HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) (6 page)

Outside the front door of his house a man was dragging Taylor off of the property. She fought back, punching and kicking wildly, but the man grabbed both her arms, trying to subdue her. Hood heard Taylor screaming out Whiskey's name, then his own. The man's voice boomed in an imploring shout:

“Listen to me, I'm trying to save you!”

He recognized the voice. It didn't fully register in his mind as Hood strode forward, taking aim of the man. He lowered the .38, stunned, as the man’s face came into view.

It was Ian.

He looked older, much older than he should've looked in only a few years’ time. He stood tall with a calm determination, and his blonde hair was cut short now. But it was him.
You’re alive. What are you doing here?

A faint rustling came from behind him. A rough arm wrapped itself around Hood's neck and a hand mashed a wet cloth over his face. It smelled of chemicals. Hood leaned forward, trying to leverage the man off his back. But his vision blurred and he felt weak. As he hit the ground, he saw the old Sheriff's crooked smile looking down at him with the blue sky and tree branches above.

“This moment is even sweeter than I dreamed it'd be.” The Sheriff stood up, the sun framing his head.

Hood called out for Ian as the world faded away.

Chapter 4 – Desolation

A murky haze slowly lifted from Hood's mind as consciousness came back to him. He vaguely remembered dreaming, but what about, he couldn't say. Hunched in a chair, he tugged at his hands which were locked behind his back, the cuffs digging into his wrists.
Taylor and Ian. What happened?
His shoulders throbbed, and his hands buzzed with a stinging numbness from lack of circulation. He blinked slowly, still seeing only darkness. The smell of used motor oil and sawdust permeated the air. He tried to move his legs, but they were bound fast to the legs of the chair by rope.

“You're a damn fool,” Hood whispered to himself.

He tried to replay it all in his mind. It kept snapping back to the image of Ian holding Taylor by her forearms, trying to subdue her.

Are you working for the Kaiser? Why?
Hood thought about the dead man's journal.
Do you even have a choice?

He knew the town was going to get massacred. He was getting Taylor the hell out of there.
If Ian knew I was there, he'd have mowed the Sheriff down, even if they were working together.
Hood tried to shake his mind free of the confusion. He hung his head, his chin on his chest, before swiveling it around to stretch his sore neck. He had more important things to think about. He was alive. He didn't know why, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe they wanted him as a slave. There had to be a reason he was here. He had to find out what it was.

Lucky's dead. They're all dead. The town is gone.

The dark thoughts in his head ran free.

You failed them, you acted like everything was fine and no one was ever going to come try to kill you all. You just wanted to pretend the world wasn't fucked. Now you're going to die, too.
Hood bit his bottom lip, wanting to turn the pain in his head into something he can feel.
Maybe Ian does know I'm here. He might come and find me. He was trying to keep Taylor out of harms' way.

With a click, light filled the room, so bright Hood had to turn his face and jam his eyes shut.

“You're getting full of yourself,” came the hoarse voice of the old Sheriff. “Thinking you could get away with stealing from us.”

The idea that the Sheriff had Hood's life in his hands was a dark seed in his mind. He needed to buy some time, find out why he was here, why he was still alive.

“Yeah, you're probably right,” Hood answered at length. The yellow floodlight nailed to the wall still shone in his eyes, but they’d adjusted enough to be able to see that they were in a portable, arch-shaped metal warehouse.

“Of course I’m right.” the old man said, pacing in front of him. “Sneaking through my land, thinking you and your gang could just run back home unmolested. You and your self-righteousness. I swear, I can smell your naivete on the wind.”

Hood licked his lips and kept silent. The old man leaned in close. His breath smelled like old cigarettes. His bald, middle-aged face was worn and weary around blue eyes. It was disappointment, the look of a vulture flying over picked bones. He seemed to lament that his search for Hood was over.

“You know what it is that did you in?” The Sheriff asked with a weak smile. “It's pride. The same pride that God saw in us when he smote us down.”

Hood smirked, his head leaned forward to keep the light out of his eyes. “Granted, I've never read the good book cover to cover, but I'm pretty sure you don't qualify as the godly type.”

The Sheriff swung his pistol at Hood's face. The handle connected with his eyebrow, and his head snapped back from the blow. There was a throbbing numbness at first, followed shortly by searing pain.

The worn barrel of the Sheriff's pistol hovered in front of Hood's right eye. Inside the barrel was darkness. A tight frown quivered on the Sheriff's face. “You don't talk to me about godliness. You're just a mongrel, slinking around this hell on earth.”

Hood breathed in slowly, closing his eyes. Despite being provoked, the Sheriff still hadn't shot him.
Small victories. Gotta keep him talking.
Why was he being held here?

“What's that saying again? Morality ends where a gun begins?” Hood asked, looking up quizzically. “Shit, I can never remember who said what.”

The old man laughed aloud, with a self-satisfaction that left him looking around for someone to share it with.

“Don't conjure up the words of the dead like they mean something. You believe you are different. But you are too young to understand the truth.”

Hood squinted up at him, then away at the rusted table-saw across the room. It was covered in coagulated blood. He remained still, averting his gaze from the gruesome sight.

Is the old bastard going to torture me? What for? Is he just a sick fuck who loves to torture people?

Fear filled his stomach, but Hood shook it off.

Focus on what you can control.

The wind howled against the thin metal siding of the portable. Then it was silent again. The old Sheriff resumed pacing, taking time to stop and stare him down.

“This was so easy. After all this time, all this hunting you down. We just had to bait a trap and follow you home. I wish I could take the credit. The Kaiser is one crafty bastard. You don't get to be where he is without being one, I guess.”

