HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) (34 page)

The man grabbed his chest, stumbling to one knee. The man's wild eyes grew wide as he stared at Hood across the grassy field. He raised his own pistol slowly, clumsily as he leaned forward.

Hood didn't move, frozen in place, out of bullets.
Fall down. Die. Just die, you bastard.

The man fired the pistol twice, plumes of dirt erupting from the ground five feet in front of Hood. He struggled to lift his arm, taking better aim.

The air cracked again and the incoming shot pelted the dirt inches from his chest, just as the man slumped forward onto his face.

Hood exhaled and dropped his head back into the grass, looking up at the slowly creeping clouds in the bright sunny sky. His eyes wanted to close as the last vestiges of adrenaline faded from him. But he couldn’t let them.

Whiskey!

He forced himself to his hands and knees.
Don't you fucking die here, because of these assholes. There's more for us to do. We have to save Taylor and you have to start a family and live and be happy and . . . you can't fucking die here.

Hood lurched towards the street. The dirtbike lay on its side twenty feet down the quiet suburban road. Whiskey was face-down on the sidewalk, blood pooling around his head.

“No, no, no no no no no.”
Hood fell to his knees beside him. With a heave he rolled Whiskey over onto his back. His eyes were closed. Hood slapped him in the face repeatedly. “Wake up, asshole!”

Whiskey coughed violently, choking for a moment before turning his head and spitting out blood. A few of his teeth skittered on the sidewalk. He blinked and muttered something, his lips wet with blood.

“Talk to me buddy. Where'd he get you?”

Whiskey leaned his head forward, looking down at his body before dropping it back down onto the sidewalk, exhaling. He mumbled something incoherent. Hood pulled up Whiskey's shirt, searching for wounds. His black flak jacket was underneath, two slugs flattened against it. Whiskey struggled to speak, spitting out more blood first.

“I'm alive you idiot,” he gasped. “Get off.”

Hood fell back into a sitting position, hanging his head.

“You
fucker
.” He exhaled, his body heavy with pain and exhaustion.

“I'm a-right.” Whiskey groaned, patting the vest. “I feel like I been beaten with a baseball bat.”

“If you died, I was going raise you from the dead and kill you again for dying on me.”

Whiskey gave Hood a tired glance, a mad laugh bubbling out of him that turned into a coughing grimace as he grasped for his ribs. It wasn’t pretty, since a number of his upper left teeth were missing.

“You look like a hillbilly,” Hood said, slowly rising to his feet.

“Still look better than you.” Whiskey gasped.

“Yeah, right. I look so good even that tree over there likes me.” Hood cast an absurd smile at Whiskey as he slowly rose and stood up the dirtbike. He retrieved their backpacks, which had been thrown off it and into the street.

“I swear. . .” Whiskey grunted as he rolled over and climbed to his feet. “You say the dumbest shit.”

Hood laughed, shaking his head. The high of making it out alive was a feeling he very well could be addicted to. The two of them had turned it into an art form.
The thrill is real. I'll take peace and quiet any day, though. Test your luck enough times. . .
“You sure you're not gonna die?” He asked, mounting the dirt-bike and walking it backwards towards Whiskey.
If we can just make it through this, we can go somewhere far away from this war.

Whiskey grimaced, leaning forward and still clutching his chest with the other hand.

“Not yet, kid.” He heaved himself onto the back of the bike.

Chapter 19 – At The End of a Long Road

The once-great country stretched ahead of them endlessly, expansive in its emptiness. It served as a silent reminder of how huge and majestic the continent was, and that there were much less people now to inhabit it.
I wonder what all this would look like if we died off.
Hood imagined himself visiting the earth many years from now, empty, impossibly empty, cities and towns and open spaces all reclaimed by the earth.
It’s weird how I think that would be beautiful. What’s the world worth if there’s no one to appreciate it? Nothing, I guess. Not that that matters. The idea of worth will die out with us.

Hood drove the dirtbike through the first light of dawn, despite the fact that Whiskey was practically falling asleep on his back. They pressed on through great overgrown farmlands, across long-untouched roads, abandoned towns and quiet woods. The only inhabitants were the few animals that staked their claims to the land, and the innumerable insects that buzzed above them.

This was deep in the Kaiser's territory.

Ian's territory.

It didn't quite feel real, though the fear and anticipation in Hood's gut told him it was.
There was a time growing up, when I thought that Ian could do great things one day.
Hood's short hair whipped against his head in the wind.
This isn’t great, though, and it wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

Great figures in history often did terrible things in the name of change.

If humanity survives enough to record this period, how will it be remembered? Will Ian be known as a great despot, a forgotten man, a hero? And will all the innocent people who have died be forgotten? As they usually are?

Hood bit his lip.
I won't let that happen.

The long drive afforded him the luxury, or perhaps the cruelty, of such thinking. There was a strange mixture of relief that they had come so far, that they were so close to Taylor, and anxiety that they drove ever closer towards an impossible task. And Kerry. . . she was alive. Hood could live with that. Even if he found himself thinking about her more than he might have expected.
I know you might be alone out there, but I'm with you. If we pull this off and get Taylor free, I'll find you. I don't know how, but I will.

There was a dark seed of doubt in Hood's mind he couldn't uproot. Ian had become ruthless and unwavering in his vision of a new country, a new sense of humanity. He had done horrible things in the name of curing the country of its bickering and rivalry. But despite it all, Ian was right about one thing: this world was the legacy of a human history built on war and hatred and oppression of others for the sake of one's own.

