HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) (29 page)

“Believe me. It didn't sit well. But orders are orders.”

Hood watched intently as the Captain removed any and all paraphernalia that held significance with the Sons. It wasn't much. Other than the armband, it was only captain's insignias pinned on his collar, which he stuck unceremoniously into a nearby tree.

“Okay, so. . .We're looking for this woman? What's special about her?”

“Nothing. Aside from the fact that she's being shipped straight to the Kaiser. Probably the last one to do so, given that the war is truly about to begin.”

The Sons are about to make their move.
Hood rubbed his wrists, enjoying their freedom. “I won't lie, I don't like that you guys have been so free to trust me and tell me all this.”

Gene snorted. He seemed to be enjoying Hood's complete lack of guile. “Believe me, if the Crusader thought you were a threat to our efforts, you'd be dead. By the time the Kaiser could get his hands on you, there's nothing you could tell him that he wouldn't already know. Best case scenario, we pull this off and you prove yourself an asset to the Sons. Worst case scenario, we die.”

Hood laughed, rubbing his neck. “You alright with that?”

“It's worth the risk. You do what I say without question, we can pull this off.”

“And if I don't?” Hood said, forcing the issue. Gene gave him a wry smile.

“You've survived this long. I think you know how to avoid bad decisions.”

Gene scanned the area, moving suddenly towards a patch of thick brush. He moved some artfully placed branches aside, and backed out a mud-splattered dirtbike.

Hood pointed at it, squinting skeptically. “Ain't that thing gonna make a hell of a lot of noise?”

Gene smiled. “Nope. It's electric. Moves like a ghost.”

“Damn. The Sons have power?”

“Only some. We're working on more sustained sources,” Gene said. “Come on, we're losing daylight. I need you to drive. Just don't do anything dumb.” He waved his pistol for effect. The safety was off. “I'll tell you where to go from here.”

Hood inspected the bike. They had painted it dark, woodland colors. Where the two-stroke motor would have been there were large battery boxes.

“Are you going to tell me what we're doing exactly? Just gonna find this chick and have a cup of tea?”

“I'll fill you in when we get there. Have you driven one of these things before?” Gene said. He strapped both bags to a rack on the back fender.

“Yeah. Well, not an electric. But my cousin had one.”

“Good.”

Hood mounted the bike, settling his hands into the hard-contoured grips of the handlebars. Gene saddled up behind him, pistol in his free left hand.

“You see from here that intersection to the southwest? Head for that.”

Hood nodded, and opened the throttle. The electric motor spooled up slowly, but after a few seconds it accelerated like a whip. The only noise coming from the bike was a slight whirring and an occasional whining noise when he took the bike over rough terrain. Hood wove the bike down the hill between the trees, bounding over roots and uneven ground. The wind rushed against his face and he squinted to keep his eyes free of dirt. They moved faster than he might have expected as they cruised under the darkened canopy of the tree cover.

When they emerged into the empty intersection, Gene pointed with his pistol down the westward path. The road was empty, the leaves and dirt billowing away from them as they sped along. The ride was smooth and the wind howled in his ears. For a moment his mind was pulled free from the clutches of fear for his family, fear of the man with the gun sitting behind him, fear of the war-sundered land he now lived in, and he couldn't help a grin.
Damn, this thing is fun.

The sensation of riding the bike was nearly identical to a memory of when he was eighteen. Visiting relatives in the country, he and Ian had taken his cousin's dirt bike down an empty forest road and into town to see the new Batman movie that had blown everyone away. It was one of those rare days in which nothing extraordinary happened, but life just felt perfect.

“Up ahead there will be a break in the tree line, a path going south. Take it into the woods and up to the ridge,” Gene called over his shoulder.

Hood leaned the bike as he angled it onto the dirt path that led back into the woods. It sloped upwards over a short hill. He opened the throttle at the crest of the path and launched them into the air, his heart beating wild in his chest, his feet tingling. The bike bounced hard as they hit the earth.

“This thing can fly!” Hood hollered over his shoulder.

“Keep us on the damn ground!” Gene yelled in his ear over the roaring wind, prodding Hood in the ribs with the pistol.

The daylight was fading fast, and dusk was upon them. Hood urged the bike ahead, climbing up the path until they were riding along the high ridge Gene had mentioned. They could barely see across the expanse of overgrown fields in the fading dusk.

“See that road over there? On the south side of it, not far west, is a cabin. That's the way station,” Gene shouted over the rushing wind.

“What would you have done if you hadn’t found me?” Hood shouted back.

Gene paused. “Would've figured something out.”

Whatever this is we're here to do, it's my ass he's putting on the line. That's the only reason he wouldn't use his own men instead of me. Because it's a suicide mission.
The only thing Gene seemed to take more seriously than his commitment to the Sons was the lives of his men.
You've got to admire his loyalty. It must be nice to believe in a cause you’re fighting for so wholeheartedly. Even if it does make him a heartless bastard.

Night fell as they neared their destination. They hopped off and Gene unstrapped their packs before hiding the bike in a patch of brush. Wordlessly he urged Hood forward towards the cabin, which was really more of a summer house nestled in the woods.

The short uncovered porch featured a black wooden front door, surrounded by planters with dead plants hanging out of them. The cedar siding of the house still retained its reddish color despite general wear and tear on the house; entire sections of the siding were gone, showing ripped vinyl and decayed wood beneath.

A dirty jeep sat in the earthen driveway, and a faint light could been seen between the cracks of the boarded-up windows.

Hood and Gene hid in the dark behind tall maples, staring at the house for an eternity. Hood's eyes wandered, trying to check the whole dark scene for any signs of movement. The only sound was the incessant chirping of Katydids. There was no wind.