The old man sat down in a nearby folding chair, elbows on his knees, chin in one hand. “You are pretty, for a boy. Maybe the Kaiser's a damn sodomite.” The Sheriff chuckled, amused. “Frankly, I don't know why he wants you.”

That makes two of us, old man. The Kaiser. What an idiotic thing to call yourself.

He’d certainly turned the title into something to fear, though.

“What happened to Taylor? I saw Ian taking her,” Hood said, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his brow as he searched the Sheriff's eyes for recognition of the names.

“Ian?” The Sheriff snorted derisively. “That's nothing for you to concern yourself with, clueless boy. Your ass is being taken up to the Church of the Epiphany in D.C. Hell if I know why. Maybe the Kaiser wants to sacrifice you to the devil. Maybe he's just gonna make an example out of you to show what happens to those who stand against him. That is, if I don't kill you first for being a smug little shit.” His cold gaze locked on Hood.

“Well, make up your mind soon, because I have to piss,” Hood said. “Haven't pissed my pants since I was three and I'm not about to start again now.”

The Sheriff laughed, and stood up quickly.

“You know it's better to die here than be given over to him. God knows what living hell he would put you through.” The Sheriff produced rolling paper and some tobacco, deftly rolling and licking it. “You've been a knife in his side for a long time.”

"Not that long," Hood said, and grinned. “Maybe we can go with an option C that involves not dying or being tortured?”

The old man sported a grim smile, taking pleasure in Hood's plight. “It's a bit too late for that, wouldn't you say? The Kaiser might have to be disappointed. I don't know if I want to take the risk of dragging your ass to him alive.” He paused to inspect his hand-rolled handiwork before lighting it with a burst of match-flame and a puff of smoke.

“I say it's better for you to die, get off this sinking ship and go to the devil or oblivion,” he said, letting out a smoky sigh before turning his gaze back to Hood, still hunched over in his chair. “I just want to enjoy this for a little bit more.”

Hood stared down at the dirty knees of his jeans. He looked up and saw movement in the dark near the entrance to the portable. It was a familiar silhouette. He moved his finger to his mouth.
Oh sweet Jesus, Allah, Buddah, Mary Poppins, whoever got him here, thank you. I'm not going to die here. Not today.
Hood avoided looking directly at him, trying not to draw attention.

“Talk to me,” said the Sheriff. “You know your fate. Consider me your holy man before the electric chair.”

Hood scoffed. “I'd like to request a new priest.” He paused. “And a last supper.” The shadowy figure slid inside the portable without a sound.

“What do you miss most of all in this ruined world?” The Sheriff asked, entranced with the depravity of watching someone at the doorstep of death.

Hood thought for a second, looking down at his dirty sneakers and their frayed laces.

“My family.” He gave a melancholy smile. “And I guess the internet would be a close second.”

The old man chuckled, standing up from his chair. “Yes. There's some honesty. Have you ever heard of the idea that we've all been here before, and we'll all be here again?”

Hood nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been to a philosophy class, once upon a time.”

“It's something to think about. I'd hate to think this whole miserable shit of an existence would have to happen over and over. But maybe it's comforting, too.” The old man rested his hand, still holding the cigarette, against his brow, the red ember fading.

He gestured at Hood with his cigarette. “It should be for you. There’s not so much to be worried about, then.” He took a drag, running his hand over his shaven head while he held the cigarette in his mouth. “What would you say to that idea, ye who struggled so hard against the destruction of mankind?” The old man said with a gratified smirk, pistol hanging in his other hand.

Hood lifted his drooping head. He wondered if he looked as tired as he felt.

“I'd say, 'See you again someday, Sheriff.'”

The shot echoed throughout the portable. The empty casing rattled to a stop on the floor, followed by the faint caws of distant birds.

The old Sheriff collapsed to the floor, limp and lifeless. Blood was splattered across the wall and now pooled at Hood's feet. Whiskey rose from a crouched position in the shadows, his broad frame moving slowly into the light.

“You're alive, you beautiful bastard. My God, I could kiss you.” Hood couldn't help grinning. “I've never been so glad to see your ugly face.”

Whiskey said nothing, his movements heavy, as if he carried some invisible weight around his shoulders. He took the keys from the Sheriff's pocket, unlocked Hood's cuffs and cut the ropes binding his legs. Hood stood up, stretching his aching shoulders before reaching as high as he could into the air. He felt euphoric just to be able to move again.

“They're all dead,” Whiskey uttered in a low tone. “We're the only ones left.”

Hood stood frozen in shock.

They trusted you. They believed in you. They died for you. What are you going to do with that?
He bowed his head, running his hand over his mouth.

“Taylor's still alive,” he said slowly. “I saw her. They took her captive.”

Whiskey's head whipped around. “She's alive? What, are they sellin' her to slavers?” He moved towards Hood, the jaw muscles on the side of his face flexing, his eyes demanding a response.

Hood rubbed his raw wrists. “It was Ian who took Taylor. He's working for the Kaiser. Though I'm sure he has no choice in the matter.” Just saying the words was a strange mix of relief and fear.
I should be glad I saw her with Ian. He won't let anything bad happen to her. But how did he get mixed up with the Kaiser militants?

Words seemed to fail the both of them for a moment.

“Well, that's some family you got there,” Whiskey grunted.

“He was trying to save her! I heard him say as much,” Hood shouted.

“You're defending him? You said it yourself. He works for the goddamned
Kaiser
.” He nearly spat the name, baring his teeth slightly with his eyebrows set hard over his blue eyes.

“It's because of Ian that she's still
alive
. You can bet your life on that!” Hood bit off the words, pointing at Whiskey. “And at least maybe. . .” Hood paused, unsure if he even wanted to say it. “At least maybe he can protect her from anyone doing. . . anything to her.”