PROLOGUE: SMOKE ON THE HORIZON
The crows encircled the crash site like a black cloud of doom. You'd never find this many birds in the one place, lest blood had been spilt.
Three vehicles sat hunched together in a loose circle. Above them, the carrion birds mimicked the shape to form a feathery halo. Two of the vehicles were small, unprotected buggies. Good for when you needed to travel fast and light. Useless any other time.
The third was a large semi-trailer. It had no carriage attached, but it was the kinda vehicle good for hauling fuel, scrap or anything else one could lay claim to. Least it would'a been with a couple'a muscles guardin' it's flanks. The buggies weren't up t' the task.
All three of the vehicles had been trashed in the fight. One o' the buggies lay on it's side. The ground was littered with glass, scrap metal and seat padding. The victors had been thorough in their search, not wantin' t' miss anything.
Once they were done, whoever did this had put the cars t' the torch. Black smoke rose from the three wrecks high up into the empty blue sky. There was a saying here in the Wasteland; Burn what ya can't carry and break ya can't burn. No sense in leaving something for another fella to find and use against you.
It wasn't the smoke that had originally attracted Max. It had been the crows.
Far from the carnage that littered the expanse, Max Rockatansky lay flat on his stomach high on the crest of a dune surveying the devastation before him. An old pair of binoculars were pressed against the wrinkled skin around his eyelids. The lenses were scratched from a lifetime of careless use, but the one job he needed them for, they did well.
He'd been lyin' on said dune for close t' thirty minutes. At least, he'd counted to five hundred four times. He reckoned that added up to about what thirty minutes used t' mean.
The wind blew hard up on his perch and the sand it moved across the dunes had already started t' cover him. Orange sand now covered his feet, over which he wore a pair of leather boots. These had originally been black, but decades later time, sand and dirt had dyed them a dark brown. The rough, but strong leather of his pants had been worn smooth.
Over his left knee he had fashioned a makeshift brace from leather buckles and scrap metal. Max had long since stopped cursing it's incessant creaking. Housed in a simple leather holster on his right thigh was a modified double-barrel shotgun, customised with a shortened barrel and pistol-like grip for the stock.
His jacket was threadbare, but still leather. Exactly what you wanted out on the road. Protects ya hide in a roll and keeps yer sides safe from shanks. The jacket had been reinforced in various places with loose pieces of leather to provide additional protection to the neck, elbows and kidneys. The right sleeve had been removed a long time ago. To compensate for this, he'd stitched another thick piece of padded leather over his shoulder to guard it.
Grey streaks ran through Max's dark hair and the cropped beard that covered the bottom half of his lined faced had a generous sprinkling of grey. His age and facial hair gave him the appearance of an old guard dog, not quite as fierce and intimidating as he once was, but too stubborn t' stand down.
Max slowly breathed in and out through his nose, careful not t' disturb the sand around him. No matter how empty the flattened land in front of him may look, the slightest movement could give away his position. The tiniest trickle o' sand sliding down the dune would be enough for a watcher t' risk loosing a shot.
To most blokes, smoke on the horizon was a clear sign t' head away. Max was of this mind as well, but it was the sight'a the crows that had drawn him t' the battle ground. A crash could burn for a while, enough time for a daring scavenger t' quickly pick through any remains to find something that been forgotten or undiscovered.
Birds on the other hand, signified a fresh kill. And arriving while the crows still formed their dark wreath around the crash meant first dibs on anything that might'a been left behind.
That is, unless someone else was watching too.
It was unlikely that who ever had made this scene would be watchin' for scavengers. After creatin' such an obvious landmark, they would have taken their spoils and booked.
No, if anyone was about, they'd be like him. Watching and waiting. Wonderin' if the risk was worth it.
Finally, Max decided it was.
Carefully pulling his feet out from under the sand, Max began to creep backwards on his stomach. When he got ten paces down the dune, he slowly straightened up and jogged the rest of way down.
