HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) (9 page)

“Where are you guys headed?” Kerry said as she caught the zippo with both hands, before pulling a strand of hair out of her mouth.

“Don't ask questions. Don't even talk.” Whiskey said, voicing his irritation from under the truck. He pulled himself out from underneath the truck and started cranking the old portable spring jack. The suspension of the truck creaked.

Hood stood up, cross wrench in hand, wiping his brow with his forearm.

“We're going north. That's about all I'll say.” Hood exhaled, looking at her. “Where are you headed?”

She wore a blank expression.“I don't know anymore,” she said, solemn. She looked away to watch Whiskey as he worked.

Hood waited to see if she would say anything else. She glanced back at him momentarily and managed a faint smile. Hood crouched down to remove the now-loose lug nuts by hand and take off the wheel. No one spoke and the wind continued to blow sporadically. Hood glanced over at Kerry as she knelt next to the dead man's body, checking him with her cuffed hands for anything of value. She moved away from the body empty-handed, crouching next to the truck and staring at the dead man's unshaven face. It began to rain.

Hood couldn't shake the thought that she seemed all too comfortable in handcuffs.

Chapter 6 – Dissent

Hood watched the rain water drip from Whiskey's short hair. He stared intently through the windshield as the old wiper blades struggled to clear off the torrents. Between the two of them, Kerry was asleep, her head leaned back against the seat and her cuffed hands lying in her lap.

Whiskey flicked a glance over at her, then to Hood, who raised his eyebrows inquisitively. She lay asleep, lithe and lazy, wobbling slightly with the truck as it shook. Whiskey's forearm worked as he squeezed the steering wheel, his attention on the road. Hood waved his hand in front of her face, no reaction. He shrugged.

“This doesn't seem strange to you?” Whiskey whispered.

“I'm not going to complain about it,” Hood said simply.

Whiskey shook his head, keeping his voice low. “She's sleepin'.”

“So?”

Whiskey turned his attention from the road for a moment to cast a serious look at Hood.

I know. If it were me in her shoes I don't think I'd be sleeping. But who says that's a bad thing?

Hood lifted up his left leg onto the dashboard, drumming on his knee with his fingertips. The predawn light painted the world an inky blue. Slowly the rain let up until the wiper blades squeaked loudly against the dry windshield, prompting Whiskey to flick them off. The road was smoother but the truck still rocked back and forth from time to time. The surrounding area was nothing but defunct farm fields and huge swaths of trees. The air smelled like wet grass.

“She's exhausted, probably.” Hood's voice was just above a whisper.

Whiskey chortled. “I know why you're okay with this.”

“Pff. Ever occur to you I just want to help her out?” Hood retorted quietly.

“Yeah, you want to help her out of something, all right.”

Hood laughed, struggling to keep his voice down. The cab of the truck grew quiet again save for the hum of the engine and the squeaking of the suspension. Kerry remained comatose, her soft rhythmic breathing of someone deep in slumber. Hood couldn't deny his attraction to the girl. It was a dangerous way to feel about a stranger. He wanted to believe she was just a good person trying to survive. And that was precisely the problem.

“We're not a taxi service and we ain't headed into something pretty.” Whiskey switched hands on the steering wheel, leaning his left arm on the driver side door.

“Maybe we could use her help.”

“You want to drag her into this shit?”

“What, now you're looking out for her?”

Whiskey said nothing. He glanced over at her in suspicion of her sleep.

A wry smile crept over Hood's face.“You look fat and your hair is gross,” he said to her.

She didn’t move, continuing to sway gently with the movements of the truck.

“See?” Hood said to Whiskey. “One hundred percent asleep.”

“What was that?” Kerry murmured with her eyes still closed, turning halfway to rest the side of her head on the seat.

“Nothing.”

“Liar,” she said. She shifted to get more comfortable. “Shouldn't talk about someone while they're asleep.”

The sky grew brighter and the cab stayed quiet. The line of inquiry clearly didn't pique Kerry's interest because she quickly slid back to sleep. The terrain outside was still wide open, dotted with scrub grass and a distant abandoned house and silo.

“I don't trust her,” Whiskey said, eyes on her as if he wanted her to wake up and hear him say it. He turned his gaze back to the road, digging around behind the seat with his free hand, switching hands on the wheel to check both sides. He produced a carpenter's pencil, making a scribbling motion. Hood opened the glove compartment, digging for paper. He pulled out the first sheet he felt and passed it to Whiskey. He wrote on the center of the steering wheel, eyes darting back and forth from the paper to the road. Eventually he passed the paper to Hood.

It read:

If we find out she works for someone I will kill her

The writing was soft and scrawled and he could see where the indents of the steering wheel were. He knew Whiskey was right in one sense; she could be a huge liability. But she also could be someone just trying to survive, like they were. Maybe both. Either way, Hood wasn't going to let Whiskey kill her.

Hood crumpled up the paper and tossed it out the window. “That's not who we are.”

Whiskey ran his free hand up the back of his head, and sighed.

“We don't have the luxury of conscience anymore, kid.”

“We're no different than the Kaiser if we start down this road,” Hood said. He gnawed his bottom lip as he stared out the passenger side window. A green SUV with shattered windows and a wheel-less, empty U-haul sat inert on the side of the road, long since abandoned by some unlucky souls.

“We don't have a goddamned chance to save Taylor if we don't go down this road. After everything that's happened, I ain't gonna sit here and argue with you about how high of a goddamn pedestal we need to sit on--”

“Whiskey... WHISKEY, THE ROAD!” Hood gripped the door-handle, shouting as they careened towards a downed telephone pole in the road. He stomped his feet against the floor reflexively, trying to hit a nonexistent brake pedal and brace himself.

