A New Ride

Flynn could no longer ignore the rattling coming from the hood of his 1969 Mustang. He also couldn't ignore the fact that he had only put about a hundred miles between him and the Brothers. It would take them less than an hour to catch up if he pulled over for maintenance.

He'd found himself in a most unfavorable predicament, but not impossible.

His dark eyes flickered to the review mirror. A billowing cloud of red sand kicked up from under his wheels, powering along at over ninety miles an hour according to his speedometer, but it wasn't fast enough. His gaze lingered on the two black dots on the horizon, shrouded by clouds of dust from their own vehicles. There was no way he was going to let them drag him back to that hell hole called the Compound. Flynn turned his attention back to the road, shifting the clutch and pressing his foot down on the accelerator. The engine revved and the rattling from the spark plugs misfiring became louder.

He had been on the road nonstop for the past four days. The rattling had become increasingly worse with each mile he drove. Two days after his escape from the Compound, he thought luck was on his side. He hadn't seen sign of the Brothers—two red headed Neanderthals with a vengeance for him since their first meeting—for hours and so pulled over in the nearest town to tune up his car and find something to eat. Someone must have spotted his yellow Mustang, or the insignia on his neck, and notified the other Riders, because within a few short minutes he was surrounded and fighting for his life. He managed to escape for a second time, but not without major bodily damage to both his car and himself. He hadn't been able to stop since then; the Brothers had been on his tail, tracking his every move, just one step behind him. He was getting desperate now and he knew that as he approached a mechanic shop, that it would be his final saving grace. After that, he wasn't sure he'd be able to pull over again. He was out of luck and out of options. He had no other choice but to risk it.

It didn't look like much from the side of the road, but even so, Flynn pressed the gas further down and sped up. It was a short, two story wood building with roof tiles missing and grimy windows of warped glass. Attached to the side of it, almost like an afterthought, was a grey cement building with two open bay doors. Cars littered the surrounding area like a graveyard of metal, rust and rubber. Shabbily built engines, massive tractor tires, and half buried bumpers worked like a minefield between the discarded vehicles.

He hardly slowed down as he pulled off the cracked and worn road. His car swung over the uneven ground as he approached the shop. He pulled into the open bay, his tires screaming over the crumbling cement floor as he jerked to a stop next to a Datsun 280z propped up on a car lift. He killed the engine and climbed out, glancing through the smoke and sand he had just kicked up, at the distant figures that were following him.

"Can I help you?"

He turned at the sound of a soft, sweet voice. She appeared from under the car lift. She had long blonde hair down to her waist, and it was matted with curls and pulled away from her face in a thick braid. She was petite, but looked strong enough, and carried herself like she could hold her own. That was lucky for her. Even the slightest show of weakness and the Wasteland would have swallowed her whole. Eyebrows furrowed over her bright green eyes at the sight of Flynn's appearance.

The sand and sweat on his face had gathered and ran in muddy rivulets down his temples. His lip was still split from two days ago and there was dried blood in his mussed hair. His favorite leather jacket was torn and his boots were so caked with dirt it was hard to tell what color they truly were. His sawed off shotgun was still strapped to his left thigh and the girl eyed it wearily. He didn't have time to muse over his appearance though, and so ignored her questioning stare.

"I need to replace the spark plugs," he said quickly and went to the hood of his car. He lifted it, so the girl could look over his engine. "Platinum. Have any?"

"Yes," she said as her eyes roamed the V8. Flynn tapped his index finger against his thigh, impatiently waiting as she studying the engine. "But they don't come cheap," she added.

Flynn shook his head. Nothing came cheap anymore, except people.

"Money isn't an issue. How soon can you fix it?"

She shrugged. "I'll need to wait for the engine to cool and loosen the mounts. Probably forty five minutes."

She was fast, but not fast enough. Paranoid, Flynn glanced over the top of the hood at the sun scorched landscape beyond the repair shop The Brothers would be closing in within forty five minutes and it would be too late. Flynn needed to negotiate more time.

He turned to the girl again. She had drawn a step back, her body tense and her eyes guarded and glaring. "We don't service Riders," she snarled.

Flynn's hand flew to the back of his neck where the Riders insignia had been burned into his flesh when he was young. His fingers ran over the singed skin as he realized that he girl had seen his mark and his cover had been blown. Not that he had purposefully tried to hide it from her, but people tended to respond negatively towards Riders, so he had no intention of shouting it to the world.

Realizing his mistake, he reached out suddenly like a rattle snake going for a bite. He grabbed the girl by her upper arm and yanked her back towards his car before she could react.

