"Do you have a scarf?"

"A what?"

"A scarf." Imperator Jawbone gestured. "For your face."

The truck bounced and slowed. Gears grinded beneath them.

Pitchcat reached into the front of his jacket, unrolled the neck on his undershirt and put it over his nose.

"Nice." Jawbone pulled the zip right up on Pitchcat's jacket.

"Wait a sec." the boy Imperator produced a set of enormous, beaten goggles, and held them against the Gas Town boy's eyes. With one hand still up on Pitchcat's face, he turned and rummaged in a box behind them. He pulled out a small square piece of metal.

"What's that for?"

Jawbone didn't answer. Instead he produced a pair of pliers and started combining the goggles and the metal thing.

An enormous rig powered along next to them. As it swayed closer, the air thickened with vibration. Pitchcat's ears became useless. It changed gears and, for a moment, fire lit up everything orange.

Pitchcat bobbed his head about, trying to see around the tarp.

Jawbone didn't look up. He was winding a skinny piece of metal around the nose-strap of the goggles. The square thing was a kitchen spatula, and Jawbone was using the remains of the handle to attach it to the goggles.

Pitchcat unzipped his jacket and rolled his dust-collar down from his mouth.

Jawbone glanced up. He shook his head and waved his hand over his mouth. Pitchcat pulled the dust-collar back up.

Jawbone held the bizarre thing onto Pitchcat's face. He brought the Gas Towner's hand up to the buckle of the goggles, so he could feel how it worked as Jawbone fastened it. Next, Jawbone pulled the hood of Pitchcat's jacket over his head.

Finally, Jawbone tried to show him what the spatula mouthpiece was for. He held his index finger and thumb together, and repeatedly zipped his hand at Pitchcat's face.

Pitchcat shrugged and glared.

The big rig continued to roar right next to them.

The boy Imperator reached up and pulled his own bottom lip down. There was an ugly gap where two teeth were missing.

Now Pitchcat understood.

Nitro-boosted war-machines tended to fling rocks about. Bruises would heal, but teeth could not be replaced.

Pitchcat sat with the mask on. Jawbone squinted one eye, and made a picture frame with his hands. He signed thumbs up and grinned like a maniac.

Pitchcat laughed too and wondered what he looked like. He would ride into battle, on top of Jawbone's truck, wearing bits of junk.

Look around, he thought. Everyone is wearing junk.

Jawbone's gunner was off somewhere doing training drills. Pitchcat poked around in the gunner's storage space. There was a container of yoghurt. He relished it as the truck jolted, then stared for a while at the desert through a gap in the tarp.

Jawbone came down.

He pulled a spoon from its spot in the wall, dipped it in the yogurt and held it up to Pitchcat's face.

"Do you believe this? I have to spoon-feed these people."

He grinned, put the spoon in his mouth, turned and began clambering back up.

Suddenly he stopped, reached for a big metal square and gave it to Pitchcat. He tapped the top. Embossed on it was the skull and wheel.

Pitchcat glared. Jawbone waggled the spoon at him, repressed a laugh and almost spat it out as he went back up.

The metal thing was made of many thin plates, held together with a big ring through the corner.

Lifting the front one off, Pitchcat found a superb engraving of Immortan Joe. It was worked with countless, tiny, round punch marks. The Immortan leaned out the window of a hotrod, one arm stretched up to the sky. The sky was full of sharp marks that struck down to the ground.

He understood more when he flipped more plates. It was a book of signals, that a gunner would know. He went back to page one. It showed one basic signal, and its two combinations.

Shoot.

Shoot everything.

Shoot everything, no stopping.

Pitchcat was reading when there was a knock on the roof. He heard movement and shouting from outside of the truck.

He wound his way back. The rear tray of Jawbone's truck was enclosed by a giant metal rib cage, with the carved ribs pointing up, humming in the headwind.

There was movement behind.

Another small truck drove behind them, pushing a long trailer. Shielding his eyes from the glare, Pitchcat spotted someone crouching on the side, holding a chain.

He heard more shouts from the girl on the roof of Jawbone's truck. Something blurred against the sky. It was a long pole, swinging down at the rider on the trailer.

The boy worked intently with the links.

Thwuck! The pole swung down again and bounced off his head. The boy grabbed for it and it quickly retracted.

Pitchcat took a piece of cladding and leaned out from the tray, waving it at the boy.

A face peeked down over the tarp.

"Hey Pitchcat. They're giving us the kitty! Help me stop them."

