HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) (14 page)

“No!” Whiskey yelled angrily. He got out of the driver’s side of the truck.

“I can't just let her go,” Hood said.

“We don't have time for this shit. If she wants to play nurse, let her. How long will it be before the Kaiser decides Taylor isn't worth keeping hostage?”

“You don't have to remind me. She's
my
sister. But we could use Kerry's help. Let me bring her back, convince her this isn't our business. I don't want to leave her here. Just give me two minutes.”

Whiskey shouted his name loudly, twice. Hood tore off in a run down the path.

The last thing Hood wanted to do was leave Whiskey alone with the truck. But he didn't want to leave Kerry behind either. At some point everyone's interests conflict.

The orange clay path was surrounded by tall pine trees on either side. Hood pulled the butt of his AK to his shoulder and looked around cautiously. There was no sign of either Kerry or the man.

He stalked silently from the path into the cover of the trees. His footsteps padded on sparse grass and a thick carpet of pine needles. The tall, straight tree trunks weren’t wide enough to hide someone easily, and the woods appeared empty. He moved forward, staying parallel to the dirt path as it bent slowly. The path was only occupied by a backhoe, its huge shovel arm resting on the ground. That's where he'd expect people to hide—behind it. But no one was lying in wait, and there was no sign of Kerry or the troubled man.

Maybe this was a trap for her, not a trap for them. He leaned his shoulder against a pine tree, trying to make sense of the silence. He looked up at the bright gray sky, peering between the tall branches of the pines.

He pulled the AK back to his shoulder and moved forward towards the backhoe. Nothing could be heard but the soft pat of his shoes on the bed of pine needles. Not even the wind. The backhoe stood inert like a monolith. Last time someone had used it, they’d probably still had salaries and work weeks. He walked around the giant machine, covered in grease and dirt, until he got to the shovel arm. On the other side of it Kerry stood in the clay path, her back facing him with her head down. The other man was gone.

“Hey, what happened?” Hood said, moving towards her.

“Why didn't you just stay in the truck?” Her voice wavered, as if she was crying.

A cold emptiness filled Hood's chest.
Whiskey was right the whole goddamned time.

“I tried to leave that day after the bridge. I didn't want to do this to you guys. But I didn't have a choice. They have my family.” Kerry said, turning to face him, tears sliding down over her guilt.

Hood spun around. A group of men crept out from the other tree line, all with guns pointed at him. Normal men, wearing jeans, shirts, varying lengths of beard and serious expressions. One middle-aged guy stepped forward, a revolver in his hand. He had a dark bushy mustache and slicked back hair. He wore a dirty black suit with a red T-shirt on underneath.

“I don't think I need to tell you to put down your weapons,” the man said.

Hood dropped the AK in the dirt. He turned his gaze to Kerry.
I don't know who I hate more, you, or myself for being duped by your bullshit.

She didn't look back at him, holding her elbows and looking at the ground.

“All of them.” The man motioned with the revolver.

Hood reached into his hoodie, pulled out the .38 and dropped it on the ground. The man pointed at his leg with the gun. He pulled out a hunting knife he'd strapped to his leg and tossed the blade down into the dirt.

“There's a good sap. What's your name?” The mustached man asked.

“Fuck you,” Hood spat.

The man shook his head and waved the pistol in disapproval. “That's not very smart. After all, I know who you are whether you tell me or not.”

“I wanted to tell you,” Kerry said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn't want this to happen.”

The men moved closer to him.

Whiskey had been right. The whole goddamn time. About everything. He didn't know if the thought drove him more insane because he hadn't listened, or because Whiskey's psychotic paranoia was justified.
You let this happen. You haven't learned your lesson from Clearwater. The world is fucked, and you can't trust anyone. And now you're going to die.
Rage boiled in his blood, blurring his vision. He wanted to grind his teeth to dust.
You're a goddamned child. You left him to save Taylor on his own. Either these men work for the Kaiser, or they're slavers, or maybe their just wastelanders who love to torture and kill survivors. Either way you're fucked, because you just had to let your dick make your decisions. You're going to die here, alone.

Kerry flickered bleary eyed glances at him, her head heavy with guilt. His own face felt blank, his hate channeling through his stare she was avoiding. One of the men tied his hands behind his back, and another threw a black hood over his head and duct taped it around his neck.

“Seems fitting for a man with your name,” he heard the mustached man say.

♦ ♦ ♦

They threw him in the trunk of a car. The drive was relatively short and smooth so they must've taken him to somewhere close by. The rope around his wrists was old and dry. He tried to work them loose but only succeeded in creating a painful burning sensation. His legs were free but he could do little but kick at the walls of the trunk. The car smelled like a Christmas pine-scented air freshener. His first thought was that it was a taxi.

When the car pulled to a stop they opened the trunk and lifted him out by his arms, pushing him to walk. He heard the squeak of metal joints, and he was led down a steep staircase, distant indiscernible shouts echoing outside. They walked him a few paces to a wall. It was dark and damp, wherever they were. Someone removed the ropes from his wrist, and he felt the thud of a gun barrel pressed against the back of his head.

“Back against the wall.”

He turned slowly and backed up against the wall. The sound of rattling chains echoed as he felt two metal cuffs clamp down on either wrist. The gun barrel removed itself from the back of his head. Someone tore the duct tape off of his neck and pulled off the hood. It was dark and he could see very little. The light of day peered from the narrow staircase they climbed down. It was the only thing illuminating the dark cellar he was in. The floor was bloodstained concrete with a small metal drain in the middle of the room.

Footsteps echoed from the stairs. The mustached man in his faded suit appeared. He had a pistol in his hand and a lit cigarette in his mouth. Hood stood staring at him and said nothing. The man stared back, smoking his cigarette at an easy pace.