Parked about fifty meters away was his car. It was covered in a layer of dirt and dust and the panelling was dinted and scratched, but it's majesty was plain t' see. If one looked closely, they'd see it had been adorned with both a glossy black paint as well as matte black. Black on black. Like the figurehead of a proud warship, the engine jutted up above the bonnet. It was a V8, one of the last.
Max quickly slid in behind the wheel, tossed the binoculars into the passenger's seat and turned the key, awakening the beast. It roared loudly as it was brought t' life, like an ancient predator sounding it's challenge.
The engine clunked as Max shifted inta gear and in a burst of black smoke and a spray'a sand, it shot forward across the flat earth.
Despite the sense of calm he felt driving the car, Max knew he was firin' a signal off t' any around him. He'd approached the smoke slowly, in a low gear, so that no one would hear him coming. Then, he'd kept watch for a while t' see if anyone had gotten there first. So far, if there was anyone watchin' for scavengers, he reckoned they didn't know he was there. Aside from the smoke and the crows, there'd been no movement from the wreckage. The dune he'd watched from was the only raised area in the flat expanse of land the cars sat in. So if there had been anyone around, he would have spotted them.
Max wasn't about t' take that chance. Secrecy had gone out the window, the car had seen t' that. As he shifted into top gear, the roar of the engine echoed out over the land sounding their approach. Now he had to be fast. Get in and check the cars, then break off and get as far away as possible.
As he approached the vehicles, Max was acutely aware of how exposed he was making himself. There was no natural cover. The buggies and the truck sat on flat ground with nothin' around t' hide them. Why would they have stopped here of all places?
The formation of the three rides confused him as well. He couldn't fathom as t' why they were sittin' in a circle. Maybe the people who'd been hit had drawn them together, trying to protect themselves in a huddle from their attackers. Maybe the raiders had simply surrounded them and forced them to group up, trappin' them here, against one-another.
Max stopped about thirty paces from the wreckage and flicked the muscle car down into neutral. He sat there listening for a moment, as the seat vibrated under him and the engine purred softly.
There was no sound of another vehicle approaching. Seems if there was anyone else about, they hadn't broken cover at his appearance.
Leaving the engine running, Max opened the door and slowly stepped out'a the car. He unhooked a fuel can from the rear of the vehicle and shook it. There was a light slosh from inside, but it was practically empty. His eyes drifted to the large fuel tank that sat in the back of his car.
The boot lid and rear window had been removed a long time ago to accommodate it's presence. The plastic tank sat secured in the boot, half inside the car and half out. It was running dangerously low. As Max had decided, he had t' take the risk.
Taking the can with him, Max moved quickly towards the wreckage of the three vehicles. His eyes moved rapidly between them, lookin' for any sign'a movement. The crows continued to circle above, cawing indignantly if one of them passed through the black smoke that still rose from the site.
Close up, Max could see how thorough the raiding party had been in strippin' the vehicles bare. They'd been almost ravenous in their search. The seats had been torn out and ripped open. The panelling of the truck looked as if the raiders had tried to beat it in with clubs, though that may have jus' been for fun. He could only see one body, lyin' in the centre of the carnage.
Max passed the buggy that lay on it's side as he entered the circle. It looked like it had been rammed when it was turned over. The driver's side was caved inwards. If anyone had been sitting' in the seat when it was hit, they would'a been crushed for sure.
The stench of death lay heavy around him. Max was no stranger t' scenes such as this, yet his mind began to betray him and imagine things around him that weren't there. The shadows of the crows flitted across the sand as they moved against the sun above him. Their black shapes seemed to grow and change and they moved with him as he approached the truck.
It was no good. He wouldn't be scavenging any fuel from this wreck. The victors in the fight had seen to that. Gettin' close t' check inside was impossible as well. The entire cabin was engulfed in flame. He didn't have the luxury o' time to wait for the fire to burn out, if it left anything at all once it was done.
