HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) (17 page)

After a few tries, he found a tee shirt and jeans in the pile that fit right. They smelled musty and old, but that was the fragrance of the gods compared to the stench of the pit.

As Hood and Whiskey hustled down the road to the bar, Hood gripped the automatic rifle he'd taken, the knurled grip somehow comforting against his palm.

“Doesn't look like there's much of anyone left inside,” Whiskey said, breaking the silence.

Hood peered over the hood of an abandoned car outside Leonard's bar.

“There's more inside,” Hood said.

“Do you know how many?” Whiskey looked around. The old street was quiet and still. “I'd rather not step into a shooting gallery.”

“There shouldn't be too many.” Hood strained to see inside of the one window that wasn’t boarded up. “But I'm not sure.”

“I'll take point.” Hood handed the rifle to Whiskey, who gave him his shotgun.

Whiskey set the rifle on the hood of the car. Hood dashed across the street, head down, to the front door of the bar. He peered inside the window. It looked empty from this vantage point. He waved over Whiskey, who hustled up to his side. They quietly climbed the steps to the door. Whiskey nodded at him before pulling it open, while Hood slipped inside.

“That took awhile,” he heard a man say. “Did the kid talk?”

They don't deserve to live.
Hood strode through the open double doors of the foyer with the shotgun against his shoulder.

A bearded man stood at a small table with a deck of cards in his hand. He lunged for a pistol on the table and Hood fired twice, deep booms echoing through the room as the man fell backwards over his chair.

Another man rose up from behind the bar in Hood's peripheral vision, raising a submachine gun to sight. Hood spun and fired twice in his direction as he dove to the ground.

The man fired in a wild spray and ducked back behind the bar. Hood's heart fired off in his chest, but he was not hit.

Whiskey sprinted across the length of the bar and leaned over it, firing at the crouched man.

The sharp ringing sound stuck in Hood's ears as he climbed to his feet. The room fell silent otherwise. Hood pointed the shotgun at the staircase, his hands sweating on the grip. Whiskey circled the bar and gazed down at the man, who was wheezing from gunshot wounds. No one came down the stairs.

“Don't shoot.” Hood heard the man behind the bar gasp. Hood peered over the bar. He had dropped his gun and was clutching a wound in his chest. Whiskey stood over him.

“Mercy!” The man uttered.

Three rapid shots cracked the air from Whiskey's rifle.“Too late for that,” Whiskey muttered. He leaned down and picked up the SMG.

“I think we're clear,” Hood said, still keeping the shotgun in firing position.

Whiskey walked up beside him and fired another round into the prone bearded man.

“Sick bastards don't deserve it this easy.”

Hood glanced at the corpse of the bearded man. It was strange how unhuman a body looked. On the table was a game of solitaire. Didn't look like it had been going too well, either.

Whiskey motioned to the stairs. Hood raised the warm shotgun to sight again as the two of them approached the staircase. The rest of the bar was open space, dotted by tables covered in everything from clothes to half-eaten meals and bullet casings.

Hood walked up the stairs to the first floor landing, pointing the shotgun at the painted black door at the top. Whiskey followed behind. They climbed the rest of the stairs slowly, the old wood creaking under their feet. Behind the door, a child cried, and was quickly hushed.

Whiskey kicked the door open and they both sighted their guns into a room of women and children huddled together. There were probably twenty of them.

The room had a number of beds and dressers and looked well lived-in. The women were dressed in tight fitting clothes and stared with terror at them both.

“Hold up your hands!” Whiskey shouted. “Don't do anything and we won't hurt you.”

A sharp-eyed, thin middle-aged woman with partially dyed blonde hair leapt to her feet with a pistol in two hands. Two shots cracked from Whiskey's rifle and blood splattered onto the women and children behind her who started screaming.

“Like I said,” Whiskey uttered, wearing an expression of deep displeasure at having had to do what he did. “Don’t do anything.” The children were crying loudly, the women staring mutely at the two of them.

“The men are dead,” Hood said. “You're free.”

No one moved, or said a thing. Then Kerry stood up from the corner of the room and walked forward.

“I know these guys. They aren't going to hurt you,” she said, looking apologetically at Hood. Hood glanced at her as he snatched up his belongings from a table against the wall. His head swam. She moved deliberately, confidently, with a blank expression on her face that emanated nervousness. She watched him, waiting for a response. Smooth, delicate cheeks, calm blue eyes, like the first time they met. Though that was all a lie. An act. Maybe she was nothing like what he thought she was. Or maybe she was just like him, fighting in the hope to save family.

She thought she could just stride up to them and act like everything was fine. That was bullshit, and yet . . . he felt the desire to throw himself on top of her.

He closed his eyes a moment.
Would you see the truth in her shoes? That her family was dead the whole time? Or would you want to believe they were alive and you could do something to save them?

He wanted to hate her for what she did. But she reminded him of home somehow, that life he loved before everything went to hell. Maybe that was why he wanted to forgive her. His mind conjured up images of the two of them sitting on the couch in his parents house, binge watching an epic series together. That didn't make any sense. That world was gone.

Whiskey lowered the rifle, strode purposefully to Kerry and grabbed her by the arm. He moved towards the stairs as she cursed at him to let her go, struggling against his grip.

“Wait,
wait
!” Hood yelled and followed them down the stairs. Kerry was pleading to reason with Whiskey, unsuccessfully trying to wrench free of his hold on her. He ignored her all the way out the front door. As Hood burst through to the outside world, Kerry was kneeling in the parking lot and Whiskey had his pistol to the back of her head.

“Stop!” Hood yelled. "Wait a goddamned second!" He put down his rifle and backpack and held out both hands to Whiskey.