“Where's your friend?” The man finally said.

Hood didn't reply.

“You know, your comrade in arms?”

“Conflict of interests,” Hood said. “He's gone.”

The mustached man breathed smoke out of his mouth in almost a whistle. “You think I believe that?”

“It's the truth.” Hood leaned back against the concrete wall, chains scraping against the floor.

“I know who you two are. The Kaiser's gonna reward me quite handsomely, I'd wager. The Sheriff was supposed to have you in hand. Well, he always was a little cocky.” The man ran his hand through his wavy, trained-back hair. “I never liked him much anyway. Never really deserved to be one of the Kaiser's officers, by my estimation.”

Hood sat silent again. He couldn't help but smile at the irony. The man was waiting for some kind of trap because they had taken down the Sheriff, but there was no cavalry coming. If Whiskey had to choose between Hood and Taylor, he would pick Taylor. And Hood would never begrudge him that. She was worth it.

“Who are you?” Hood asked.

“Call me Leonard.” Hood was sure that was not his real name. Not that it mattered. “And don't change the subject. Where is your boy now, hmm?”

“I told you I don't know. He's not stupid enough to get himself into this kind of mess.”

Leonard paused, throwing his cigarette butt on the ground and smothering it. “That would seem to be the truth, wouldn't it?”

“What does the Kaiser want with me?” Hood asked.

“I'll tell you that only if you tell me where you and John are hiding with all those supplies you took from the Sheriff.”

“No hiding going on. Whiskey has them all. Not like you'll ever get to him.”

Leonard whipped out an extendable billy club and swung at Hood.

He threw up his arms to shield himself from the blows which rained down on his shoulders and his ribs. Pain burst through his body from each blow, Hood screamed in his mind but wouldn't give Leonard the satisfaction of hearing any such thing aloud. Each strike only made the anticipation of the next that much more terrible.
This is just the beginning. Followed by torture, starvation, god knows what else. All for information you don't have.

“Lie to me again! Go ahead, do it!” Leonard screamed, the words echoing in the cellar. He pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Hood's head.

“Tell me where he is and tell me where the supplies are, or you die.”

Hood wouldn't die. Not yet. Not until Leonard got the info that he wanted. Hood's shoulder, his back, his forearm all throbbed in pain from the blows. He was pretty sure he didn't have any broken ribs because it wasn't too painful to breathe. He lifted up his chained hands and inspected them, too, for broken bones.

“Well, Leonard, I just don't know,” Hood said plainly.

The man quaked with rage, pulled the gun away and stormed up the steps, slamming the metal doors behind him. Hood slumped to the cold floor in complete darkness. Time slid by, his thoughts circling over and over.
I never imagined I'd die in a cellar, chained to a wall. I never really imagined how I'd die at all before the fall. And I thought life in Clearwater was tough, because we had to kill wastelanders and because I had no idea if anyone else I loved was still alive. This, this is reality. You are the war machine, or you are the casualty. You fight and claw to survive every day or you die. Thinking about someone else was a luxury.

You wanted to have Kerry, save Ian and Taylor, go hide somewhere and live in peace? What kind of moron are you? Just finding Taylor and Ian would be a miracle. Saving even one of them would be an act of god. Living in peace was impossible.

His head hung low, his chin barely above his chest. His body throbbed in pain.
I'm not cut out for this world. I know that. I've always known that. I don't want to kill to survive. I know there are good people out there. People who will band together and fight for peace. Clearwater was proof of that.
Hood touched his palms gently with his fingers, trying to enjoy the sensation of touch before he died.
And now its gone. Good people are dying off.
Just smelling the damp air, seeing the dark world, tasting food, listening to music, touching. . . someone you love. It all was incomprehensibly beautiful. He wished he had spent more time enjoying it. His eyes seemed to close of their own accord. Ian and Taylor had to survive. Whiskey would find them. Taylor had to survive and carry on the family line. Hood didn't know why that felt important, but it did. Exhaustion took him, and he slept.

Hood awoke to the squeaking of the cellar doors opening again. It was light out. He didn't know if he had slept for thirty minutes or for a day. This time Kerry was the only one to make her way slowly down the stairs, her long legs clad in tight jeans. She didn’t have her jacket on, just a long sleeve shirt that showcased the rest of her shapely body.

She was so much the object of his desire, his hatred, and even his pity. Her freedom was a cheap fake. He found himself hoping for her safety, which seemed all wrong. She didn't deserve it. She’d betrayed them. But would he do the same in her shoes? If it were his family, would he go through with something like this?

“You awake?” She stood a few feet from the bottom of the stairs.

He said nothing. The chains rattled in the darkness as he moved.
You've got some fucking nerve coming down here.
Maybe it wasn't her choice. This was probably part of Leonard's plan.

“I know you have a right to hate me.” She said. The words hung in the air.

“Are you all right?” She asked nervously.

“Hell of a question,” he said with a weak laugh.

“I'm so sorry for this. I wanted so badly to tell you. I really like you guys. But that asshole has my family hostage.” She hung her head slightly, her body leaning to one side as she held her own elbows in her hands. “I thought I was saving them. But now he won't tell me where they are.”

Hood chuckled. “What a shock. The sick bastard didn't just hand your family back and let you walk off into the sunset.” This story of hers could very well be staged. He was sure that Leonard would try this ploy in an attempt to get information out of him. The question was whether Leonard was using her as a tool, and she was oblivious to it, or whether she was in on it.

“I'm not stupid. I knew that wouldn't happen. But this was the only thing I could do to keep them alive,” she said.

The chains clinked with Hood's movements as he locked his fingers together and stretched his arms in front of him.
Are you doing this, now, just to keep them alive?