HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) (5 page)

He unzipped his black hoodie and took off his black Taurus .38 special and chest holster, tossing them all on top of his bag. He flopped face-first onto his bed, the familiar stale smell of the bedding relaxing him completely. He felt the pull of sleep as his mind went quiet.

He climbed the hill up to the defunct lighthouse. Ocean sprayed up all around the nearby cliffs. The door was open, and the spiral staircase inside had thin trails of blood trickling down the steps. Immediately he started to climb the stairs, holding onto the rope railing hooked into the wall. His heart went wild, his chest tight like it was belted in place. The farther he climbed upward, the more blood poured down. There was so much of it his feet slipped and more than once he fell forward, the blood soaking into his clothes. You know whose blood this is, the voice in his head said. He mind launched into a state of panic. At the top, there was a hatch in the ceiling. Blood dripped out of the corners of it. Hood pushed open the hatch and climbed up to the Lantern room. Tied up against the great lamp were Mom, Dad, Ian and Taylor. Blood poured from their slit throats, and beside them stood . . . Himself.

His doppelganger was tall, skinny, with messy brown hair and green eyes, wearing jeans and a black hoodie. He held a bloody knife in his hand.

Why did you do this? The other Hood seemed to say to him. Why would you do this to them?

He moved closer to Hood, taking his right hand, and drove the knife deep into it.

Hood startled awake, his hand a balled fist. It throbbed in pain, the muscles cramping.

His skin was damp with sweat and his mouth had drained of all moisture. He felt more tired than when he’d gone to sleep.

There was a knock at his door. “Hey Rob, you awake?” came Taylor's melodious voice.

“Yeah, come in. Why's it so damn hot in here?”

“Ah, sorry, I got cold, so I started up the fireplace.” She came in the door, moving to his bed and handing him a glass of mostly-clear water.

“Mind reader. How did you know?” Hood asked, guzzling it down despite the slight metallic taste.

“When Whiskey showed me the supplies and I saw how much booze you guys got, I figured you'd need it.” She sat down on the bed, smiling.

“I didn't even drink that much.” Hood put the glass down on the neglected antique nightstand beside his bed. Taylor looked like she didn't believe him. The house was quiet aside from the muted sound of cicadas in the darkness outside. “Where's Whiskey?”

“The other guys haven't returned with the rest of the supplies. He thinks one of the trucks broke down. Y'know the blue one, that's always freakin' breaking down? So he went back out to find ‘em.”

Hood chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Taylor stared at the floor, but didn’t really seem to see it. “This place gets so damn empty when you guys are gone. I can only spend so much time on watch, or on trying to teach the townspeople how to be anything other than useless with a gun in their hands. I wish I could go with you guys.”

Hood shook his head. “Hey, I know you can take care of yourself. But Whiskey feels differently about it. He worries.”

“
Whiskey.”
Taylor mocked, in a fake deep voice. “Just call him John. You idiots and your damn nicknames.”

Hood grinned. “I like them. There's something bromantic about it. And if you hate ‘em so much, take it up with Lucky. He came up with 'em.”

“Oh, great. Did he give himself his own nickname?”

Hood laughed, rubbing the back of his head. “Nah, we just call him that because he's such a spaz he has to be the luckiest motherfucker just to have made it this far.”

Taylor laughed, nodding in agreement. Her laugh was just like Mom's. It was the only similarity they shared. Ma always said Taylor was like her grandmother. The room fell silent. Hood swung his legs out of bed, stood up and stretched, touching the ceiling with his fingertips.

“Do you think we'll ever find Ian or Mom and Dad?” She asked, out of the blue.

“I don't know, Tay. I wish I could say I was sure.”

“I keep wondering if Mom and Dad went back home. Do you think we should go back again?” She asked, looking down at her hands in her lap.

“We stayed there as long as we could. But D.C. Is no kinda place anymore. They'd have no reason to go back,” Hood said, staring at his backpack.

“What if they returned to look for us?”

