HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) by Evan Pickering Page B
Authors: Evan Pickering
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crossbow bolts. The crow lifted his head as Hood got close and flew away in a flutter. The nerves of dancing so close to death came out in a shiver as Hood breathed deep.
The sunset sat on the horizon over the distant tree line the same way it had that day. He and Taylor had waited in D.C. for days after it was clear civilization was falling part. They held on to hope that Mom, Dad or Ian would come home. But once the D.C. survivors started to turn on each other, they’d fled into the country.
He could still remember the orange glow of the sunset lighting the plastic red gas can on the oil-stained concrete, as he sat deflated against an empty pump station, lost, directionless, with no idea what to tell Taylor when he got back to the car. Next thing he saw was Whiskey standing there, lowering his rifle. For some reason Whiskey had decided he was not a threat. Hood never asked him exactly why. He could've shot him, or just walked away without ever saying a word to Hood. Now Whiskey was the closest thing to family Hood had left. It was an uneasy alliance between them at first—Hood was skeptical of Whiskey's intentions when he first took them in, and Whiskey never said much about it in his usual manner. But slowly Hood and Taylor had grown to love their new life in Clearwater. Hood had gained a sense of purpose like he had never had before. Through the camaraderie of fighting for Clearwater, Hood and Whiskey had developed a bond. But they were in unfamiliar territory now. Clearwater was gone.
Hunger rumbled in Hood's belly. He exhaled deeply as he looked out over the fallow field. Hood leaned his forearm on his rifle, the strap digging into his shoulder.
Hold on, sis. We're coming for you.
Chapter 5 – Strangers
The truck bounced on the cracked old road. The crates of food and supplies and tanks of gas all clattered loudly as the truck shook. They had more than enough supplies than the two of them would need. It was almost a hindrance, having so much valuable cargo. But they weren't about to leave it behind. So in the back it all sat, making too much noise and reminding Hood of everything they had just lost. His eyes still itched. The images from the destroyed town still hung fresh in his mind. It was surreal to go back and see everything they had built so quiet, so devoid of life. Instead of kids running in the streets and townspeople working in their fields, Clearwater was the smell of ash in the wind, burned down houses and bodies, so many bodies. Bodies that days ago were people who sweat and made jokes and held each other. It seemed that some of the townspeople got away, but it was hard to be sure. They didn't have time to mourn, to bury, even to search the whole town over. They had to save Taylor, and time was not their ally. They had no idea how long the Kaiser would stay in the ruins of D.C..
Whiskey's shotgun sat in between him and Hood in the cab of the truck. Hood left his AK between his knees, barrel pointed up, safety on.
“It's hard to believe it's all gone.” Hood's arm hung out the window, the barely visible scrub on the side of the road passing by in the dark. “We didn't even get to bury them.”
“We're not talkin' about it,” Whiskey kept his eyes forward, urging the truck along faster than his normal cautious pace.
“You just want to forget that it all happened?”
“That's not what I said.”
Hood clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palm before resting his thumb on the barrel of his rifle. He wanted to put it all out of his mind, stay focused on what they had to do. But the drive was long and there was little else to think about. Even the house the three of them called home, burned to the ground.
“The Kaiser has his whole damn empire. How are we going to do this?” Hood asked, leaning back into his headrest and staring at the plastic gray interior ceiling.
Whiskey rubbed his beard. “Very, very carefully.”
Hood
The sunset sat on the horizon over the distant tree line the same way it had that day. He and Taylor had waited in D.C. for days after it was clear civilization was falling part. They held on to hope that Mom, Dad or Ian would come home. But once the D.C. survivors started to turn on each other, they’d fled into the country.
He could still remember the orange glow of the sunset lighting the plastic red gas can on the oil-stained concrete, as he sat deflated against an empty pump station, lost, directionless, with no idea what to tell Taylor when he got back to the car. Next thing he saw was Whiskey standing there, lowering his rifle. For some reason Whiskey had decided he was not a threat. Hood never asked him exactly why. He could've shot him, or just walked away without ever saying a word to Hood. Now Whiskey was the closest thing to family Hood had left. It was an uneasy alliance between them at first—Hood was skeptical of Whiskey's intentions when he first took them in, and Whiskey never said much about it in his usual manner. But slowly Hood and Taylor had grown to love their new life in Clearwater. Hood had gained a sense of purpose like he had never had before. Through the camaraderie of fighting for Clearwater, Hood and Whiskey had developed a bond. But they were in unfamiliar territory now. Clearwater was gone.
Hunger rumbled in Hood's belly. He exhaled deeply as he looked out over the fallow field. Hood leaned his forearm on his rifle, the strap digging into his shoulder.
Hold on, sis. We're coming for you.
Chapter 5 – Strangers
The truck bounced on the cracked old road. The crates of food and supplies and tanks of gas all clattered loudly as the truck shook. They had more than enough supplies than the two of them would need. It was almost a hindrance, having so much valuable cargo. But they weren't about to leave it behind. So in the back it all sat, making too much noise and reminding Hood of everything they had just lost. His eyes still itched. The images from the destroyed town still hung fresh in his mind. It was surreal to go back and see everything they had built so quiet, so devoid of life. Instead of kids running in the streets and townspeople working in their fields, Clearwater was the smell of ash in the wind, burned down houses and bodies, so many bodies. Bodies that days ago were people who sweat and made jokes and held each other. It seemed that some of the townspeople got away, but it was hard to be sure. They didn't have time to mourn, to bury, even to search the whole town over. They had to save Taylor, and time was not their ally. They had no idea how long the Kaiser would stay in the ruins of D.C..
Whiskey's shotgun sat in between him and Hood in the cab of the truck. Hood left his AK between his knees, barrel pointed up, safety on.
“It's hard to believe it's all gone.” Hood's arm hung out the window, the barely visible scrub on the side of the road passing by in the dark. “We didn't even get to bury them.”
“We're not talkin' about it,” Whiskey kept his eyes forward, urging the truck along faster than his normal cautious pace.
“You just want to forget that it all happened?”
“That's not what I said.”
Hood clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palm before resting his thumb on the barrel of his rifle. He wanted to put it all out of his mind, stay focused on what they had to do. But the drive was long and there was little else to think about. Even the house the three of them called home, burned to the ground.
“The Kaiser has his whole damn empire. How are we going to do this?” Hood asked, leaning back into his headrest and staring at the plastic gray interior ceiling.
Whiskey rubbed his beard. “Very, very carefully.”
Hood
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