HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) (11 page)

“Come on. Whatever happened to having fun with the apocalypse?” Hood said, putting the gun away. “Just drive the damn truck. I promise you'll be fine.”

“How can you be sure of that?” She said.

“I can't, really.” Hood said with a shrug. “But we don't have much choice. We gotta get this beast across.” Hood slapped the body of the truck with a hollow thud. “Whiskey is going to stand guard to make sure we don't get gunned down with our pants down. And I'm gonna be the one keeping the truck from falling into the abyss.”

Kerry looked down at her feet and bit her lip, kicking idly at the dusty ground. “I'm sorry. I'm not gonna do it.”

Hood rubbed his head in annoyance. “Come on. You got this, EZ game. Time to go badass on us. You're gonna be like the Danica Patrick of broken-bridge-truck-drivers.”

“I'll do anything else you need me to do. I don't care. Just not that.” She wore a nervous expression, her eyebrows raised.

Hood walked back to the truck and pulled out another coil of rope. “Don't worry, the gasoline in the truck alone is worth more than your life. We won't risk losing that.”

“That's not very reassuring!” she shouted.

“Kidding!” Hood shouted back. “Everything will be fine!”

She stood motionless in the road, looking profoundly uncomfortable. They needed her to drive, there wasn't much way around it. Hood had to convince her. He didn't think she'd dare try to drive away without them if they actually got the truck across. But if she did, they'd have no choice but to shoot her. He hoped she wasn't that reckless. Hood was good with moving targets.

♦ ♦ ♦

Kerry stared out the windshield of the truck at the broken bridge ahead of her. The sun was high in the sky and the wind rushed through the river valley. The empty road and tall grassy clearing past the bridge might as well have been miles away. The tall grass swept and swirled about in a graceful dance with the wind, and she wanted nothing more than to just be there on the other side, on that solid earth with the overgrowth. Her hands clutched the wheel tight. Her mouth was dry and her eyes felt bleary from lack of sleep.

“Pull the truck in close,” Hood said from behind the guardrail atop the wall. Behind him was a straight drop to the riverbed, but he looked as though he didn't notice or wasn’t worried. “Closer. Pull her all the way against the wall. Who cares about the paint job.”

Kerry turned the wheel and then counter-turned to slide the truck closer. The front left panel of the car scratched and squealed as the stone bridge dug into its side.

“That's it, nice and tight,” Hood said. “We want to get as much leverage on this baby as we can.” He slapped the hood of the car with a metallic thud. To Kerry, the wall was one more thing trapping her inside the truck. She closed her eyes and exhaled. Sweat beaded on her forehead and made the steering wheel slick under her hands. Her worst nightmare had come to life.

She kept seeing the image from her childhood play over and over in her head. She sat in the back seat staring at her cell phone like any other twelve year old, her parents discussing the upcoming weekend in the front seats. They crept through the intersection, and from beyond the driver's side window came the front grill of a truck. Glass exploded as the car flipped over and over. She slammed her eyes shut, feeling herself spin in the air as she was slung out of her seatbelt into the ceiling. She opened her eyes, numbly looking at her own shattered hand covered in blood as she lay on the ceiling of the up-side down car. Her heart started to race at the memory.

She should have just kept hiding in the darkness the night she’d encountered these two. Then she wouldn’t be caught between Whiskey threatening to kill her and having no choice but to play chicken with deep-seeded terror.

Hood leaned in through the window, then lifted up his aviators she was sure he was wearing just for cosmetic effect. It's not like he was wearing sunglasses when it was high noon.

“So you know what you got to do?”

“Yes.” She sighed. His automatic rifle hung off his shoulder, pointing at her. “Can you not swing that thing around?” She took two fingers and turned the barrel away.

“Relax.” He smiled, but slid the rifle to face down outside the truck. “This lil' murder monster is the only thing keeping us from being food for crows if some hungry wasters find us trying to get this beast across the bridge.” He paused and lifted an eyebrow. “Well, maybe they'll kill Whiskey and me. But you, well, you know. Not good.”