Whiskey jammed on the real brakes, swerving to the left lane. Kerry was thrown forward out of her seat and braced herself on the dashboard. The truck screeched to a halt. The telephone pole was ripped from its wires, and lay half in the road.

Whiskey whipped his head around and pulled out his pistol, looking for any sign of wasters. Hood grabbed his rifle from its place at his feet. The seconds dragged on with Hood's thumping heart as they waited for signs of life. None came.

Whiskey breathed out through his nose, wearing the pent-up adrenaline on his face.

Kerry rested her forehead on the dash for a moment before sitting up.

“God
damn man,
what the fuck?” Kerry shouted at Whiskey. Hood smelled the stench of burning rubber coming in through the vents. Whiskey kept his eyes on the road and said nothing, starting to creep the car forward into the other lane to get around the fallen pole. A time-weathered sedan peppered with bullet holes had lodged itself into the base of it, telephone wires snapped and sagging with the dark wooden mast as it hung low.

“Jesus, what, did you fall asleep at the wheel? How did you not see that?” she continued, glaring at Whiskey.

“Take it easy, it's just a damn telephone pole,” Whiskey grumbled.

“The fucking thing nearly speared us.” she said, dropping her hands onto her denim-clad thighs before replacing one on her forehead and exhaling deeply. “Just focus on the road. Whatever happens, I am
not
going to die in a crash.”

Silence returned in the cab of the truck save for the rumble of the engine. Kerry seemed legitimately shook up by the near miss. Hood thought her reaction was a good sign. It felt like a genuine display of emotion.
You want to believe she's like you. That's she's just a regular person trying to survive. Because she's beautiful and you want her.
Hood lowered the butt of his rifle back down to the floor.
There was nothing here.
This road, this land has been long abandoned, just empty space the Kaiser could claim as his on a map. Don't get caught up in all this. Whatever she is, you can't focus on it now. Everything we do is for saving Taylor. Whiskey is right, if she gets in the way of that. . .

“So you two on your own, or. . .?” Kerry broke the silence in the cab.

“Yeah,” Hood replied.

She turned and looked out the back window, rapping on it softly with her knuckles. “That's a lot of supplies for just two people. You sure it's just you two?”

“Yes.” Hood repeated.

Her skeptical gaze lingered on him for a moment.

“So you're just--”

“Stop asking questions.” Whiskey snapped. “Better yet, stop talking altogether.”

“You can't fool me. Act like a tough guy all you want, I know you're good people,” She said, her voice relaxed, a smooth timbre to it.

Whiskey snorted in response.

“The fact that I'm sitting here unscathed is proof of that.”

The cabin got quiet.
She has us there. But why was she so cavalier about it all? Maybe it was a defense mechanism, acting like it was all no big deal.

“And you. . .” she said, scrutinizing Hood.

He purposefully didn't look her way.
To hell with her analysis.
“I don't think I’ve met a guy as nice as you in a long, long time.”

He turned to scan her gaze for intent.

She shrugged slightly, in a 'what-can-I-say?' gesture. It was such a strange observation, and he wasn’t sure it was a compliment the way things were now. How could she assume that? He hadn't heard anyone say that about him since he was young.

“In fact, It puzzles me how you are not dead,” she concluded.

Whiskey was staring a hole right through him over her shoulder.

“Some people are just lucky,” Hood said, keeping a blank expression on his face.

“So you say,” she said. “I don't think it's luck.”

She sat back in her seat, hands on her legs again. She looked back at the bed full of supplies. “Considering you guys have a bit of surplus for two people, do you think I could have some food? I haven't eaten much these past few days.”

“Don't be looking to make yourself comfortable,” Whiskey said.

“Is he always like this?” She said to Hood.

Hood blinked, unsure of how to handle her excessive familiarity.

"Why do they call you Whiskey anyway? Guys love making up bad nicknames and never explaining them."

Whiskey didn't dignify her with a response. This was possibly the most annoyed Hood had ever seen him. Whiskey might just shoot her for the peace and quiet. Why was she talking so much? They certainly weren't asking her anything. Maybe that was the ploy. Deflect the attention away from herself.

“Why are you here?” The words came out more forcefully than Hood intended.

“What?” She said, raising her eyebrow. “What do you mean? I asked if I could get a lift with you guys.”

“Yeah, Why? What do you want? Where are you coming from?” Hood said, calmer this time.

She shook her head. “I'm not coming from anything good.”

“You have to tell us.”

She bit her bottom lip, picking at a small tear in the knee of her jeans with her pointer finger. Her nails were surprisingly well kept, but dirty.

“My family—my dad, my two brothers and I, joined up with these survivors. We had left home to find food and they offered us some in exchange for my brothers and my dad agreeing to help them fight. When they left on a raid, they came back without my dad or my brothers, and they. . . I had to escape. I managed to get away. Since then I’ve been heading towards Richmond. I know a guy there.”

“Who is it? Why don't you still want to go there?” Hood asked, looking over at Whiskey to see if he wanted to start his own line of questioning. His expression was that of extreme skepticism.

“He's my ex, if you must know. I'm not even sure he's alive. Or if it’s even a good idea.” She let out a labored breath. “When I saw how you guys at least showed some remorse after you shot that desperate guy, I decided I'd take my chances. It's a long walk to Richmond. After all, you weren't looting his corpse. It was a risk, but it was that or be alone.”

Hood stared at her. “Why didn't you just tell us that?”

She gathered her hair and pulled it over to one side of her head. “I don't know.” Her gaze looked empty as she stared out the window, sinking into thought. Hood continued to watch her, demanding a better response. She shrugged, turning away from him. “It's painful to talk about how bad things are.”