Author's Note: So first off, I must say this: Thank You! I wasn't expecting much when I first posted this story, but you guys really proved me wrong. You all are wonderful readers, and I am happy to have you along for the ride (yes, that was intentional phrasing). I won't keep you long with this Author's Note; therefore, that being said, I hope you enjoy the second installment!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mad Max franchise whatsoever. Any original characters or scenes not seen in the series are my creations, and I only claim ownership to them.
Chapter II:
Stand Alone, Fight Together
"We have an unknown distance yet to run, an unknown river to explore. What falls there are, we know not; what rocks beset the channel, we know not; what walls ride over the river, we know not. Ah, well! we may conjecture many things." –John Wesley Powell
They rode through the night, silent and irritable. Asher never looked at the stranger, keeping her gaze trained on the road and watching for movement from the corner of her eye. Her right hand rested on her knee, ready to reach down and unsheathe her dagger at a moment's notice. Even if this stranger was willing to cooperate for gasoline, she had no doubt that he would kill her if he detected the slightest hint of trickery. Leaving her abandoned in the Wasteland would be too soft and lacking a personal touch. She has known several monsters of the ruined world; this stranger could become one himself.
Why else would he leave the shotgun lying in plain view? Decoration? Hardly.
When daybreak filtered through the windows and permeated her clothing, increasingly warming her skin, she began to feel thirst. It was a terrible, persistent feeling that never faded once it dawned. First, her tongue became dry and resembled a ball of cotton in her mouth. Second, swallowing became difficult. Third, breathing was a nuisance, for the combination of blistering heat and particles of sand and dust would scrape along the back of her throat, creating a raw sensation that would not go away. Finally, her focus was undermined, revolving solely around water. Its coolness, how it quenched her parched mouth, its sweet taste despite the lack of flavoring—it was maddening.
She could take a sip from her canteen; however, considering their long journey to her wanted location and few chances to acquire water along the way, she knew she could not give-in to her desires.
Watch the road, keep this guy in-check and formulate a plan. You have thirty-five days. She told herself this—repeated it like a mantra. Despite her compliance, though, the canteen remained forever present, digging into her lower back.
After two hours of driving under the sun's morning rays, Asher decided to test her boundaries. As if the stranger would toss her out now, with the potential promise of gasoline to add a hundred days to his never-ending journey. Whatever was needed to survive, she knew.
"What do you go by?" she pried. She did not glance his way, keeping her routine of watching the endless road and waiting for any sudden movements from the stranger.
"Why do you want to know?" he retorted. He was determined to keep his eyes forward, too.
"Well, if we're gonna be stuck together for thirty days—in the same car, a foot away—I would like to know who I'm stuck with. Nothing formal or complicated. Don't even have to tell me your real name, 'cause I wouldn't mind. I don't want anything personal."
He exhaled audibly. "You have a tendency to talk this much?"
"Just coverin' my bases."
"Well, if you don't want anything personal, then don't ask at all."
Asher narrowed her eyes, half-glaring at the windshield. She drummed her fingers against her kneecap, listening to its rhythmic, dull beat. She shrugged. "Fine, I'll just call you Buddy."
He grunted. Asher took that response as an acceptance.
A good, solid ten minutes passed before Buddy decided to speak for himself. Asher realized it was the first time Buddy had initiated a conversation. He was no less blunt about it, either.
"And what do I refer to you as?"
Asher considered that question. "Spitfire."
He hummed. "How suiting."
"Good. Then you won't forget it."
Asher could not withstand to wait much longer: At noon, she took a single gulp of water from her canteen. It was as if she were taking a sip of Heaven, the liquid rejuvenating and refreshing. From the corner of her eye, she saw Buddy spare her a glance, fast and fleeting, longing reflecting in his grey orbs. A kindly fellow would have offered him a drink as well; unfortunately for him, Asher was not one of those good people, especially since the man was responsible for her depleted water. He could wait a bit longer before having another swig; that is, if he would not drain the canteen as soon as he received the opportunity. Asher extended the time.
The windows were cracked open, allowing a warm breeze to filter into the car. The roar of the engine could be clearly heard, rumbling and growling, like a feral animal. It seemed too loud, a sound that could be heard for miles around. During her past excursions, she had seen powerful trucks or a couple of motorcycles in the distance; but when she had, she had been sure to drop flat to the ground and lie as still as possible. She had never been close enough to realize how monstrous the vehicles truly were. Now she did, and she could not judge whether she enjoyed the knowledge or not.
