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

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