“That's not funny. Don't even fucking joke about that.” She shook her head. Her mouth was so taut that her cheeks felt strained.

Hood just grinned. “Don't worry, you're in capable hands.” He drummed on the door with both hands. “This is how
I
have fun with the apocalypse.” He dropped his glasses back onto his nose.

As stressed as Kerry was, Hood did seem remarkably relaxed about the whole process. If this was fun for him, he was a sick bastard. But of course, it wasn’t his life at stake. It was hers.

The truck squeaked as it slid higher up against the stone wall. Out the broken glass of the back window, Whiskey took the barrels of gas out of the back and placed them on the bridge with a grunt and a thud. They had smashed out the back window and cleaned out the sharp bits of glass, insisting it was part of the 'plan.' She could've sworn they were just doing random things and calling it a plan.

“There. Happy now, princess?” Whiskey shouted, breathing heavily.

“Don't even. . .” Kerry shouted back. “I don't think its crazy to get some of the weight out of this thing.”

Whiskey pulled a bandanna out of his police-issue flak jacket and wiped his forehead. “Hate to break it to you kid, but two barrels of gas ain't gonna change a thing if the ropes don't hold.”

She turned around to the driver's side window, unaware that Hood had already reached inside and looped the wrist-thick ropes through the driver's side window, then out the back window of the cab. He tied them tight around the guardrail twice. The ropes bound the truck to the guardrail and would slide along the railing as the truck moved forward, holding the truck upright when crossing the chasm. That was the plan, anyway.

“Welcome to Air Guardrail. This is your captain speaking.” Hood spoke into an invisible walkie-talkie, standing on the bridge wall. “Here at Air Guardrail, we take the utmost precaution to ensure that our passengers don't fall into a chasm and explode.”

“Stop acting like this isn't a big deal. This is a big deal,” Kerry said. She wiped her palms on her jeans, but they kept sweating profusely.

“Relax, you'll be fine,” Hood said. “I promise I'll hold your hand the whole way.”

“Really?” She said, somewhat bewildered.

“No.” He shook his head with an eccentric frown. “We good back there, Whiskey?”

“All set,” he replied. He was crouched down on the opposite side of the bridge with an automatic rifle in hand, looking at the truck. “You've got about a foot until the front wheel is off the ground.”

“All right, sister,” Hood said. “Hit it.”

She sat still. “That's it? There isn't anything more to do to prepare?” Her heart felt like it had jammed itself up into her throat, trying to leap out of her body and run away from this mess.
This is going to work. It's just a short distance. They value this truck too much to let it just fall in.
Her mind pleaded with reason, but all she could envision was the weight falling out from underneath her, the truck tumbling down, her head hitting the ceiling. . . Her body tingled in the anticipation of weightlessness.

Hood shook his head. He sat down on the rail so he could look at her.

“Showtime.”

She put her foot on the gas pedal but couldn't make herself push down. The engine hummed quietly. She stared out the windshield at the broken expanse of nothing, where most of a bridge should be in front of her. Her heart was already beating out of control, just imagining the truck moving forward. Again and again she felt the terror as the truck rolled down through the chasm to the river below, so real as if it were actually happening.

“I can't do it.” She closed her eyes. Why would they make her do this? It was a living nightmare, and she knew how her nightmares ended. Whatever they needed her to do, she could do. Just not this.

She'd taken a liking to Hood, and understood Whiskey's paranoia. He even seemed to hate her a little less now. Not that it mattered. She had to prove herself to them; she didn't have any other choice.

Hood stood up, climbed into the bed of the truck, opened the passenger door and swung in to sit next to her.

“Here. Let me help.” He put his hand on her knee and jammed down on the gas pedal. An ear-piercing screech of stone wall against the paneling of the truck rang out as it lurched forward, noticeably listing to the front right side. She inhaled sharply, hands vice-gripped on the steering wheel.