What're you gonna do? Miraculously silence it? Asher ground her teeth together and resisted the urge to curse her inner voice aloud. She did not need Buddy to believe she was insane, speaking to a person who was not there; or worse, have him believe she was disgracing him and his makeshift name.
Not to say he was not just as crazy as she was—maybe more so. Certainly not a comforting thought when he had a shotgun inches away from his reach, undoubtedly primed for a potent, single-shot blow. If a brawl did ensue, reaction time would be crucial. Speed to draw the dagger, reflexes to dodge a close-range shot to the head and smoothness to deliver her own fatal slash. Then, of course, there was the car to worry about, for, undoubtedly, the vehicle would spiral out-of-control during the struggle for dominance. She was not well educated behind the wheel, and the last result she wanted was to drive a powerful, revving muscle car while maneuvering around a dead body.
That is, if she did not falter and acquire a new hole in her head. None of those variables would matter if she failed any of those steps. At least he could not torture her then. There was some comfort.
Asher blinked, grim musings banished from her mind. She chanced a glance at Buddy, searching him, eyes roving up and down his form. He was decently equipped, dressed in clothing that would protect him from the harshest elements of the Wasteland. Asher could spot patches of thick leather protecting various weak points and adding durability to his frame. With grudging recollection, she remembered the harshness of the leather-bound forearm that had struck her. The blow had stung, catching her cheekbone and jaw perfectly. She dared not tamper with the stricken area, for she did not want Buddy to detect any signs of pain or frailty from her; therefore, she scrunched her face and twisted her mouth into different expressions. The side of her face was tight and sore—probably swollen, maybe bruised. She was positive nothing was broken. She would have felt those effects much earlier, she knew.
Surely he has extra. You could be just as armored and protected. Asher almost found it amusing how her inner voice had changed motives from hitching a ride to looting her temporary partner. Almost. Secretly, however, she was wondering what he kept stashed in his prized car. He did not strike Asher as a man new to the survival methods of the Wasteland. Food, water, gear to endure the temperamental weather, gasoline if you had a vehicle to fuel—those were important elements, and very influential when negotiating for your life. Asher's own trade—water for another day of life—was a good example. In hindsight, it was probably not ideal, considering her current, delicate situation; however, she could proudly claim she was still breathing, cruising at seventy miles-per-hour toward a settlement rich with the supplies she would need.
The bigger picture said she was in a favorable position. The shotgun in Buddy's lap told her she was screwed—that the bigger picture was an image, a mirage in the extreme heat. The Wasteland always found a way to win. There would always be strings holding her back.
She exhaled audibly through her nose, leaning back and raising a leg to put her foot on the dashboard.
She did not miss the sideways glance Buddy gave her.
"Off," he ordered, harsh, voice rough from lack of use. Seems he usually traveled alone, too. That, or he was thirsty. Asher hoped for the latter.
Of course, Asher was well aware of the meaning behind the command. But Buddy was not an amiable man; and, as a result, Asher had little respect for him. She may have agreed to accompany him and show him a path to a fuel source, but she mostly did so to acquire her own personal gain. If he did not like this treatment, he should have never guzzled all of her water. Asher did not respect greed. Theft, maybe—she had done plenty of that during her lifetime. It was also in the description of survival in the Wasteland. Greed was different—sinful, ungrateful, a glutton that was never satisfied. It was an attribute that was woven into the land, yet Asher could never ignore its severity like other unfavorable qualities.
That was Buddy's first mistake, and Asher had no intention of forgetting it.
She lolled her head to one side, looking at Buddy directly for the first time since she entered the muscle car. "I'm sorry, what?" she drawled. She straightened her propped leg, her heel resting on the top of the dashboard.
The corners of his lips dropped. His gaze darted in her direction. A dangerous glint entered his grey orbs. "You know what I mean."
"No, really," she defended, feigning an affronted attitude. Now her other foot was suspended, the hilt of her dagger shining in the afternoon sunlight. "Enlighten me."
"Feet. Off the dash."
"Why? Does it bother you?"
"Now."
