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

thing nearly speared us.” she said, dropping her hands onto her denim-clad thighs before replacing one on her forehead and exhaling deeply. “Just focus on the road. Whatever happens, I am not going to die in a crash.”
    Silence returned in the cab of the truck save for the rumble of the engine. Kerry seemed legitimately shook up by the near miss. Hood thought her reaction was a good sign. It felt like a genuine display of emotion. You want to believe she's like you. That's she's just a regular person trying to survive. Because she's beautiful and you want her. Hood lowered the butt of his rifle back down to the floor. There was nothing here. This road, this land has been long abandoned, just empty space the Kaiser could claim as his on a map. Don't get caught up in all this. Whatever she is, you can't focus on it now. Everything we do is for saving Taylor. Whiskey is right, if she gets in the way of that. . .
    “So you two on your own, or. . .?” Kerry broke the silence in the cab.
    “Yeah,” Hood replied.
    She turned and looked out the back window, rapping on it softly with her knuckles. “That's a lot of supplies for just two people. You sure it's just you two?”
    “Yes.” Hood repeated.
    Her skeptical gaze lingered on him for a moment.
    “So you're just--”
    “Stop asking questions.” Whiskey snapped. “Better yet, stop talking altogether.”
    “You can't fool me. Act like a tough guy all you want, I know you're good people,” She said, her voice relaxed, a smooth timbre to it.
    Whiskey snorted in response.
    “The fact that I'm sitting here unscathed is proof of that.”
    The cabin got quiet. She has us there. But why was she so cavalier about it all? Maybe it was a defense mechanism, acting like it was all no big deal.
    “And you. . .” she said, scrutinizing Hood.
    He purposefully didn't look her way. To hell with her analysis. “I don't think I’ve met a guy as nice as you in a long, long time.”
    He turned to scan her gaze for intent.
    She shrugged slightly, in a 'what-can-I-say?' gesture. It was such a strange observation, and he wasn’t sure it was a compliment the way things were now. How could she assume that? He hadn't heard anyone say that about him since he was young.
    “In fact, It puzzles me how you are not dead,” she concluded.
    Whiskey was staring a hole right through him over her shoulder.
    “Some people are just lucky,” Hood said, keeping a blank expression on his face.
    “So you say,” she said. “I don't think it's luck.”
    She sat back in her seat, hands on her legs again. She looked back at the bed full of supplies. “Considering you guys have a bit of surplus for two people, do you think I could have some food? I haven't eaten much these past few days.”
    “Don't be looking to make yourself comfortable,” Whiskey said.
    “Is he always like this?” She said to Hood.
    Hood blinked, unsure of how to handle her excessive familiarity.
    "Why do they call you Whiskey anyway? Guys love making up bad nicknames and never explaining them."
    Whiskey didn't dignify her with a response. This was possibly the most annoyed Hood had ever seen him. Whiskey might just shoot her for the peace and quiet. Why was she talking so much? They certainly weren't asking her anything. Maybe that was the ploy. Deflect the attention away from herself.
    “Why are you here?” The words came out more forcefully than Hood intended.
    “What?” She said, raising her eyebrow. “What do you mean? I asked if I could get a lift with you guys.”
    “Yeah, Why? What do you want? Where are you coming from?” Hood said, calmer this time.
    She shook her head. “I'm not coming from anything good.”
    “You have to tell us.”
    She bit her bottom lip, picking at a small tear in the knee of her jeans with her pointer finger. Her nails were surprisingly well kept, but dirty.
    “My family—my dad, my two brothers and I, joined up with these survivors. We had left home to find food and they offered us