There was a shower of rotten stuff.

The trailer was full to the top with slimy plant matter. The boy grabbed sods of it and tried to get it onto the girl on the roof. It fell apart and blew back in the headwind.

The boy saw Pitchcat and threw more of it. Using the covering fire, another boy got to the front of the trailer and unwound a chain from its rail.

"We don't want it!" the girl cried from above.

Behind the boys, an Imperator stood on the front of the truck, grinning. He turned around and unfurled a big red skull and wheel banner. The boys whooped and moved forward.

"Pitchcat!" The girl yelled.

Pitchcat put his goggles on, pulled his hood up and leaned out from the tray again, but the boys ignored him. There were shouts from far off.

Someone drove next to them, laughing and throwing things. Further behind, a huge, rusted road-train hurtled along. There was a whole troop of Warboys up top. They leapt with delight, doing hand-stands. Some grandly saluted the war god as the little invasion began.

One of the boys scooped a big clod of wet matter and tossed it into the tray of Jawbone's truck. There was a metallic banging sound from the pursuing truck as the Imperator jumped up and down on the bonnet.

Looking down, Pitchcat saw that, while he was distracted, the other boy must have quickly come forward and threaded a chain in behind the rear tray of Jawbone's truck, where the last ribs ran along.

The boys clipped more chains on, and used the starting one to pull five more out and back around Jawbone's truck frame. They spaced the chains out, and began securing them permanently to the kitty.

The girl on the roof had got the pole out again. She was sliding the chains around with her stick. It was hopeless. She cried out.

Pitchcat looked out at the trailer. He had an idea.

"Down here!" he shouted. "Pass the pole down." He took the pole and waved it out to the kitty.

The boys ignored it.

Pitchcat snagged a big mass of rotting vegetation and dragged it back onto the tray.

"Hey!" The girl cried from above. "What are you doing?"

He hauled the stinking stuff up and pushed it onto the roof. A shower of mould dust fell and coated his hood. It reeked. He yelled up "Take these!"

"No!"

"I need you to throw them in front of me. When I say four, throw one close. When I say six, throw one a bit further out."

The boys had moved to the front of the putrid kitty, tightening the chains and signalling the Imperator behind them. They had no idea what was coming.

"You're cleaning up here later."

Pitchcat stepped back a little and picked up the long, heavy piece of cladding. He steadied himself.

"Four!" he shouted.

He smashed a turnip into the front of the kitty, where it splattered onto the closest boy. The boy looked up and stared, wide eyed.

You should move, Pitchcat thought.

"Four!"

The next one caught the other boy square in the back. Rotten stuff exploded all over him.

"Six!"

On the truck bonnet, leaning over the kitty, the Imperator was signalling in a frenzy to the boys. The turnip buzzed hot over his shoulder. He quickly folded up the skull and wheel.

"Six!"

This one bounced off him and onto the windscreen. The little truck slowed and the boys started unclipping the chains.

There was a whoop from above. "Pitchcat! How are you doing that?"

His answer was "Six!"

He pasted the Imperator in the head.

He heard thumps from the cab of their pursuers. The driver was half standing and thumping for his life on the ceiling of his cab.

"Six!"

The girl had thrown down two stuck together and they spread across the whole windshield.

The thumping from the cab grew louder.

"Six!" That one detonated. The Imperator's jacket and head were wet with filth. The Imperator waved back as he diligently tried to clean the windshield for their driver.

The girl thumped the rail of the truck, bauling with laughter.

He shouted up. "Hey. Trust, OK!"

She was jumping on the roof.

"And don't throw those out. I'll come up and clean."

Pitchcat climbed to the top of Jawbone's truck.

"Hello. I'm your new flame tech. Pitchcat."

"Shh."

The girl had turned and was staring out to some trucks on the edge of the war party.

"I'm trying to work out what the news is."

He looked out. Their truck drove along at the edge of a rolling fleet of big rigs, dune buggies, and four-by-fours, all shining, mishmashed, motorized things that threw out gouts of flame.

Pitchcat followed the girl's gaze. He spotted Jawbone with some other Imperators. They were talking with some Gastown people, who stood in the trays of their work trucks.

A girl on one of the trucks looked up at him.

He asked the girl next to him who they were.

"I don't know. But there's an important vote coming up at tonight's council meeting that affects me." the girl said. "I've been waiting for days. If there is more big news they'll push my vote back again."

Pitchcat wasn't listening.

From far away, the girl on the Gastown work truck had shot him a quick plant sign. It was a small movement, that only a refinery plant lifer like him would see.