Asher pursed her lips, analyzed his expression. Irritation was quickly dawning, evident in the twist of his lips and the threatening shine in his eyes. His grip had noticeably tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning a stark white.
She canted her head, weighed her options. She answered, "No."
Asher knew Buddy was fast—quicker than she would have given him credit for. Truly, it was blur when his right hand left the wheel, clasped the double barrel of the shotgun and swung it toward her. She had no time to react appropriately before the handle of the shotgun cracked across her shins, rattling the underlying bone and sending a rippling shock arcing through her skin. She howled in pain, drawing her legs down from their perch and pulling them close to her body.
With an angry growl, she snatched her dagger and pointed its blunt tip toward Buddy—only to find he had spun the shotgun around and was now aiming the double barrel at her forehead. He did not tear his eyes from the road, keeping his left hand steady as he continued to race across the Wasteland. Asher knew he was watching her intently, though—from the corner of his eye, as she had been the entire duration of the journey.
"You—"
"Hurt, didn't it?"
Her upper lip twitched, a snarl forming. "Yeah, it did. Satisfied?"
He thought for a few moments. The shotgun never lowered. "Put the weapon away."
She barked a laugh. "With a shotgun leveled at my head? You first, Buddy."
"Put it away, now."
"Or what? You gonna shoot my brains out? You need me to get to the gasoline you want."
He sighed, his arm relaxing fractionally. "You're right."
Asher could not stop the smug smile that tugged at her lips.
"Don't need your leg, though." The shotgun dropped, but not how Asher had imagined—or wanted. The double barrel pressed firmly against her left knee, and Buddy's forefinger hovered over the trigger. Asher's heart nearly leapt out of her chest, and she swiveled her leg away from the immediate danger. The shotgun never wavered from its target, following the sharp movement—though, perhaps a bit higher now, threatening to obliterate her thigh.
Asher raised her hands in surrender, holding the dagger limply. "Okay, okay! You win," she said. Grudgingly and slowly, she sheathed her dagger, resuming her original posture once the dagger was safely stowed away. "Care to point the shotgun elsewhere?"
"If you pull that stunt again, I won't hesitate. Are we clear?"
She glowered. "Whatever you say, Buddy."
The shotgun was replaced in Buddy's lap, and the barrier reformed between them. They did not speak again for the next several hours. Asher kept her feet flat on the floor.
Nighttime befell them, heavy and bleak. Asher felt a weariness seeping into her bones and sinking into her mind. Her eyelids drooped, but never closed, persistent as they stared at the sea of sand stretched out before the muscle car. She had no intention of falling asleep, especially with no-nonsense Buddy sitting across from her. Granted, she may have purposely antagonized him earlier; and, consequently, she had been asking for punishment. Still, she did not believe for a moment that he would not riddle her with bullets as soon as she turned away from him. All it took was an urge, an unknown and spontaneous anger to rile him up. She would not play the part of a fool and give him a perfect opportunity.
But then the car came to a gradual halt, parking behind a particularly high dune. The engine quieted, and the air was filled with a suffocating silence that made Asher feel woozy—or maybe she was merely craving a drink. It was difficult to discern. Either way, she did not wait too long to break the perpetual peace.
"Why are we stopping?"
Buddy grunted, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms.
Asher scowled. "I don't speak savage," she snipped.
He turned his head, popped his neck. "Resting," he said at last.
She cocked an eyebrow. Then, the words sinking in, she shook her head and huffed indignantly. "You really think I'm gonna go to sleep with you around?"
"Never asked you to, nor did I say anything 'bout sleeping."
"So, what? We're just gonna sit here?"
"You're more than welcome to take a stroll. Better be back before I'm ready to leave."
She grumbled under her breath, exiting the vehicle and purposely slamming the door behind her. Her legs were stiff from the lack of use, and her shins still ached from the harsh blow they had received. She was sure to kick the front tire as she passed by the front of the vehicle. A glance at the windshield revealed that Buddy was indifferent to the spiteful action.
Well aren't you social, Ash. Please, piss him off more.
"You wanted to loot him," she mumbled to herself, unable to retain her hatred toward the mocking voice ringing in her mind. "Bother me when you have a solid base to stand on."
That shut it up.