Dropping the fuel can, Max began to shift through the debris that littered the site. Wooden crates, hessian bags and battered suitcases had been strewn over the ground. Inside there was mostly clothes and other useless personal effects. The monotony of the everyday items might've frustrated another scavenger, but Max pressed on, moving from one container t' the next. Anything the raiders might have missed, anything, no matter how small, would make this worth while.
Most likely, this had been a caravan of people looking for somewhere t' settle. Not enough t' their names to barter for some decent protection, so they had t' settle for the buggies as cover. It was plain t' see, it hadn't been enough.
Max didn't begrudge the bandits torching the vehicles. That was just them being thorough. He would'a done the same.
As he moved to a suitcase next t' the lone body the raiders had left behind, Max's eyes were drawn t' look at her.
Her bronzed skin attested to a life lived under the harsh sun. Her body was covered in blood and her long, dark hair was wet with it. Several jagged ribs stuck out her side and through the rough spun shift she wore. One of her arms was a mess of bone and cartilage.
Max flung the suitcase open, but quickly straightened up again. Inside there was only blankets. He'd lingered in this spot too long t' search through them.
As he turned to leave, his gaze drifted over t' the dead woman once again. Something about why she was the only one left nagged at his mind.
She couldn't'a been alone. There was very little blood around the caravan. The rest of the people must've been taken by the raiders for scrap. Or worse.
Max's brow furrowed, as he tried t' work out why they'd trashed this woman and left her behind. It was plain t' see she was healthy. As healthy as one could be in this wretched land anyway. But a Full Life, to be sure. Young enough, strong too. His eyes settled on the wrecked buggy that lay on it's side. Maybe she'd been in that.
A small smile crept over Max's face. The raiders would have been cursin' themselves over ruining such a fine prize. In the state she was in, she wasn't worth the trouble of hauling her back to a slab.
Max's smile faded as he began to hear the whispers in the back of his mind. His vision blurred and when he blinked t' clear his eyes, they were fixed on the corpse below him. He couldn't turn away. He willed his body to move, screamed internally for his legs t' take him away from the scene of death, but t' no avail. Max's body refused to answer his plea, leavin' him stranded standing over the woman. The whispers grew louder and the shadows around the battle site lengthened and moved inwards towards him.
His body was trembling and sweat ran down the side of his head in fast rivers as he stood rooted t' the spot. For a moment, it seemed like her eyelids fluttered and struggled to open.
Why now? There wasn't anythin' special about this woman. She was just one of many corpses that had lain on the road before him. He hadn't even killed her himself.
When the voices in his head rose to a shout, Max finally managed t' tear his eyes away from the woman.
They faded into silence as he wiped his watery eyes on the back of his hand. The sharp smell of the leather glove that covered it filled his nose and he inhaled deeply, focusin' on the strong scent.
Takin' several slow breaths, Max steeled himself before lookin' back at her body.
She was dead. She hadn't moved. She was dead, but it wasn't any fault of his and he didn't kill her himself.
Her blood had stained the orange sand around her a dark red. It was already beginning t' dry.
Max looked up at the sky. The sun had moved closer to the horizon then he'd realised. He'd lingered in this spot fer too long and had nothin' t' show for it. It was time to leave.
He didn't spare the corpse another glance as he retrieved the fuel can. The only sound was the soft rustling of the flames that still burned among the vehicles and the creak of his brace as he left the scene. Even the voices in his head had quietened.
Max breathed calmly as he passed the woman one last time, his eyes fixed on his car. As he walked away from the carnage behind him, he heard someone call out to him.
'Please...'
The can clanged loudly as it hit the ground. Max whipped around, the shotgun already in his hand.
He stood at the edge of the circle of vehicles, his eyes moving quickly, searchin' for the source of the sound. It hadn't been the voices in his head. They'd quietened themselves. He had definitely heard the sound in his ears.
Something moved at the edge of his vision and his gaze snapped back to the woman who lay on the ground. Her body twitched and her eyelids had opened t' look at him.