The sign was "disregard previous signal". Normally used to erase a mistake.

Extremely subtly, he shaped his body into "need more information".

The girl next to him was talking all the while, saying that Jawbone should be meeting with council members, not some random Gastowners.

A minute later, the Gastown girl gave him the same erase mistake sign again.

He watched, not comprehending.

The Imperators and Gastowners had started climbing back into their trucks. The Gastown girl moved to swing down.

Then she came back and signed him one last symbol.

It said "danger".

They watched as the little gathering broke up. The Gastown trucks slowed and dropped back into the distance.

"Sorry about that."

Standing on Jawbone's roof while it rocked back and forth, Jawbone's two crew-members looked each other over.

The girl beamed.

"Hey, that was great! They'll never try that trick again."

Pitchcat walked across the roof to the big mass of turnips.

He said, "Let's hit some more."

"No thanks. I've got work to do." She went forward to the hatch. Then she came back to Pitchcat, looking up sheepishly.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't introduce myself. I'm Cinder. I'm Jawbone's gaffer and second gunner."

"What's a gaffer?"

"I keep track of supplies. Keep everything in fighting order. Ask me anything and I can tell you where it is."

"Needlenose pliers."

Cinder fired back: "Middle metal can in the fine work tray, top shelf, second row passenger side in the front foot area!"

Pitchcat whistled.

"See. Everything in its spot."

Then Cinder turned and shouted out to the big rigs motoring along in the distance.

"And that's how it's done!"

Pitchcat thought of how Jawbone stumbled around, knocked things over, poured out boxes and went through the contents on the floor. Somehow Pitchcat doubted that the needlenose pliers were actually in the middle metal can, in the fine work tray, top shelf, second row passenger side, in the front foot area.

"Gotta go. Bye Pitchcat." She waved, then went forward and down through the hatch.

Pitchcat found a perch on the back of the roof, and began cleaning up the mould from the turnips.

Pitchcat was helping Jawbone carry a big load of jerry cans off a flatbed and onto Jawbone's truck. Each can was full to the brim with guzzoline. Both trucks swayed and jostled about. Finally the flatbed was empty and Pitchcat moved to jump across to Jawbone's truck.

Jawbone stopped him.

"Pitchcat."

Pitchcat looked up. There was another flatbed coming over, stacked with more jerry cans.

Jawbone held Pitchcat's arm. "It's all going through the pipes Pitch. Both loads."

He thought back to the Gastown girl's last sign. His breath caught in his throat.

What mission could possibly need that much fire?

"Jawbone." he said. "Where are we going?"

"Don't worry about it. All you have to do is keep it flowing into the gun."

Pitchcat looked at him.

"If it does get rough, you go in the trap, OK?"

Pitchcat nodded.

They waited for the flatbed to come over, then jumped onto it and they each picked up a jerry can. They were both struggling when Jawbone asked:

"What did you say to that Gastown girl?"

Pitchcat swung and rammed his container into the one that Jawbone was trying to carry.

"Damn you Jawbone."

"Come on Pitch. I saw everything. You got her details, right?"

Pitchcat just hauled his jerry can onto the tray of the truck.

"I wish I could sign. She's cute. You should go for it."

Jawbone carefully climbed over the skeletal fence of the flatbed and onto his truck, carrying the container. He put it down, came over to Pitchcat and crooned in his ear.

"Go for it. Go for it."

Pitchcat kicked Jawbone's container. The cap came off and guzzoline sloshed out. Jawbone grabbed the lid and flicked the sour-smelling stuff at Pitchcat.

Pitchcat lunged for the cap and they jumped around. The container fell over. Jawbone kicked it, it broke apart and they both started laughing. Jawbone hoisted another one over the rail. It burst and made a fan on the sand.

"Shouldn't we clean that up?" Pitchcat motioned to the sloshing tray floor.

"It'll evaporate." They stood and watched. Nothing happened.

Then, Jawbone grabbed Pitchcat as the Gastowner hooted, tried to bend him down, and attempted to use his head to mop it up.

Pitchcat remembered the day he'd first known. He'd stared in amazement at the hubcap in his crate. Then he'd thrown his grimy work shirt over it and carried it, back through the throngs of oil-spattered boys and men, to his dorm. Immediately he'd packed his things. He'd waited for so long with no answer. He'd collected countless forms, punched the plates as required, sent them out to the Citadel water plant, but they had always been denied, with no explanation. Like he was nothing. But now, the fierce eyes of Immortan Joe glared out at him from the military steel. Pitchcat would serve the living god, in a war party.