She climbed the dune, boots and gloved hands burying into the shifting sand to keep her somewhat stabilized. She could feel Buddy's eyes boring holes into her back, watching her traverse the dune. If the terrain had been made of a more solid material, she would have added a bit more flourish to her movements, be a show-off; but, since it was loose sand instead, she opted to keep her ascent swift and neat.
She eventually reached the top, and she planted her feet into more compact sand. She squared her shoulders and placed her hands on her hips, squinting her eyes as she scouted the area ahead of them. Left to right, she scanned with practiced ease, fighting to keep the mirages at bay. Nothing drew her attention more than the glimmer of orange light floating amongst the roiling sand. She blinked, but the light did not disappear. She scrubbed at her eyes, looked again. It remained, constant and flickering faintly—like figures moving in front of it. An encampment?
Curiosity sparked, and she took a step forward. Huge mistake.
Something wrapped around her ankle, tight and biting. She attempted to reverse her actions, but it was too late. The object around her ankle jerked and pulled her leg out from underneath her, sending her sliding down the dune's opposite side. She grunted when she collapsed at the base, limbs instinctively moving to get her back on her feet while her right hand sought her dagger. Her fingertips brushed the dagger's hilt at the same time a pair of hands entangled themselves in the scarf covering her head.
Her head was snapped backwards forcibly. She lost track of the dagger. Slightly panicked and greatly disgruntled, she glared at the face inches above her. Dilated pupils, a grin too wide and missing too many teeth, a hairless head speckled with seemingly decorative bolts and tattoos—not the greatest first impression.
"Hello," he crowed, spittle flying. Asher cringed, disgusted. "And what do we have here?"
By this time, Asher had relocated her dagger. She clasped the hilt firmly and ripped it from its sheath. "Nothin' good," she spat back before swinging the dagger around. The blade struck flesh, cutting deeply into muscle and tissue. The being cried out in anguish. She must have injured his leg, for he began to lose his balance and stumble backwards. He never did lose his grip on her, though.
She attempted to scramble to her feet again, but another harsh tug on her scarf had her falling into the sand. The being managed to swivel around to her front, for she soon felt herself being pushed onto her back, a hand splayed onto her face and burrowing her skull into the sand, fingers digging into her shoulder joint and a bare foot driving its heel into the wrist of her armed hand. She grunted in distress, her desperation rising when she felt the dagger slip from her grasp. She fumbled for her dagger, but the being's heel dug deeper, applying steady pressure.
"Well that wasn't very nice," the being hissed, no longer jovial. The hand on her face was removed, shifting to her shoulder. She felt a sharp discomfort arise—a grinding of bones as they were pulled in the wrong direction. He was going to dislocate her shoulder. "Maybe I should teach you some manners."
Asher's free hand shot forward, fingers gripping the side of his head while her thumb jammed into his eye, nail prodding into his tear duct as she pressed his eyeball into his skull. The result was immediate as the being recoiled, lifting his weight and releasing Asher. She seized the opportunity to roll away and hop into a squatting position. She raised one arm defensively while her opposite palm scavenged the sand, searching for her dagger. Where had it gone?
The being lifted his head, a thin trail of blood slipping down his gaunt cheek. He roared at her before surging forward. She scooped up sand and flung it toward his face; however, it did not stun him as effectively as she would have liked, and she quickly dodged to the side. The being faltered, swiped at his eyes and glared at her. She was faster than him—more in harmony with her movements compared to his clumsy attempts. But there was one issue—an advantage that he suddenly received.
He found the dagger.
His hand slowly rose from the sand, fingers curled around the hilt of the dagger in a vicious grip. He glanced at the dull weapon, then back at her, grinning his gap-tooth smile. He pounced.
Asher kept moving backwards, ducking the wild and uncoordinated slashes the being sent her way. He targeted critical points—ribs, thigh, throat—and if he received even the tiniest bit of luck, Asher would find herself bleeding out in the Wasteland, her own dagger dripping with her lifeblood. She would rather die by Buddy's hand, on the wrong side of his shotgun.
After the umpteenth attempt to kill her, the being paused, chest moving up and down in heaving breaths. Asher kept low, thighs burning and heart racing. She was about to rush him and knock him over when he swiped at the ground with his free hand, stirring up sand and grasping something in his palm. Asher barely recognized the 'something' as a rope before he gave a sharp tug. Asher's right leg abandoned her, and she crashed down onto her back.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Even with death near, her inner voice could not resist proving a point.