She had called out. The Corpse had spoken to him.
Breathing quickly, Max slowly approached her. His eyes didn't stray from her, not even blinking. He held the shotgun out before him and kept it pointed at the Corpse. His arm was straight and it didn't shake.
Max moved to stand over the Corpse and kept the shotgun pointed at her face. He held it in such a tight grip that his knuckles began to ache, but he didn't let his finger slip on the trigger. Only one of the barrels was loaded.
As he stared down at her, the Corpse moved her good hand and reached out towards the suitcase that lay beside her, the one that Max hadn't bothered t' search through. Darting forward, Max snatched one of the blankets off the top. He recoiled and nearly fell over backwards, quickly straitening up again, the gun now pointed at the mess of blankets within the suitcase.
Something hidden amongst it's contents had moved.
'Please...' the Corpse whispered again, blood leaking from the side of her mouth.
Max's eyes darted between her and the small pile'a blankets, slowly movin' now that they had been disturbed. He sucked air rapidly in and out through his nose as he slowly bent his knees and cautiously reached out with his free hand towards the suitcase once more.
Moving fast, he grabbed the blankets in a handful and flung them behind him. He was already back up on his feet again before his mind had time to register what he was seeing.
Lyin' curled up in a tight ball within the suitcase, was a child. A child. An actual, living child. A girl.
Max's body stiffened as he beheld her. He couldn't breath. His throat was workin' furiously, trying to pump air into his lungs. It was only when his head started t' ache and his vision began to swim, did his mouth finally open and he began t' take deep, ragged breaths.
The child slowly stretched out and sat up on the blankets. She was young, very young, maybe only a year and a half old, but already a mess of dark hair had grown upon her head. As he stared, she raised her eyes t' look up at him. Neither recognition nor understanding was reflected in them, but they were bright eyes. Black, wide and none of the madness that plagued the Wasteland shone in them.
Max looked back at the woman. The girl was the Corpse's daughter. The relation was plain t' see. The girl shared her thick, dark hair. Her skin, though pale, had the same smooth texture. What madness had possessed her mother t' bring a child into a world like this one?
The false hope of the whole situation choked Max's mind. The people in the caravan tryin' to find a better life some place where no one would bother them. Takin' the risk of having a child. Madness had many faces in the Wasteland. This was a delusional kind. Dangerous for different reasons.
The girl stirred and languidly rubbed her eyes with the back'a one hand. Max couldn't believe the bandits had missed her. Before him sat a diamond in the Wasteland. A child like this, a full life, was worth more than any scrap one could haul off from a wreck. Had they merely been careless?
Now she lay at the feet of the Road Warrior, his for the taking. The right buyer would pay an ocean of guzzeline for such a creature. That in mind, the first person he offered the girl to might put one between his eyes just t' get their hands on her. Was any potential profit he could gain from trading her worth the risk?
No, better to leave her here t' die. If he walked away now, he might not have gained any potential profit, but neither would he have lost anything. The next scavenger would come along and find her corpse and curse their luck, but that was their problem.
Max was jerked out of his musings as the Corpse spoke again. 'Please,' she whispered a third time, the volume of her voice risin' slightly, desperation echoing through it.
Her face was twisted in agony and tears leaked from her eyes. One of the carrion birds finally swooped down and landed on her chest. It regarded her with one greedy eye, before it plunged it's beak down inta the soft flesh of her breast and tore out a chunk. The bird swallowed loudly, but Max made no move t' push it away.
Slowly, a new idea formed in Max's mind. Now he knew what the Corpse asked of him. His mouth set into a hard line and he shook his head resolutely.
'No,' he tried to tell her, but no sound came out of his mouth. How long had it been since he'd spoken a word? He'd had no need. There was no one t' talk to. No need t' talk to anyone.
'No,' Max said again, this time managin' t' choke out a rasping whisper, 'No way'.
He growled deep in his throat and shook his head again.