Cinder and Pitchcat went to the council meeting.

There was a small crowd sitting on several trailers, all hovering around an unusually large gargoyle that had once been a flatbed truck.

The trailer they were on had some space left.

Pitchcat vaulted over a row of attendees. Cinder slowly negotiated herself through.

From the middle of the big flatbed in the centre, the Imperators took turns making speeches.

Imperator Wheelhorse had complained about always having the kitty. Everyone would just drive by and throw their rotting things from a distance. It went all over his truck and he was constantly cleaning it. The vote to change went down.

Cinder was explaining the proceedings to Pitchcat.

A speech ended and the next Imperator strode into the centre.

"That's Zmeya."

Zmeya droned on.

Meanwhile, one of the Imperators sitting in the circle was holding a large, unwieldy car part. The man studied it intently.

"What's that?"

"That's the voting machine."

It was made from a gearbox. It had a little metal wheel on one end, and a gearstick coming out the side. Each Imperator would discreetly push the gearstick up or down for yes or no. When they passed it along, they would turn the wheel forward one tick, resetting the lever for the next Imperator. At any point during voting, the wheel could be read to show how many total votes had been entered. At the end, the voting machine was set on a crate in the middle and opened by a Warboy under close inspection. The inside showed the tally of yays and nays. Any Imperator could ask to look for themselves at the result.

The voting machine moved to the next Imperator.

Cinder watched it and went quiet.

The sun was low in the sky and Imperator Zmeya was still in the centre. His shadow arched across as he turned.

Zmeya's voice was rising.

"... most of them are good. But the people you are bringing here will not contribute. I am here today to suggest that we schedule a new vote. We must send away the ones we have already brought over."

The Imperator stalked about the circle.

"Who are they? Who knows them? Who knows their bloodlines?"

There were a few whoops from the crowd.

Pitchcat said to Cinder quietly. "Lets go."

"Send them back to Gastown! There are people there who can deal with them!"

There was applause. The Gastowners on the flatbed jumped up.

And saluted him.

"Cinder, please!"

"No Pitchcat! I want to watch my vote!"

"Please. Just walk out with me."

Cinder escorted him through the rows to the far end of the trailer and disappeared back into the crowd.

Pitchcat had gone straight over to play cricket with the Wheelhorse boys and the Gastowners on the scrap trailer.

It was just a big flatbed, completely spanned by a huge metal cage with mesh lining. The cricket net Imperator let them hit balls around in there. Sometimes, the Imperator himself would go to the crease. The Gastown pacers would just spring it up at his head.

The cricket net Imperator's truck was supposed to be for storing scrap metal but it was always completely empty. This made it the fastest rig in the war party. For emphasis, its bonnet included the blades of a jet engine.

Pitchcat had tired himself out at the nets and was back, asleep in the belly, when Jawbone climbed in.

He woke to kicking.

He faked loud, phlegmy snoring, then grabbed Jawbone's legs, holding his feet together. The truck swayed and Jawbone went down. Crates banged and crashed.

"OK I'm awake."

"Pitchcat. Remember "secret question"? I've got one for you."

Pitchcat sat up, serious.

"If you'd seen something really important, but knew that people could use it against you, would you tell someone?"

Pitchcat sighed loudly. Then he looked up. "I think I would."

Jawbone sat for a while. The only sound was the dull whirring of the motor. Some little exhaust flames danced, far off outside the window.

Finally, Jawbone shook his head.

"I want to tell you before I tell anyone else. But I can't. I'm going to spell the driver for a while. See you tomorrow."

He pottered around for a while at his bench.

Pitchcat felt he was in his dorm at the plant again, drifting off to sleep surrounded by his floormates.

Then Jawbone came back.

"Pitchcat. I almost forgot. We're taking out the Wretch truck tommorow. I got a vote in about you doing our gas tech for real. It got up! You're in!"

No reaction. Then Pitchcat pulled up the most disgusting, nasal snore, as loud as he could.

"Come on Pitchcat! This is going to be a blast!"

Pitchcat snored some more.

Jawbone laughed and kicked him.

"You're a jerk Pitch!"

Jawbone headed to the cab. The truck swerved a little, then Pitchcat could hear the driver climbing onto the roof.

He got up for a second and paced around the belly.

"Damn, Jaw!" he said, smiling to himself.

He rested up well for the flamethrower mission.