How many great tragedies can humanity repeat, swearing to learn from the mistakes of long-dead ancestors?

Maybe Ian's bloody war is ruthless, but what if it is the only future humanity has? What if he is the great revolutionary who changes the course of history? And you would kill him just to free Taylor if you had the chance. What if I am the one clinging to the dying world and he is the one to save us from it?

Hood gnawed on his tongue. It was impossible to know, and to guess the future was about as stupid as trying to roller-skate through the Serengeti.

You can't change the world through force. To hell with that. History is littered with dead kings who tried. I know you think you're trying to save us, Ian. But you're wrong. Even if you encompass the whole world under your banner, split up every family and spread them across the globe, people will forge new bonds, start new families, they will love and they will hate and they will make war and they will make peace because this is who we are. One day we'll die out and it will all have been worth it.
The sprawling country was a blur, a still moment flying by as the bike pushed on down a dirt path which climbed up to a country road.
I don't know about you, Ian. But even if this is the end, and humanity amounts to nothing at all, I still wouldn't have traded my life for anything.

The bike hummed lightly down the vast expanse of tree-lined, sun-baked two lane road. His life had veered off far from any expectations he or his parents might've had.
Most parents don't envision their sons and daughters fighting for their lives on a daily basis. He could still see them sitting around the kitchen table. Dad soaking up runny eggs with his toast, Mom flicking through the channels on the small flatscreen mounted on the wall in the corner. Mom, Dad, I'm sorry I didn't come home. I wish I had just one chance to talk to you two after the country fell apart. I want to know what you would have said. I really don't know if I'll ever be able to let that go. But I promise, I'm going to find Taylor. I will.

Kids born into this world were in for a rude awakening. Somehow, Hood wanted that chance. It was a horrifying prospect, caring for a child in this world. But there was something enthralling about continuing the family line, pioneers on the ragged edge of a new world.
Thinking about this is a sure way to make yourself insane. I've got plenty more to be concerned about right now.

A weather-beaten billboard on the side of the road featured a peeling advertisement spread for Greenridge University with a faded picture of a group of multicultural college students hanging out on a sunny terrace. The words
STAY AWAKE, STAY ALIVE
had been painted in broad strokes across the billboard in white.
Who is writing that? What does it mean?
Hood had seen it before, more than once.
It certainly had nothing to do with the Kaiser. Someone else had tagged places with those words. In dangerous places.

This was not something Hood had the energy to puzzle out, despite his piqued curiosity. His mind wandered to indulgent thoughts of food, of brownie sundaes with vanilla ice cream and double-stacked cheeseburgers with crispy fries. The images only made his stomach cry out in disapproval.
Oh man, what I wouldn't do for a cheeseburger. God damn were we spoiled with how good food was.

They made it nearly to the foothills of the Appalachians before the bike crawled to a stop, the battery giving out. They were not far from the University, according to the map.

The two of them walked slowly through the thickening brush and cool, buggy air. It smelled like pollen, like the rampant growth of the wilderness. They smelled water, too, and heard the stream of a sharply winding river. The two of them both quickened their pace subconsciously at the first signs of it, approaching the tree-lined river bank with anticipation.

The blue-green waters moved at a modest pace, curving around with the bend of the river. A few rocks peeked out of the water, surrounded on either side by overhanging trees.

Whiskey pulled off his shirt and his flak jacket, revealing enormous purple bruises from the impact of the gunfire. Hood wondered how he could move or breathe without excruciating pain. He pulled his own clothes off, his shirt and hoodie getting stuck around his head before he yanked them free. Sharp pain shot through his side and shoulder at the motion.

Whiskey had already thrown himself into the river with a splash.

Hood pulled off his shoes and his pants and waded into the water, falling face-first into the body-chilling, enveloping sensation. He popped his head out of the water with a gasp.

“Oh shit, that's cold!” He exclaimed.

“Feels so damn good,” Whiskey said, floating on his back.

It did have a numbing effect on Hood's injuries. The slice in his hand, the glancing wound in his side, the chunk taken out of his ear, and the sewn-up shoulder had all begun to mend, but the dull, throbbing pain was slow in subsiding. In the freezing cold water everything felt numb, gloriously numb.

I want to do this in peace. I want to live with family and friends and jump in rivers, farm and hunt our own food, live on our own in the country and be happy. I'd kill for that. Maybe existence is just the fight for the life you want. Maybe this is exactly the way the world was meant to be.

Hood pulled in a mouthful of river water and spouted it up into the air. He looked over at Whiskey, who continued to float on his back with his eyes closed.

“You think we can pull this off?”

Whiskey didn't open his eyes. “We’d better.”

“If we do, we might be changing the course of history.”

“You're thinking too much, kid.”

“It's true, though. If we have to kill Ian to save her, this war between the Kaiser and the Crusader will be over. It will change everything.”

“I don't plan on ending anyone's war. All we have to do is free Taylor. Either way, we ain't doin' it for history.”

Hood smiled, and ran his fingers through his wet hair.
Maybe we should be.

“I'm sure the Sons wouldn't mind if we ended it for them, though.”

“To hell with the Sons.”

Hood leaned back and poked his feet out of the water.

“I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong, but I think there might be something good about them.”

Whiskey laughed, spraying out water that had washed over his face with an exhaling breath.

“I don't know how you can have been through all we've been through, and still think there's good anywhere.”

Hood shrugged. “There's good people out there. I know it.”