“There's someone on guard. You can be sure of it.” Gene whispered. “They're out of sight somewhere, but they are there.”

Hood nodded, though he wasn't sure Gene could even see it. They had done similar watches in Clearwater and out in camps in the mountains. He'd spent plenty of nights up in trees with nothing to do but wait. Usually no one came. The hard part was staying awake. Hood was hoping whoever was on guard would be having the same problem.

The time crawled. For hours, no sign of movement. Hood's mind examined thousands of hypothetical scenarios, preparing him with a survival plan for each one, weighing its realism and efficacy. The tension of staring at the house for so long left him with an itch of uncertainty.

He made a habit of looking behind them, scanning the trees around them, feeling keenly uncomfortable staying in the same place for so long. Anxiety crept up on him, making his blood throb faster. Maybe it was a culmination of walking the thin line of survival for so long; the anticipation of putting himself in harm's way for the Son's machinations tore his mind asunder. He felt an animal primacy taking over.

He didn't just want to get away, he wanted to kill everyone who was a threat to him. He wanted to comb the earth for Taylor and Whiskey and lay low anyone who might get in his way. These were all strangers around him, strangers who did not fight his fight. He wanted to act, but he was forced to wait. And wait. And wait.
Fuck this. I should just kill him. But he has a gun. What is it we're here to do, asshole? What game are you playing?
Hood tried to shake the rage out of his own head.
He's not an evil man. And I am not a machine. I can't just kill my way out of this. There's always a way to survive. Use your head.
Gene was on one knee behind a tree, watching the house intently, anticipating something, like he was steeling himself.
But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I will have to kill my way out of this.

“It's time. I need you to move into the clearing by the house until they spot you, then draw them out into the woods. This is here for you.” Gene moved two trees back into the woods and hung Hood's Beretta by the finger guard on a broken twig of a branch. “When it’s over, I'll meet you back by the bike.”

“What? You want me to just go out there? Why do you need me to do that? What is it we're doing here?” Hood whispered.

“Don't question your orders. And don't get yourself shot.” Gene pointed his pistol at Hood in the dark. “Go now.”

Hood hesitated a moment. If he had some semblance of a choice before, he had none now.
This is fucking crazy.

Feeling Gene's impatience, Hood moved out from behind the tree cover and walked toward the clearing around the cabin. He tried to move quietly in the darkness, but dried leaves and twigs crackled and snapped under his feet as he reached the clearing.
They're there on purpose.

All of the hair on Hood's nape stood on end.
Someone's taking aim at you.

A shot cracked the night air as Hood sprinted forward, towards the house. He felt no burst of pain and surged euphoria for it. He pressed himself flat against the rough cedar shake of the house.

There was silence, then the sound of shoes scraping on bark. Hood pounded the cabin with his fist once and sprinted back towards the tree-line. Another shot cracked the night air, but he felt no pain. He moved from tree to tree frantically until he found the hanging Beretta.

The sound of creaky hinges and cracking twigs came from behind him. He pulled back the slide in the Beretta and dove deeper into the woods. He grabbed onto a low-hanging branch and swung himself up into the tree, quickly climbing up three branches and leaning up against the trunk with full vision of the area below.
I'll play your game better than you can.

Patience was the sure way to win; stay silent and motionless until the enemy was sure he'd gone away for good. Unless the man was stupid or desperate, he wouldn't go charging into the woods. He'd move slowly and deliberately, but after enough time everyone lets their guard down.

The problem was, he didn't have enough time. Whatever the Sons had planned with Kerry, it wasn't good.
What the fuck could they possibly want her for? Do they know something I don't?

Hood saw a dark figure dart from one tree to another. He lifted his Beretta to sight and waited for movement. None came.

This is taking too fucking long.
The pressure made Hood feel that he would burst.
Whatever it is they need her for, it's sure to get her killed. That's what the reality is. They will kill her. You can't just fucking pretend it's going to be okay.
Hood grit his teeth.

Fuck it.
He clenched his free hand, embracing the reckless adrenaline.

He jumped down from the branches to the forest floor with a thump. He raised the pistol towards the right side of the tree.

The man popped out to the left side.

Hood swung the pistol to sight on the man and fired as fire flamed out of the barrel of the man's rifle. The figure slumped into a heap on the ground as Hood's left ear radiated in pain.

He reached up with his left hand, and it came back wet with his blood.
Holy shit.
His body shuddered. A few inches to the right and he'd be dead.

Another gunshot rang out and Hood dove away from the tree, getting up on all fours and sprinting up the gradual slope to the south. The searing in his ear and his shock at the near miss kept him locked in place behind a tree.
Don't stop now. You don't have time. You have to take a chance.

He turned and sprinted diagonally from tree to tree, scanning the darkness in the direction he’d come from. He heard two shots and saw gunfire down the hill to the northwest. He spun around the next tree and opened fire towards where he'd seen it.

This would be a good time for my luck to kick in.

Hood heard no groans, saw no collapsing body after his shots. He had only a handful of bullets left in the clip, if it had been full to start. He peeked around the tree.

A figure shuffled southward in the dark.

Hood tried to sight on the man but saw no clear shot; too many trees in the way. There was something familiar about the figure's movements.

Hood reached down and felt for a rock. He found a palm-sized one and hurled it southwest. It thumped and rustled along the ground while Hood sprinted north down the hill. He trained his eyes on where the figure had been. Something shifted on the ground as shots cracked the air.

Hood jumped to the side, skidding onto his back through the rough dirt and raising his pistol between his knees. He fired back at the figure on the ground twice before the slide clicked back empty. The figure rolled behind a tree.