Free HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) by Evan Pickering Page B

said nothing. He glanced over at her in suspicion of her sleep.
    A wry smile crept over Hood's face.“You look fat and your hair is gross,” he said to her.
    She didn’t move, continuing to sway gently with the movements of the truck.
    “See?” Hood said to Whiskey. “One hundred percent asleep.”
    “What was that?” Kerry murmured with her eyes still closed, turning halfway to rest the side of her head on the seat.
    “Nothing.”
    “Liar,” she said. She shifted to get more comfortable. “Shouldn't talk about someone while they're asleep.”
    The sky grew brighter and the cab stayed quiet. The line of inquiry clearly didn't pique Kerry's interest because she quickly slid back to sleep. The terrain outside was still wide open, dotted with scrub grass and a distant abandoned house and silo.
    “I don't trust her,” Whiskey said, eyes on her as if he wanted her to wake up and hear him say it. He turned his gaze back to the road, digging around behind the seat with his free hand, switching hands on the wheel to check both sides. He produced a carpenter's pencil, making a scribbling motion. Hood opened the glove compartment, digging for paper. He pulled out the first sheet he felt and passed it to Whiskey. He wrote on the center of the steering wheel, eyes darting back and forth from the paper to the road. Eventually he passed the paper to Hood.
    It read:
    If we find out she works for someone I will kill her

    The writing was soft and scrawled and he could see where the indents of the steering wheel were. He knew Whiskey was right in one sense; she could be a huge liability. But she also could be someone just trying to survive, like they were. Maybe both. Either way, Hood wasn't going to let Whiskey kill her.
    Hood crumpled up the paper and tossed it out the window. “That's not who we are.”
    Whiskey ran his free hand up the back of his head, and sighed.
    “We don't have the luxury of conscience anymore, kid.”
    “We're no different than the Kaiser if we start down this road,” Hood said. He gnawed his bottom lip as he stared out the passenger side window. A green SUV with shattered windows and a wheel-less, empty U-haul sat inert on the side of the road, long since abandoned by some unlucky souls.
    “We don't have a goddamned chance to save Taylor if we don't go down this road. After everything that's happened, I ain't gonna sit here and argue with you about how high of a goddamn pedestal we need to sit on--”
    “Whiskey... WHISKEY, THE ROAD!” Hood gripped the door-handle, shouting as they careened towards a downed telephone pole in the road. He stomped his feet against the floor reflexively, trying to hit a nonexistent brake pedal and brace himself.
    Whiskey jammed on the real brakes, swerving to the left lane. Kerry was thrown forward out of her seat and braced herself on the dashboard. The truck screeched to a halt. The telephone pole was ripped from its wires, and lay half in the road.
    Whiskey whipped his head around and pulled out his pistol, looking for any sign of wasters. Hood grabbed his rifle from its place at his feet. The seconds dragged on with Hood's thumping heart as they waited for signs of life. None came.
    Whiskey breathed out through his nose, wearing the pent-up adrenaline on his face.
    Kerry rested her forehead on the dash for a moment before sitting up.
    “God damn man, what the fuck?” Kerry shouted at Whiskey. Hood smelled the stench of burning rubber coming in through the vents. Whiskey kept his eyes on the road and said nothing, starting to creep the car forward into the other lane to get around the fallen pole. A time-weathered sedan peppered with bullet holes had lodged itself into the base of it, telephone wires snapped and sagging with the dark wooden mast as it hung low.
    “Jesus, what, did you fall asleep at the wheel? How did you not see that?” she continued, glaring at Whiskey.
    “Take it easy, it's just a damn telephone pole,” Whiskey grumbled.
    “The fucking