"You do now," he growled and with his free hand, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small wad of crumpled bills. "Do this change in thirty minutes and I'll pay you triple the going rate."

Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of cash. It seemed to do the trick; that or he had scared her into accepting the job. Either way, she nodded slowly and Flynn released her arm, tucking away the money. If she could finish in time, he might be able to put some distance between himself and the Brothers. He watched as she went to the supply shelves, pulling down parts and tools and going to work. He glanced around the garage; filthy, barren and falling apart, just like every other thing in this world. His gazed rested on a heavy door, with a porthole window on it. Through the glass, he could make out a bar in the other half of the shop, and at the prospect of water he suddenly realized how desperately thirsty he was.

He glanced at the girl, who was dragging a fan over to the Mustang, focused on the task at hand. He went to the door and pushed it open.

The bar was near empty, save for a few burly men and a woman with frizzy black hair. Three men sat in the back corner at a dark table. One of them had a short goatee and another sneered at Flynn with yellow and missing teeth.

He ignored them and moved to a table by the large, cracked window at the front of the shop. Here, he would be able to keep his eyes on the young mechanic and the Brothers, should they appear.

The woman with frizzy hair approached.

"Can I get you anything handsome?" she asked in a gravelly voice, that maybe would have passed for sultry if she had been younger.

"Any bourbon?" Flynn replied and woman snorted.

"Do we look like a place that would carry bourbon?" she asked.

Flynn frowned. "Water will do fine," he growled and the woman slipped away.

He anxiously bounced his leg as he waited, eyes fixed on the horizon. Freedom was so close to him. He just had to lose the Brothers and he would be a free man, but that was proving more and more difficult. He knew escaping the Riders would be no easy task, but this game of cat and mouse was beginning to take its toll. He was hungry, in pain and exhausted, but he would readily battle a little fatigue before turning himself over to the Brothers. He had come this far, and he was never going back to the Compound again.

Movement out of the corner of his eye distracted Flynn from his thoughts.

He looked down to see a mangy looking Koolie eyeing him. His fur was on end and there was a chunk of flesh missing from his left ear. Flynn frowned and kicked his boot towards the dog to shoo him away. The dog growled, bearing his teeth, and Flynn growled back.

"Down Max," the frizzy haired woman said to the dog as she reappeared with a drink. The dog reluctantly laid down but did not take his guarded attention off Flynn. She set the water down in front of Flynn and said, "If you need anything else sweetheart give me a shout. The name's Gothel."

Flynn looked at the glass of clouded water and gulped it down as Gothel went behind the bar.

Flynn was not a patient man, and every minute that ticked by he realized was a minute wasted. The longer he sat at the table, the more agitated he became. His leg began bouncing under the table, his hand hovering over his left thigh, ready to pull the shot gun at any moment.

He had been driving west for days without proper rest, constantly staring at the road ahead of him, and the sudden stillness in the bar made him restless but exhausted. He tried to fight the drowsiness that closed in around him, but when he went to blink, he found it hard to open his eyes again to the bright, sun scorched earth. So he sat there for a moment, thinking.

It was almost instantaneous, the way the sounds and images of the Compound came back to him the moment he closed his eyes. He could hear the war drums, smell the hot gasoline. The dark, windowless tower of a building that had sucked every bit of life from him came together easily in his minds eye. The face of his mentor and protector, a man the other Riders called Snowman, flickered through his memories, Snowman's old face watching him with callous and pride. The salty smell of sweat and blood was familiar. The cries that came late at night from the bowels. The Brothers. Favorite. An orphanage.

The door to the garage swung open and Flynn jumped, his eyes snapping open and the memories vanishing. He wheeled around, hand on his holster, only for realize it was the mechanic. He let out a breath. The girl's gaze swept over the joint before she moved to Flynn's tabled and slid into the seat across from him. She took a moment to say anything, quite frankly looking a little frightened to be speaking to him. He regarded her coolly, completely used to the alarmed nature of the girl. He saw it often with people who had come across Riders before.

"We've a bit of a problem," she finally said slowly and Flynn struggled to keep his face stoic. A problem was the last thing he needed. "I'm short two spark plugs. We don't get shipments out here for another month but you might be able to make it to..."

Flynn's fingers curled into fists. "That won't be necessary," he interrupted. "Forget the last two plugs and finish. I need to be on my way."