“Remember what I told you,” Whiskey responded, unrelenting.

Kerry was crying softly.

“She was trying to save her family. She didn't have any other choice!” Hood shouted, holding Whiskey's enraged gaze.

“How do you know that? Is that what she told you when they had you locked up like an animal?” Whiskey looked almost crazed. “She almost got you killed. And me, too, in the process. Does that mean nothing to you?”

Hood reached out and put his hand on Whiskey's pistol. Whiskey shoved him away.

“One of these times I won't make it out, or no one will be there to save you,” Whiskey said. “I don't forget that pit full of bodies so quickly. People like them die because of people like
her
.”

“Those people die because of guys like Leonard and the Kaiser,” Hood shouted, pointing at the bar. “This is not on her head.”

“There will always be evil fuckers like them.”

Kerry turned her head. “I'm just--”

“Shut your mouth!” Whiskey screamed, pushing the pistol into the back of her head. The wind howled, tossing her hair against the gun and Whiskey's hand.

“You're not putting these things into perspective,” Hood yelled, moving quickly into Whiskey's personal space. “What would
you
do, huh? Let's say that fucktard held a gun to Taylor's head, what would you or I do? You gonna stand up to that? Or are you gonna do whatever it takes to keep her alive?”

“You've bought every little line she's fed you, from the minute you met her,” Whiskey said venomously. “You think I don't know what it's like to be young? Every hot piece of ass looks like The One. This has nothing to do with her. This has to do with you being a lost kid who can't face reality.”

“What reality is that? That no one else deserves to live besides us?” Hood barked.

“
Reality
is that if we don't save Taylor, no one will. If we die out here chasing around every sad fuck we come across, she's dead.”

“You think I don't know that?” Hood said. “Why did we fight for Clearwater, huh? I don't know about you, but I did it because I
believe
that there are good people out there, people worth fighting for. They don't deserve this.”

As the words came out, he knew he'd heard them before. In the dead man's journal.
They're good kids. They don't deserve this.
Hood bit down on his lip.
You might have died alone fighting against us, but I won't forget what you said.

“Look what we got for living like that. It's time we learned from our mistakes.” Whiskey said quietly, staring Hood down. Hood kept his gaze.

“It wasn't a mistake. I'll never regret the way we lived in Clearwater. It was a beautiful life, even if this is the way things turned out.”

“You're a damn fool, then.” Whiskey said with a bitter look. “I'm sorry kid, but this has to happen.” Whiskey aimed at Kerry and started to squeeze the trigger.

Kerry cried out and put up her hands.

“You can't fucking do it!” Hood screamed.

“Why not?” Whiskey raged back at him.

Hood inhaled deeply, taking a step closer to him. “John, listen to me. This isn't you. It's a gradual slide into darkness. How long before we're killing good people just to get what we need? You would've done the same thing in her shoes to save Taylor. You know that. Don't even pretend. You
know
that.”

Over his own outstretched arm, Whiskey glared fire at Hood.

He returned his gaze, steadfast. The only sound was a crinkling plastic bag wrapped around a fence pole in the wind.

“I swear . . .” Whiskey shook his head. “. . .You're just like him,” he said at length. The pause and the tone of his voice implied he had something else to say, but he stayed silent.

Hood shrugged in exhaustion.
Just like whom?
He'd never heard Whiskey say anything like that before.

Whiskey put down the gun. “This is the second time. You're going to regret this.” He spat towards Kerry, and walked into the street.

Hood rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, exhaling deeply. He wanted so badly to sleep. He wouldn't get to anytime soon.

Kerry collapsed onto all fours, breathing heavily, tears falling off her face onto the pavement.

“Are you okay?” Hood asked.

She nodded. He reached out a hand. She looked up and grabbed it, and he lifted her to her feet, though her expression told him she didn't want to be standing.

“Why didn't you run?” Hood said in a flat tone.

She hesitated. “I don't have anything left to run to.”

“He would have killed you.”

“That might not be worse than being alone.”

Hood stared at her, but when she stared back he broke eye contact, watching Whiskey’s retreating form as he strode down the road.

“You're welcome,” Hood said with more venom than he expected.

“I didn't want to do this to you guys. I never wanted it to be like this. I didn't have a choice. You have to know that,” She said, looking down at the pavement.

Yeah, I know.
“We can't stay here. Try to take it easy around him. He's not exactly going to be forgiving,” Hood said to her.

“I don't blame him,” she said quietly. “I did a horrible thing to you two.”

“Yeah, you did.” Hood picked up his backpack and rifle. “We all have done horrible things.”

She looked forlorn. She glanced at Whiskey, then back to Hood, pulling her hair out of her eyes, running her hand over her head, fidgeting as she brought up the subject. “So my family. . .”

Lie to her. Tell her you didn't find them.
Hood looked her in the eyes. Eyes that were desperate, hopeful, scared of a response. He shook his head slowly. “They're dead.”

She seemed to stare through him, her eyes glazing over. She nodded, bowing her head in response, her hair curtaining around her face.

“I just. . . I thought maybe. . .” She swallowed, holding her left forearm with her right hand, her thumb rubbing it compulsively.

“Thank you for saving my life. . . And believing I'm worth saving,” she said finally, looking away at the empty road dotted with stripped-down, abandoned houses.
Worth saving. You almost got us killed. Left Taylor and Ian alone to fend for themselves. But yeah, you don't deserve to die.
Despite the anger he felt, Hood couldn't deny the good he saw in her. Better people have done worse. And there are more people like us out there, worth saving.
Like Taylor.

Hood slung his rifle over his shoulder, sniffing. “You've got a second chance. Do something with it.”