Please, please just let me make it through this in one piece
, she pleaded with whatever god would listen. She hated Hood for forcing her to do this, but at least he was trying to help her. Having him in the cab with her was reassuring, knowing he was risking his life with hers. If only he would stay there.

“Wheel is in the air!” Whiskey shouted. “Maybe take it easier next time.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Kerry glared at Hood.

“See?” He raised his hands with a smile. “Fine and dandy. Just keep your eyes ahead, on solid ground. Focus on where you're going, not where you are.” He unceremoniously climbed over her out of the driver side window and back over to the wall of the bridge.

“How's the rope?” Whiskey shouted.

“A little frayed, but still fine.” Hood replied. He nodded to Kerry.

You've been through worse, Kerry told herself. Just get through this.

Steeling herself, she slowly pushed down on the gas pedal. The screech was slower but still horrible, and the truck continued out over the expanse. Her heart raged in her chest, and her teeth ached from her clenched jaw. She was sick of feeling this way. She could either sit there and be paralyzed by her fear, or kick it in the teeth and push ahead. If she was going to die, she'd rather die angry than terrified.

“You're good,” Hood said. “Keep it comin'.”

She leaned on the gas again, with similar results. When the truck came to a stop, the groan of the guardrail gave her goose-bumps and a shot of adrenaline. Fueled by sudden panic, she started climbing out the window.

“Relax. You're okay. Metal flexes. Trust me,” Hood said.

“That does not sound good,” she said, not yet returning fully into the truck.

“You've got about a foot until both wheels are off the edge,” Whiskey shouted.

“Hang in there. I won't let you fall,” was all Hood said, staring at her from behind his sunglasses.

She wanted to trust him. He had done a lot for her up to this point. He had seemed a genuine person, one of the few she had met. Yet years of experience told her not to trust anyone—especially not a guy who was making her do a high-wire circus trick with a thousand-pound truck and no safety net.
You're just a new piece of ass to him. That same quality that can make you mean so much to a man can also make you mean so little.

This was not going at all according to plan. Nothing ever did.

Slowly she re-entered the truck, exhaling through her mouth when confronted with the steering wheel and gas pedal again. She stepped on it quickly, before she could think too much about it.

The truck again screamed ahead, the engine rumbling loudly before the truck listed even more towards the chasm. She couldn't stop the panicked breaths or the tears welling in her eyes, but she blinked repeatedly and focused on the road ahead.
Think about where you're going, not where you are.

“Both right side wheels are off the ground,” Whiskey announced. He had his pistol in hand, and glanced around. “We should speed this up. We're making a lot of noise.”

“Hold on there, killer,” Hood said into the cab. “The rope is pretty frayed and up against the first strut. I have to put the next rope on. Hang tight.”

“Yeah, no problem,” she said sarcastically, thinking that any moment the whole damn thing would careen into the abyss. She wiped the sweat from her brow on the forearm of her jacket and pulled her hair behind her ears. All she wanted to do was jam the gas pedal down. The truck made a symphony of creaks, groans and rattles as it listed slightly towards the chasm. Her pulse raged quicker, her tongue felt thick and numb and her jaw locked in place. She could feel the sweat bead on her face, and she longed for the solid ground around her yet so far away.
If I feel it fall, I just have to lunge for the wall, grab onto the railing. . .

Hood ran the next rope through the truck and around the guardrail, past the support strut, tying it as tightly as he could. “You're doing great, Kerry. Hang in there.”

She did not feel reassured. She dared to look out the passenger side window. It had angled down slightly, showing the rocky river below. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to blot out the image.
Why would you look, you asshole?
She just wanted to lean on the gas pedal until the engine blew or the damn truck made it to the other side. Her body kept conjuring the weightless sensation, the out-of-body feeling of being thrown about inside a vehicle hurtling through the air.
Never again, never again. . .