"But—"

Maximus the dog rose to his feet, ears perked and nose pointed. Flynn looked at the animal, feeling his blood run cold as the rumble of engines filled his ears. He knew those engines. He glanced at the two motorcycles that rolled up to the garage. Two men dismounted from either one. Their red hair had been haphazardly shaved from their heads and their faces were scarred and freckled. They wore leather and armor made from various pieces of tough material; shoulder pads made of Kevlar, strapped into place across their chests, boots reinforced with a steel toe, fingerless gloves and modified welding goggles around their necks. They carried crossbows slung over their backs and revolvers attached to their belts. The metal cinches and buckles of their clothing clinked with each step they took towards the garage, beady eyes on Flynn's car.

Flynn kicked his seat back and ducked under the window to avoid sight. He pressed his back against the wall of the joint, cursing himself for being so distracted and careless. He knew better than to underestimate the Brothers. This wasn't usually like him.

The girl remained in her seat and watched the men circle Flynn's yellow Mustang. She looked at the stranger, now crouched on the floor, her face slightly pinched with worry.

"I never should have agreed to work on your car," she breathed. "You've brought trouble. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Trouble always follows a Rider."

Flynn ignored her, rising just enough to peer over the window sill and look at the Brothers. He ducked again.

"You seem to be in quite a predicament," the girl commented and Flynn wished that she would shut up and leave him alone while he planned an escape. She leaned over the table to get a better look at him on the floor. "What did you do? Steal from them? Do you owe them something? A vehicle? Money?" She fell quiet for a few seconds then said, "I can help you."

Flynn's eyes snapped up to the girls face and she looked like she instantly regretted saying what she had.

"How?" Flynn asked and she bit her bottom lip, looking worried. "How?" he asked again, voice growing harsh.

"You're in trouble and need a way out," she said, voice dropping to a whisper, "I can get you away from here without being spotted but on one condition—I go with you."

Flynn's response was quick and firm. "No."

"You won't be able to get five miles without them catching you. There's hundreds of miles of dessert between here and civilization and hardly anywhere to hide. Unless you count the Canyonlands, which you won't last ten seconds in. I know the area, I can help. I need to get out of here as badly as you do but I need a driver. We can help each other."

"No," Flynn repeated. "I don't do partnerships."

The girl seemed like she wanted to argue her case further, but thought better of it and quieted down, sitting back in her seat dejectedly. Flynn watched as Gothel moved towards the door that led to the garage and pushed it open. Flynn cursed to himself and, keeping low, he went to the door after her. He peered through the porthole window, watching as the woman exchanged a few words with the Brothers.

He lowered himself under the window again. He needed to think. If he could just get to his Mustang then perhaps he could out maneuver the Brothers. The girl had a point though, he wouldn't be able to get very far. If he went off road and went through the Canyonlands to the south of the shop, he could lose them through spires and red rock walls. That place was taboo to drivers though and Flynn knew he'd be signing his own death warrant. It was absolutely riddled with dangers, and if the vagabonds that guarded the place didn't take your life, then the labyrinth of the canyon would. It would be suicide. Even the Riders, the most feared gang that prowled the Wasteland, knew to stay away from the Canyonlands.

Flynn rubbed his hands across his face, scratching his goatee. He didn't have any other options and he was running out of time. The Brothers would come through that door any minute looking for him. He went back to the table and slid into his seat. The girl looked up at him.

"You've got yourself a deal," he said and the girl lit up.

"Really?" she breathed.

"Get me out of here alive and I'll take you where you need to go," Flynn replied. "But we need to go now."

She nodded quickly and jumped to her feet. She crossed the bar and Flynn followed close behind. Nails clicking against the wood floor told Flynn that Maximus the dog wasn't far behind. The girl paused at the back table of men that had been silently watching everything unfold in front of them. Flynn had almost forgotten they were there.

"Tor? Vladimir? Greno?" She directed to the men, "Can you buy us some time?"

The man with the goatee raised his hand in mock salute. She smiled and led Flynn behind the bar and through a back door. It opened into a small, dark storage room, with shelves of supplies on all three walls. Cans of food, a mop and bucket, extra lightbulbs and stacks of cheap alcohol. She and the dog followed in after him, closing the door.

"This is a dead end!" he hissed. It was damp and dark in the room, the only light coming from the slit between the bottom of the door and the floor.

"Trust me," the girl replied.

He could hear voices in the bar.

"Where is he?"

There was a crash.

"You two need to leave now!"

The scraping of chair legs against the wood floor.

"I believe this is the man you're looking for."