The Corpse mouthed words he couldn't hear but he was already turning away. He pushed the shotgun back into it's holster and left the fuel can where it lay on the ground.
As Max walked jerkily back to the car, the voices began to whisper in his head again. He saw the shadows amongst the wreckage of the cars take shape and call out to him. They stood on either side of the path that led back to his ride. Dead, every one of them. Yet there they were, for his eyes only.
Some spoke softly to him. Others called out for help, begging for him t' save them. Yet still more twisted their faces inta sneers, yelled insults at him and spat on the ground he walked. Their shadows grew long and crossed over the sand in front of him, painting the path black. The crows seemed to be cawing louder and louder, but they sounded so far away.
All the while, Max kept his gaze fixed on the car.
The car.
If he could just reach the car. Once he was behind the wheel, he could lose himself in the roar of the V8 engine. He didn't need any extra baggage. The car was all he needed. He certainly wasn't looking for any kind of redemption.
Just before he reached it, a new figure formed, this time it stood directly in his path. It was a rare and low move by his demons, but he wouldn't let it stop him.
As the woman spoke to him, he closed his eyes and willed himself t' shut out her words. He pushed his hands through the empty air, relieved but somewhat disappointed as his hands passed through the woman before him.
His fingers brushed against the side'a the car and he quickly slipped inside into the driver's seat.
In a rare occurrence, he fumbled with the gears and the car lurched forward while the engine ground loudly in indignation. A second later, the gear connected and the V8 sprung forward.
Max sat forward in the seat, low over the wheel. The loud whir of the engine thundered through his head and the calls and shouts of the ghosts behind him were drowned out. Max screwed up his eyes and put his foot down, focusin' on the pressure in his leg keepin' the pedal pressed.
He looked up again and drew a sharp breath in as he slammed his foot on the brake and swerved the car to the right. A jagged rock jutted up from the sand before him. Too much was showing to drive over and Max had noticed it too late.
He managed to turn the car away from the rock at the last moment. The car's tyres whirred as they skidded over the soft sand tryin' t' find a grip. The car sunk deep on it's suspension at the sudden change in movement and threatened t' go inta a roll before it stopped moving.
Max tensed as the car came to a halt. The suspension had done it's job and they hadn't rolled. The engine spluttered and died at the abrupt stop.
Max cursed his carelessness. It was a stupid mistake. Stupid, stupid, stupid! It had almost cost him his life. He slammed his head into the steering wheel again and again. Around him he could hear the whispers of his past as the ghosts began t' close around him once again.
He looked up and stared through the wind-shield at them. Blood ran down his forehead into his eyes from where he'd beaten it against the wheel, blurring his vision. They encircled the car and hammered against it's sides. Max quickly shut his eyes and started the engine again. He revved the car in neutral, trying to drown out the clamour in the fast whirring of the V8.
What is it? What do they want from me!
He almost yelled these questions at them, but he knew that shoutin' at the ghosts would only make it worse.
His head was thumping with the yells of the people around him, or it may have just been his own blood pounding in his ears. The roar of the engine rose again and again and again, but the ghosts didn't stop.
Finally, Max couldn't stand it anymore. With a strangled yell, he slammed the stick into first and spun around back t'wards the wreckage of the three cars, salty tears mixin' with the blood in his eyes.
...
The car door slammed shut with a loud bang as Max stalked over t' the circle of vehicles.
The young girl had crawled over t' where her mother lay on the ground. She playfully grabbed handfuls of sand, the blood dying her fingers red.
Without looking at the Corpse, he lifted the girl up, wrapped her in one of the blankets and carried her back t' the car. There was only the smallest of whispers as he turned his back on the scene of destruction.
The blood still pounding in his ears, he dumped the girl roughly into the passenger seat, then resumed his place behind the wheel and sped off, not caring in which direction he headed.
Max pressed his foot flat against the accelerator, pushing it t' top speed and as the car's engine roared with power, it carried the pair away from the death and the unforgiving ghosts behind them.