HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) (38 page)

“That sounds like something he would say.”

She gave him an are-you-kidding look.

“Uh, yeah. We are fuckin' family, you doofus.” She turned and walked down the path.

Whiskey took the balmy, grassy air into his lungs and laughed before following behind her. The waning light reached through the branches of the trees and illuminated the swirling motes of flora in the air. His mind wandered back to a conversation he’d had with his mother when he was a child. He’d had a dream that she had died and he was inconsolable.
Someday, I will die, she said. But we live on in those we love.

Whiskey strode forward on the path, his body feeling re-energized.
I'll never let it weigh me down again, kid. I promise.

The blood seemed to course through his body. He wanted to run, though he had no reason to.
I know what you'd want. You'd want me to keep her safe. I will, as long as I live she'll be safe. She's a hell of a girl.

“First priority, we need some more food,” Taylor said over her shoulder. “God, what I wouldn't do for a mountain of loaded French fries.”

“Take it easy, now.” Whiskey said. “Talkin' like that will drive us up the creek.”

“I think I'd jump around naked on a trampoline covered in fire ants for it.”

“Well, maybe if the Sons of Liberty are half as great as they say they are you won't have to,” Whiskey said, brushing a strand of spider-web off his face.

“You think going to the Sons is a good idea?” Taylor said, hopping over a stream that cut through the path.

“Your brother seemed to think there was somethin' there.” Whiskey’s boots splashed in the gurgling stream.

“Well, the way I see it, they owe us a debt of gratitude.”

“Heh, yeah.” Whiskey wriggled his nose, the pollen making it tingle. “Doubt they'll believe it.”

They pushed on down the trail as it wove and climbed through rocky terrain and open fields and thick swaths of trees. Whiskey pulled out the journal Hood had taken from the dead man way back when.
He always seemed to take comfort in this thing.

He opened it to a random entry.

There are good days, and there are bad days. Most days are bad days.

Today is a good day.

Melanie showed up in my room in the morning. I would say I must've charmed her with my wiles, but she and I both know I have none. She just seemed to think I deserved her love. Maybe it was the Ronald Reagan joke I made. Maybe she was tired of me making a fool of myself around her. Regardless, I am smitten.

On top of that, we had beef today. Real beef. God, it tasted good. Danny and Kim are doing well, too. They‘re illustrating their usefulness in a way that doesn't involve a rifle. That's the kind of thing to make a surrogate papa proud.

Cherry on the whipped cream, I'm not on patrol today. Divine intervention--just to make sure everything was at its peak level of awesome for me. I'm finishing off that rubbing alcohol they call vodka, and going to play some poker with my extra ration cards. With a day like this, there's no way I can lose.

Days like this, I gotta remember. Days like this are what it's all about. I wish I could remember to be as easy about it all as I am now. I'm happy, someday I won't be, doesn't matter. I'm alive, someday I won't be, doesn't matter. Everything just is the way it is. And that's a good thing.

Whiskey closed the journal, tracing the faux leather cover with his fingertips. He pulled his backpack around his torso and replaced the journal inside.
Everything is the way it is.

They moved on easily through the quiet trail, Whiskey feeling a determination he hadn't in quite a long time.
There's plenty enough for us to undertake yet.
Whiskey felt a sense of peace, taking in the beauty of the wild expanse as they passed through it. The path wound down into the valley and over another ridge to the north. Taylor had crested it, staring out through the treetops to the Sons of Liberty camp below.

“Well, we found them,” Taylor said, hands on her hips as she stared down at the scene with a mix of triumph and trepidation on her face.

“We found 'em,” Whiskey echoed as he exhaled, gazing down at the tiny soldiers milling about between the tents and lounging about in groups. A white flag with a red lion on its hind legs flew on a makeshift flagpole over the Sons’ camp.

“Come on. They'll want to know who killed the Kaiser and won their war for them.” Taylor started moving once again down the trail.

They'll never really know who he was.
Whiskey smiled.
But that's all right. We do.

Note from the Author:

Thank you for reading the book, I hope you enjoyed it. If you want to help me out, write me an Amazon review of what you think! For all those looking for more, stay tuned for:

Whiskey – Book 2 of the American Rebirth Series