Flynn turned to the girl who took a flashlight off one of the shelves and pulled back a fraying rug to reveal a trap door. She linked her fingers through a knot hole in the floor and tugged. The door swung open to reveal an iron ladder. She indicated for Flynn enter and he did, taking the rungs two at a time. When he hit the bottom, she tossed down the dog. He caught the Koolie with a huff then lowered him to the ground. The dog growled at him then ran off down the dark tunnel. She followed and closed the door after them.

"Are we supposed to hide down here until they're gone?" Flynn asked skeptically.

"Not exactly," she said and clicked on the flashlight, illuminating the tunnel and casting a soft glow onto their faces. She followed the dog down the tunnel and Flynn followed her.

The tunnel was a straight shot, no twists or turns. There were barrels full of Flynn could only guess what stacked on top of each other against the dirt wall. They looked like petroleum tanks, but that was impossible. They walked in silence. The girl kept glancing at the barrels, her lips moving silently as she counted. When she finally reached the one she was looking for, she handed Flynn the flashlight. He shone the light on her as she popped the top of the tank and reached in. She pulled out a black duffle bag and slung is across her shoulder. She grabbed a brown knapsack and tossed it to Flynn.

"How long have you been planning to leave?" Flynn asked as he held up the bag. She had been prepared.

"Long time," she replied, "I just never really had the chance…or the courage."

They continued walking until the tunnel ended suddenly. The beam of light from the flashlight fell on another iron ladder. Flynn followed it up until he saw the underside of a manhole cover. The mechanic climbed the ladder and placed both hands on the cast iron cover. She grunted and lifted it away. A waterfall of sand poured into the tunnel, indicating to Flynn that the cover hadn't been moved in ages. The two of them covered their noses with their arms to keep the cloud of dust at bay. Heavy sunlight streamed through the opening and the girl climbed out. Flynn clicked off the flashlight and stowed it in the knapsack. He grabbed the dog and awkwardly climbed the ladder to the top, the Koolie under one arm and his free hand grasping the ladder rungs. He hoisted himself out of the man hole and dropped the dog, who bounded over to his owner. Flynn brushed himself off then shoved the manhole cover back in its place, covering it with sand to hide it.

"So are we going to walk?" Flynn asked. He turned to the north where he could just make out the leaning mechanic shop. It was skewed with a mirage that the tense heat had created. He couldn't make out any details, and so wasn't sure if the Brothers were still inside or if they had figured out by now he had escaped. The tunnel had lead them farther than he thought.

"I thought we could take this."

Flynn turned back in time to see the girl approach, what he assumed to be, a massive tanker beneath a pair of white tarps. She reached up and yanked the first sheet off, then the other. They fluttered to the ground, revealing the vehicle beneath. The tarps didn't do much too actually hide the tanker, but camouflaged it well enough that Flynn had completely missed it when he pulled up to the garage.

Now that he was witnessing the machine up close, he couldn't believe that he had missed something so wicked looking. He stared in awe. The original paint had been black, but years in the desert sand and heat had caused it to take on a rusted grey color. Mud caked each of the eighteen, thirty inch tires, each outfitted with spiked hubcaps. The front carriage had dual exhaust stacks on either side of the cabin and a pair of superchargers protruded from the hood. The front grill was reinforced with metal plating and Flynn noted the large animal skull attached to it. Nice touch. On the rear of the tanker, welded to the top, was a chopped Volkswagen type 1 that served as a lookout turret; it offered the lookout protection from the sun and wind while allowing them a better view of anything behind the tanker.

Flynn had seen plenty of modified cars in his day. Everything from armored Cadillac Eldorados to lightweight single deck school buses with cannon blasters. This rig, however, took the cake. He watched as the girl opened the drivers side door and slid in, Maximus jumping in after her. The two looked like they had been swallowed up by a giant metal monster.

"Are you coming or are you just going to sit there and wait for them to catch you?" The girl called from the passenger seat.

Flynn scowled, already regretting letting the girl tag along.

He jogged to the tanker, hoisting himself up into the drivers seat. As his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, he could hear the whine of the Brothers motorcycles. They knew they had been outsmarted and it wouldn't take them long to locate the tanker. It was so large it wouldn't be able to outrace the motorcycles like his Mustang would have, but he didn't have to run with a rig like this. The tanker would crush the Brothers' motorcycles like a beetle under a boot. If anything could get the Brothers off Flynn's trail for good, it was this.

He turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life, making him grin. This was his chance, the solution to all his problems. This tanker would get him his freedom.

"Can you drive this?" the girl asked.

He looked at her as he shifted the tanker into gear and flipped a few switches on the dashboard. "I can drive anything," he replied as the vehicle rocked forward into drive. His foot hovered over the gas pedal and he said, "Hold tight, Blondie."