HOOD: A Post Apocalyptic Novel (American Rebirth Series Book 1) by Evan Pickering Page A
Authors: Evan Pickering
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not where you are.” He unceremoniously climbed over her out of the driver side window and back over to the wall of the bridge.
“How's the rope?” Whiskey shouted.
“A little frayed, but still fine.” Hood replied. He nodded to Kerry.
You've been through worse, Kerry told herself. Just get through this.
Steeling herself, she slowly pushed down on the gas pedal. The screech was slower but still horrible, and the truck continued out over the expanse. Her heart raged in her chest, and her teeth ached from her clenched jaw. She was sick of feeling this way. She could either sit there and be paralyzed by her fear, or kick it in the teeth and push ahead. If she was going to die, she'd rather die angry than terrified.
“You're good,” Hood said. “Keep it comin'.”
She leaned on the gas again, with similar results. When the truck came to a stop, the groan of the guardrail gave her goose-bumps and a shot of adrenaline. Fueled by sudden panic, she started climbing out the window.
“Relax. You're okay. Metal flexes. Trust me,” Hood said.
“That does not sound good,” she said, not yet returning fully into the truck.
“You've got about a foot until both wheels are off the edge,” Whiskey shouted.
“Hang in there. I won't let you fall,” was all Hood said, staring at her from behind his sunglasses.
She wanted to trust him. He had done a lot for her up to this point. He had seemed a genuine person, one of the few she had met. Yet years of experience told her not to trust anyone—especially not a guy who was making her do a high-wire circus trick with a thousand-pound truck and no safety net. You're just a new piece of ass to him. That same quality that can make you mean so much to a man can also make you mean so little.
This was not going at all according to plan. Nothing ever did.
Slowly she re-entered the truck, exhaling through her mouth when confronted with the steering wheel and gas pedal again. She stepped on it quickly, before she could think too much about it.
The truck again screamed ahead, the engine rumbling loudly before the truck listed even more towards the chasm. She couldn't stop the panicked breaths or the tears welling in her eyes, but she blinked repeatedly and focused on the road ahead. Think about where you're going, not where you are.
“Both right side wheels are off the ground,” Whiskey announced. He had his pistol in hand, and glanced around. “We should speed this up. We're making a lot of noise.”
“Hold on there, killer,” Hood said into the cab. “The rope is pretty frayed and up against the first strut. I have to put the next rope on. Hang tight.”
“Yeah, no problem,” she said sarcastically, thinking that any moment the whole damn thing would careen into the abyss. She wiped the sweat from her brow on the forearm of her jacket and pulled her hair behind her ears. All she wanted to do was jam the gas pedal down. The truck made a symphony of creaks, groans and rattles as it listed slightly towards the chasm. Her pulse raged quicker, her tongue felt thick and numb and her jaw locked in place. She could feel the sweat bead on her face, and she longed for the solid ground around her yet so far away. If I feel it fall, I just have to lunge for the wall, grab onto the railing. . .
Hood ran the next rope through the truck and around the guardrail, past the support strut, tying it as tightly as he could. “You're doing great, Kerry. Hang in there.”
She did not feel reassured. She dared to look out the passenger side window. It had angled down slightly, showing the rocky river below. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to blot out the image. Why would you look, you asshole? She just wanted to lean on the gas pedal until the engine blew or the damn truck made it to the other side. Her body kept conjuring the weightless sensation, the out-of-body feeling of being thrown about inside a vehicle hurtling through the air. Never again, never again. . .
“Get down.” Hood
“How's the rope?” Whiskey shouted.
“A little frayed, but still fine.” Hood replied. He nodded to Kerry.
You've been through worse, Kerry told herself. Just get through this.
Steeling herself, she slowly pushed down on the gas pedal. The screech was slower but still horrible, and the truck continued out over the expanse. Her heart raged in her chest, and her teeth ached from her clenched jaw. She was sick of feeling this way. She could either sit there and be paralyzed by her fear, or kick it in the teeth and push ahead. If she was going to die, she'd rather die angry than terrified.
“You're good,” Hood said. “Keep it comin'.”
She leaned on the gas again, with similar results. When the truck came to a stop, the groan of the guardrail gave her goose-bumps and a shot of adrenaline. Fueled by sudden panic, she started climbing out the window.
“Relax. You're okay. Metal flexes. Trust me,” Hood said.
“That does not sound good,” she said, not yet returning fully into the truck.
“You've got about a foot until both wheels are off the edge,” Whiskey shouted.
“Hang in there. I won't let you fall,” was all Hood said, staring at her from behind his sunglasses.
She wanted to trust him. He had done a lot for her up to this point. He had seemed a genuine person, one of the few she had met. Yet years of experience told her not to trust anyone—especially not a guy who was making her do a high-wire circus trick with a thousand-pound truck and no safety net. You're just a new piece of ass to him. That same quality that can make you mean so much to a man can also make you mean so little.
This was not going at all according to plan. Nothing ever did.
Slowly she re-entered the truck, exhaling through her mouth when confronted with the steering wheel and gas pedal again. She stepped on it quickly, before she could think too much about it.
The truck again screamed ahead, the engine rumbling loudly before the truck listed even more towards the chasm. She couldn't stop the panicked breaths or the tears welling in her eyes, but she blinked repeatedly and focused on the road ahead. Think about where you're going, not where you are.
“Both right side wheels are off the ground,” Whiskey announced. He had his pistol in hand, and glanced around. “We should speed this up. We're making a lot of noise.”
“Hold on there, killer,” Hood said into the cab. “The rope is pretty frayed and up against the first strut. I have to put the next rope on. Hang tight.”
“Yeah, no problem,” she said sarcastically, thinking that any moment the whole damn thing would careen into the abyss. She wiped the sweat from her brow on the forearm of her jacket and pulled her hair behind her ears. All she wanted to do was jam the gas pedal down. The truck made a symphony of creaks, groans and rattles as it listed slightly towards the chasm. Her pulse raged quicker, her tongue felt thick and numb and her jaw locked in place. She could feel the sweat bead on her face, and she longed for the solid ground around her yet so far away. If I feel it fall, I just have to lunge for the wall, grab onto the railing. . .
Hood ran the next rope through the truck and around the guardrail, past the support strut, tying it as tightly as he could. “You're doing great, Kerry. Hang in there.”
She did not feel reassured. She dared to look out the passenger side window. It had angled down slightly, showing the rocky river below. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to blot out the image. Why would you look, you asshole? She just wanted to lean on the gas pedal until the engine blew or the damn truck made it to the other side. Her body kept conjuring the weightless sensation, the out-of-body feeling of being thrown about inside a vehicle hurtling through the air. Never again, never again. . .
“Get down.” Hood
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