Why are you forcing me to do this alone?”

Hood struggled to breathe. His voice creaked when he tried to speak.
God damn it.
Hood reached for his own chest gingerly. He didn't want to look down.

“Well. I have a war to go win. As I'm sure you saw, the Sons over-committed their troops to the southern bridges, as I hoped. Now I'm taking my full force and blitzing straight to Boston. I'll tear the heart out of their crusade while they think they're out winning it.”

With each breath Hood took, more pain surged through his chest. He hoisted himself to his feet, slowly.
This can't be it.
Cold fear seized him.

“I really wanted you to be a part of this.” Ian said, staring icily at Hood.

“If I still had my pinky, you’d be dead.” Hood said, punctuating the words with a cough.

Ian grabbed his arm and dragged him over to the railing beside the staircase. He walked back to a nearby table, produced a thick zip-tie and bound Hood's right hand to the railing.

“Goodbye, Rob. I'll give you your time to make your peace. I guess this is the way things had to be.”

Ian turned and walked down the staircase, unlocking the doors and opening them.

“Sir, is everything okay?” A soldier barked.

“Yes. Is everyone mobilized?”

“It's only us remaining. The other divisions are at Paw Paw awaiting your arrival.”

“Then let’s not keep them waiting any longer.” Ian said calmly. “There's nothing left for us here.”

Only the sound of their dissipating footsteps filled the room. Hood turned his head, looking out the east-facing wall of glass, which showed the great, sunny valley below the campus. It was full of overgrown fields, sun-baked, two-lane roads and distant tree-lines.

Well, at least it’s a beautiful view.
Hood bowed his head.
I don't want to die. I don't want it to be like this.
He looked down. He'd been shot in the far left of his pectoral
. An inch more to the left and he would've missed.

But he hadn’t, and the wound produced an unrelenting pain that wracked his body and wanted to seize his mind whole.
No.

Hood's heart began to pump wildly, the familiar rush of adrenaline taking him.

No, I won't let it end like this. I won't just lie here and die slowly.

On a nearby table sat a modest sized river stone. It held down papers that fluttered in the wind from the open balcony doors. Hood inched his legs toward the table, gritting his teeth. He propped his left leg up on the seat of a chair, the ziptie clawing at his contorted wrist. With a heave, he threw his foot up onto the table and pulled down the stone. It fell next to him.

He pulled the rock close to him using his heel, every breath excruciating. He eyed the palm that had been cut. He hadn’t had anything to rebandage it with after the swim in the river, and it was swollen, infected, and radiated pain.
Well, maybe that will make this easier.

Hood clasped the stone tightly, gathering up the nerve to do what he had to: get the hell out of the zip-tie that trapped him.

With all his strength, he smashed the rock into his right hand. Lightning shot up his arm and he roared, not even registering that the noise came from his own throat. He felt the adrenaline surging through him once more.

He swung the rock at his hand with a wild, unabated anger, somehow disconnecting himself from his pain.
I won't let you do this. I won't leave Taylor and Whiskey to a life of being hunted. I refuse to die while you bring only more death to the world.
His entire body cried out at him to stop, but again and again he swung away at his hand until he felt the bones crack.

He screamed at the top of his lungs, yanking at the hand with all his strength. The blood slicked his hand as it squeezed out of the zip-tie and sent him falling backwards to the floor.

His breath hitched and for a second he just lay there, looking up at the white ceiling.
I'm free.
Hood's mind exulted.

Get up. Get up and do something.

Laboriously, he pulled himself onto all fours and stood up, stumbling towards the open balcony. He crossed the threshold, greeted by cool mountain air. Below, Ian climbed into the driver’s seat of a truck, the soldiers with him filing in. Hood looked down. A sniper rifle sat propped against a chair on the balcony wall. Hood looked down at his destroyed right hand.
No fucking way I can shoot that.