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

there. And Whiskey wasn't blind to that.
    “Well, shit,” Kerry said flatly at the sight of the broken bridge. She and Whiskey did not mask their frustration at the idea of another detour. Hood wasn't even sure where they would go from here.
    Whiskey sighed. “Might as well get something to eat,” he said, turning to walk to the back of the truck. He stopped mid-stride, pulling a key out of his pocket and grabbing Kerry's cuffed wrists. She scanned his face, a look of relief and surprise. He didn't look at her, deftly peeling off the handcuffs and tucking them into a pocket of his flak jacket.
    She rubbed her wrists, looking at Hood for confirmation that that had actually just happened. He shrugged, smiling.
    “Why did you do that?” She called after Whiskey.
    “You want 'em back on?” He replied.
    “Hell no. God, it feels so good just being able to spread your arms!” She stretched her hands wide and reached up for the sky, standing on her toes. Hood watched her move, enjoying her stretch almost as much as she was.
    “Whatever you're doin' here, you're not trying to kill us.” Whiskey rummaged through the back of the truck. “So you might as well help us.”
    Kerry was beaming. “Can you believe this guy?”
    “Win the crowd. Win your freedom.” Hood said dramatically. That's gonna go over her head. But he wanted to try it anyway. He and Ian used to watch that movie religiously. Quoting it was like a second form of communication.
    Kerry blinked. “What?”
    “Nevermind. From Gladiator. It is to guys what The Notebook is to girls.”
    “I never saw either of them . I guess I won't ever.”
    “S'aright. Come on, lets get some food.”
    The sun shone down on the broken bridge, while the wind blew fast and cold across the river.
    “How do you figure that happened?” Kerry said to Whiskey. She pulled her hair back and tied it up to keep it from the wind.
    “I don't know,” Whiskey said, both arms digging into a crate in the bed of the truck.
    “What do you think we should do?”
    “I don't know.”
    Hood walked up alongside her. She sported a devious grin, her attention still on Whiskey rummaging through the bed of the truck. “You hotshots gonna point your big guns at the bridge and demand it put itself back together or else?”
    “Oh my God , shut up! We will figure something out!” Whiskey yelled, standing up straight.
    “Relax, cowboy. I'm just making light of the situation,” she said, tapping her fingers on the side of the truck, a series of dull metallic thuds. Whiskey reached into a box from the back of the truck and tossed her a granola bar in shiny packaging.
    “Here, eat.”
    “Aw, is someone finally warming up to me?”
    “No, it just guarantees at least a few seconds of silence,” Whiskey said, tossing another one to Hood who snatched it out of the air. Hood laughed, and Whiskey couldn't hide a slight smirk.
    Hood devoured the entire bar in short order, chewing a mouthful of sweet granola as he opened the passenger door and pulled a map out of the glove compartment. Hood dropped into the passenger seat, inspecting it. The cool river air swirling through the truck wanted him to relax, but the broken bridge out the windshield was another reminder of brutal reality that just getting the chance to save Ian and Taylor was a longshot. Whiskey walked up to the open door, leaning on the roof with his forearm.
    “The big crossing at 95 has been under Kaiser control for a long time. We know that,” Hood said. He ran his knuckle across his mouth in contemplation. “We have to go further west.”
    “It's way out of the way, and we don't know if those roads are even passable.” Whiskey frowned, gesturing to the country roads stretching far inland to the west.
    They both stared at the map in silence. The wind blew through the cab. The door of the truck started to close on Whiskey but Hood kept it open with his foot.
    “Well,” Hood paused. “We don't have a lot of options.”
    Whiskey