It would be an incredibly dumb, stubborn thing to do. It also was exactly the kind of thing their parents might be exactly dumb and stubborn enough to try. They had to know that Hood and Taylor would've left home behind, but it was the one place they all had in common. The one place they all might find each other.

“Maybe if we head back up north soon, we could check it out. It would have to be fast, and quiet. I'm not sure Whiskey would be willing to take the risk.”

“Don't worry, I'll convince him,” Taylor said, picking up the glass from the floor.

“Ew, gross,” Hood said, screwing up his face.

“Not like that, you sicko! I hate you.” She punched him in the shoulder again.

Hood laughed at her as she walked out the door. She popped her head back in for a moment.

“It's good to have you home again, Robbie.”

Nobody but her had called him that in a long time. “It's good to be home, sis.” Hood said, plopping back down into his bed.

Daybreak came fast. Hood spent much of his time lurching in and out of sleep. Frustrated, he pried himself out of bed and plodded down into the kitchen, where he stuffed his face with handfuls of honeyed granola before washing it down with some more murky water. He was grateful he couldn't remember any of his other dreams, still unsettled from the nightmare. He saw the lifeless faces of his family so vividly, and his own face staring back at him, so impassioned, accusatory.
Why did you do this?
He shivered, wanting to shake the thoughts out of his head. Even though he knew dreams weren't real, there was an unpredictable unconsciousness to them that made them hard to ignore.

He grabbed his gear and headed off into town. Sitting around and doing nothing gave him anxiety. The fear of being caught unawares was strong in the new world. It was still too early in the day for any signs of life. The deep blue haze of early morning hung over Clearwater, along with the lazy branches of the trees that encompassed it. The houses were still quiet, though knowing the townspeople were safely asleep inside gave Hood a feeling of comfort. Obscurity was the hamlet’s greatest defense. Unless you knew where it was, it was pretty hard to find by accident, nestled deep in the woods.

The church stood empty and in disrepair, as churches usually do without a pastor or a congregation. Hood walked down the aisle, past the altar into the rectory, and then up the stairs that led all the way to a hatch into the bell tower. There was no real bell, just a defunct loudspeaker and slatted walls they had long since removed.

Of course, no one was on watch. The chair sat empty save for the binoculars and the Remington hunting rifle.
Glad to see the townsfolk are taking their civic duty seriously.

Maybe the people relied too much on Hood and Whiskey and the crew. Reality was, though, that many of the townsfolk probably wouldn't survive very long without them.

Where the hell is Whiskey with the rest of them? They should just leave the damn truck behind if it really did break down again. It’s getting to be more of a liability than it’s worth.

The sun rose, and slowly the murmurs of everyday life filled the town below. Many of them worked hard to farm the open tracts of land they had cleared, but without much farming knowledge and trees taking up much of the room and the soil’s nutrients, they didn't have a lot to work with.

Hood pressed the binoculars to his eyes, looking out as far as he could. He could see almost all of the small town, but not very far beyond. In the distant west horizon, he could make out the faint outline of the Shenandoah mountains.

Something glinted in the bottom of his field of vision. He focused on it. Atop the trees, sunlight seemed to be reflecting back at him. . .

Get down,
his mind screamed.

He dropped to the ground as the shot splintered the wood behind him. Suddenly, horribly, it all made sense.
The Kaiser wanted us to raid the Sheriff’s stockpile It was bait. The few men who showed up at the cabin were only sent there to spook us into going home.

The Sheriff’s men followed us. The crew didn't have truck trouble. They've been attacked. The goddamned Kaiser wanted us to come home. He wanted to track us back here.

Hood picked up the foghorn from on the floor and fired it twice, plugging his ear with his other hand. He hustled down the stairs, through the aisle and out of the church.

Already he heard the sound of gunfire not far in the distance. Lucky stumbled down the street, clutching his side, wet with blood. Hood sprinted towards him, and Lucky collapsed into his arms.

“You gotta tell everyone to run,” Lucky said, choking on his words.

“Where’s the crew?” Hood struggled to hold him upright, but he was slick with his own blood.

