Intake
Author's Note: I don't own anything connected to the Mad Max franchise. I'm not even sure I own the OCs, as all of them except one appeared technically (and unnamed) in Mad Max: Fury Road. So, praise George Miller and have fun reading.
The cave was dark and shady and cool. A relieving contrast to the burning sun and the arid air outside. I carefully removed my helmet and stepped inside, keeping the goggles on for a moment longer, so the garish sunshine wouldn't mess up my ability to see in relative darkness.
Rickety shelves leaned heavily against the uneven stonewalls, filled with tools and spare parts, medicines and provisions, bandages and surgical instruments, well thumbed books about field medicine and of course the occasional weapon. A number of beds were arranged on the floor, made of car parts and inadequately softened with leather straps and goat hides. Doc Saveme was keeping watch over his only two patients: Slider, whose legs were both broken, and Flak, who had a nasty concussion and a couple of severe bruises.
"What a nice surprise, Chief!", Slider sputtered, the instant I stepped into her vision. "What're ye doing here? Just coincidently dropping in?"
I gritted my teeth. "Nah, I just wanted to hear your lovely voice. And refill my skins."
"Feel free to do so!", Saveme said, hobbling over. His right leg was stiff and he had never ridden, but he knew how to sell himself and his skills.
"How are they?", I asked silently.
"Well, Flak will be marching out of here in no time", the Doc replied, equally quiet. "Slider however... we'll have to see if she pulls through. In any case, I doubt she'll ever ride again. I mean, shit, her legs are crushed. When your man said she went under the wheels, did he perchance confuse wheels with tank treads?"
"Close enough. One of Joey's War Rigs." I had reached the far end of the cave, eagerly drinking a few mouthful of salty, sulfurous water from the little kolk, before refilling the two water skins I wore on my hip.
The Doc passed me a strange look. "Would you care to tell me in detail about all the interesting things happening outside of this cave? Cause they seem to come in barrels nowadays."
For a moment I hesitated. I was needed elsewhere. The Riders expected me to lead. To post the guards, to check with the Herders, to supervise the distribution of food, water and most importantly guzzoline. I hadn't exactly asked for this position, I had merely been the second-in-command when Goat had been shot atop the War Rig and I had taken it from there. Even if I was only to last as Chief for a short time, I didn't want to leave a mess to the more capable man or woman with whom the tribe would eventually want to replace me. There was no time to rest and tell a crippled doctor how the madness was going.
Technically.
But firstly I really didn't want to piss off the Doc and secondly I didn't mind another moment in the nice, chilly shadow of the cave.
"Right... Goat had a deal with one of Joey's Imperators. Three thousand gallons of guzzoline for free passage and a nice little roadblock for everyone who would be on her heels. Except, when she turned up, she had Joey's full force chasing her."
"Ouch." Saveme made a face and it was understandable. Immortan Joe commanded the single biggest force west of the mountains. He had everything: Guns, gas, water, fresh food and a huge gang of hell-bent half-lives fighting for his cause. It was foolish to get this man mad at you.
"Well, a deal is a deal, we were ready to stop them anyhow... I mean, three thousand gallons of gas." For some odd reason I felt my mouth water at the thought of it. "But the Imperator chickened out. Didn't trust us to hold up our end of the bargain, not to mention she was anything but alone."
"Screw honor in the Wasteland", the Doc nodded.
"So, Crick blocked the pass and everyone else went after the War Rig. Slider tried to get under the tanker, there was some kind of trapdoor there, but she got unlucky. We chased them through the foothills, landed a couple of hits with shells, but they shot back at us. This Imperator... a fucking sharpshooter. Don't think she wasted a single bullet." I paused, remembering everyone who had fallen under the precise shots of the Imperator and the relentless gunfire of her driver. Springs... Horner... Gin shot right out of the sky... and of course Goat, proudly landing his machine on the back of the huge mechanical monster that was the War Rig.
"Well, she wasted one on Flak", Saveme spoke up, when I remained silent for a second too long.
"Def'nitely feel wasted", Flak croaked, barely audible, his eyes still slightly asquint. He had survived a direct headshot. While most Riders preferred crash helmets of one kind or another (adorned and modified at their own creativity), Flak had been notorious for wearing a military steel helmet, a souvenir from his service in the Oil Wars. Two days ago, this had literally saved his life, although the impact had knocked him off his machine and caused a concussion.
"Anyhow, somehow the trailer with our gas got detached, but it crashed, ignited and then Joey himself was upon the Rig. Had run the roadblock in his son's freakish monster truck. And that's where we decided get the hell out of there, 'cause he looked scary as shit." I sighed and let my head hang. Not a glorious chapter in the history of the Rock Riders.
"Say, did you recover my machine?", Flak asked in the hoarsest voice I had ever heard.
"Yeah, sure we did. Siphoned off all the gas though."
"Frigging... smegs", the ex-soldier hissed, before falling back on his bed.
"You'll get some, when you get better", I promised, though I was not sure I would be able to keep this promise. Father Mountain was generous and helpful, but he didn't provide fuel for his children. Meanwhile, the self-proclaimed God of Guzzoline had been driving by two days ago in a Tanker Limousine, while we watched drooling. At the very least, we had been able to salvage a couple of gallons from the wreck of the Big Foot and it was a sickening display of wealth that these people could leave twenty gallons of fine fuel behind without further ado.
Twenty gallons... The Imperator had promised us three thousand. But they had gone up in flames and the Imperator was dead as far as I knew. There was no way she could survive everything that had been coming through the pass after her, even in the War Rig.
"And what will I get?!", Slider exclaimed, commandeering my attention. "A thank you for all deeds done and a bullet through the head, isn't it?"
"Say, you can still root, can't you?", I wondered.
Slider went rigid, her eyes widening. "You gotta be shitting me."
Saveme gave a little, amused cackle. "Now there's a Chief planning for the future."
"Fuck the future! Do you think anyone wants children anymore, just so they can have a look at this blasted Wasteland?!"
"The Herders do. Joey does", in the background the Doc laughed out loud, "and so did the Vuvalini, before they scattered. Buck up! If you don't see a future in this world, you would have taken that bullet much earlier, and gladly so. You're a full-life! You're strong, skilled and you are a Rock Rider! At least your children will learn how to survive the Wasteland from the start. And things are getting better, no matter the hardships. We can support a little deadweight, especially an acclaimed Rider like yourself."
Slider remained silent, in thought, and just then the roar of a bike came closer, rapidly so, until the machine appeared in the mouth of the cave. The Rider wore a full-face helmet, but the black scarf and the crossed machetes on his back made it easy to recognize him: Tip-Toe, one of the best Riders in the tribe.
"There ye are", Tip-Toe shouted. "Joey's coming back!"
I stuttered the first thing that came to mind: "For our asses?"
"No, he's chasing the War Rig. This might be a chance for us, ye better hurry."
Now, this was something I wanted to see. The War Rig was still on the run, I honestly hadn't expected that, but I was eager for the slightest chance of revenge for Goat. Quickly I donned my helmet and left with a hasty: "You lot, just get better!", in the rough direction of my wounded comrades.