“They're not gonna make it. There's so goddamn many of the bastards. It's just you, Hood. You gotta get them all out of here.” He coughed violently over Hood's shoulder. Hood felt the blood on his neck.

“Lucky! Lucky, stay with me. You can make it through this.”

“Let me lie down. I just need to rest.” Lucky slid off of Hood, down to his knees, and then lowered himself to the ground. There already was a large pool of blood at their feet.

“Get them out of here,” he repeated quietly.

Hood's eyes were wide and his body cold with shock.

You can't. You're not gonna. . .

He backed away, staring at Lucky's motionless body.

Not now. You can't freak out now. Stay focused. They need you. Taylor needs you.

Hood snapped into motion, running down the street, honking the foghorn. Townsfolk had already started to come out of their houses, hearing the gunfire.

“EVERYONE GET OUT OF HERE! TAKE YOUR FAMILIES AND HEAD INTO THE WOODS. WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!” Hood shouted.

He pulled out his .38 Special from its holster and pulled back the hammer. He ran straight home, screaming as loud as he could and firing the air-horn until it was empty. He tossed it aside, disgusted.

How could we let this happen? How did we not see this coming?

Hood's mind raced. They’d been too complacent. They hadn’t known how big a threat they had become to the Kaiser and his mongrel Sheriff. They had taken too much from them not to face reprisal.

The road home was quiet, and he knew what that meant. The distant gunfire had stopped. Hood felt sick to his stomach.
Lucky is dead. They're all dead. Maybe some of them got away. You can't think about that now.
The dark, consuming emptiness of loss had gripped him. Hope all he like, he knew what happened to people outnumbered and taken unawares. His legs burned from sprinting and he gasped for air, but he kept running.

He dashed through the covered bridge over the stream in town, his mind racing with fear.
Where is Taylor? She must be at home still.
The old style homes packed together in the woods, surrounded by horse fencing with great expanses of shrubbery all stood quiet.
At least some of the townspeople will get out. I pray they will get out. Don't stop running, whatever you do.
Hood turned the corner at the intersection. Ted and Karen Anderson with their kids Micah and Katie stood in front of the old brick library with its sagging roof and faded hanging sign that read Clearwater Town Library - Knowledge and Peace. They were a tall, lithe family all gripped with fear.
Ted saw Hood and hurried towards him, his wife and kids following behind. He held an old revolver in hand, and looked scared to have to use it, his eyes darting around.

“What's happened? Where is everyone?” Ted shouted, wide-eyed.

Hood slowed to a stop, breathing heavily. “Just run. Take your family and run.”

“Come with us!” Karen implored, staring nervously back towards town.

“I can't. I'm going back to find Taylor.” Hood leaned down and propped himself up by his knees, his head throbbing from dehydration.

The kids cried to their parents for an explanation. Karen gave them a soothing shush as she held their heads. Ted's dark glare into Hood's eyes said what his voice would not.
You did this. You all brought his wrath down on us.
Hood did not blame him if he thought that.
When horrible things happen, we all search for a reason. We refuse to accept that maybe it was inevitable.

“You can't fight it. Just run into the country. Stay off the roads. When you can't run, hide. And stay hidden. You can do this.” Hood stood up straight, looking at every one of them. The kids wore the fear of the unknown in their eyes. The parents wore the fear of something worse.

“Come on,” Ted said to his family, ushering them away.

“Go. Get out of here!” Hood turned and broke into a run again down the street towards home, not bothering to watch them leave.
Hate me if you want. Just stay together and survive.
Hood cut behind the old grocer with its faded, empty parking lot into the woods.
Maybe this was our fault. Maybe we pushed too hard, took too much. How can this be happening? Please, someone tell me this isn't real.
The path through the tall grass and the trees no longer gave any feelings of nostalgia or calm, instead pure, unfiltered fear that seized him.
She's smart. She can take care of herself. You just have to find her.
Hood wound up and over the short hills until it spat him out onto the old road to what had become their home. He turned to face the tall colonial, and he felt his entire body shiver with intensity.