A shadow loomed over her. Asher could clearly see the dagger raised high in the air, and her mind struggled to find a new solution. The will to survive was mixed into her adrenaline, and it would not stand to lie there and take a dagger to the heart. Too easy considering the years she had endured.
The dagger was beginning its descent, and Asher was beginning to move—she had yet to formulate where—when a loud crack rang through the air. Warm, wet droplets splashed onto her face, and the being above her crumpled to the side, one of his legs lying across her abdomen. Asher blinked, stunned and amazed not to find the hilt of her dagger protruding from her chest.
Suddenly, the leg disappeared, accompanied by the faint shifting of sand and cloth. A new figure entered her vision, and she reigned in her focus to study the potential new threat. She was met with a proffered hand.
When she did not immediately accept, a gruff voice groused, "I told you I wouldn't wait for you."
Buddy. Buddy saved her life.
He must really want that gasoline, she mused to herself. She accepted his offered help. He yanked her ungracefully to her feet. She glanced briefly toward the body lying next to him, noting the disfigurement of his head. Close-range shot—what she would have looked like if he had decided to kill her earlier.
She huffed and trudged forward, reclaiming her dagger. Promptly, she cut off the rope secured around her ankle and kicked it away. When she turned around, she found Buddy still staring at her with his unforgiving grey gaze.
She spread her arms to the side. "What? You lookin' for a 'thank you' or something?"
He gestured toward the dead body with his shotgun. "What was that?"
Asher dropped her arms heavily. She sheathed her dagger, then shrugged. "Taking that stroll you suggested. I was caught by surprise."
"Surprises are what get you killed."
"And you think I don't know that? How do you think I lived this long?" She pressed a forearm to his chest and pushed him out of her path. She marched toward the dune, ready to return to the car. "I promise you, it won't happen again."
Making a promise she could not keep—that was her second mistake.
The roar of multiple engines echoed in the distance, hidden amongst the mounds of sifting sand. Asher could have sworn she saw a glimmer of white light racing toward them. Apparently, her would-be killer had friends.
Buddy growled, muttering under his breath. "Go!" he barked, shoving her forward.
Asher withheld the retort she wanted to snap back. Instead, she focused on climbing, scurrying up the dune, slipping too many times for her liking. Buddy was right at her heels, equally as clumsy as his feet and hands sank into the soft terrain. They had barely reached the top when movement drew Asher's attention, and she peered over her shoulder to see three motorcycles arriving at the base of the dune. Two people were astride each motorcycle, creating a total of six enemies chasing them down. Asher did not appreciate those odds.
She clambered to the top, took two long strides and dove over the edge, deciding that rolling down the dune would bring faster results than a carefully controlled descent. Buddy seemed to favor her solution, for he followed after her, ungraceful as he tumbled down alongside her.
She was on her feet faster than him, and she sprinted toward the muscle car parked twenty feet away. She had only covered half of the distance when the motorcycles bore down upon them, rumbling as they plummeted down the dune and sent sand flying into the air. She heard one of the two-wheeled vehicles dart behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder briefly to see where it went. Her eyes went wide when she realized the motorcycle had cut off Buddy, successfully halting his mad dash. The secondary man held a spear; and, if Asher's perception has not failed her, he was prepared to drive it into Buddy.
Automatically, Asher drew her dagger. There was split-second of hesitation afterwards, though, when her mind became divided by two decisions: Help Buddy, or take the car. To most kind-hearted people, it should not even be a consideration; in the Wasteland, however, it was a precarious choice between two risks. She could keep her partner and hope he did not kill her before they reached their destination, or she could attempt an escape now with the car and accept the dangerous variables. It was a choice between two methods of survival, one right and one wrong. She had to be smart.
She looked at Buddy and the spear poised above him. She hated greed, but she did not admire betrayal, either. She knew what she had to do, whether she liked it or not.
She was upon the spear-wielding individual before he could lower his weapon more than a few inches. Her hand gripped his shoulder while she plunged her dagger into his ribs, driving it upwards toward his heart. He cried out, flailing as he struggled with the sudden onrush of pain. Asher removed the blade harshly, consequently tugging the man off his perch. A loud gunshot had her ducking down; and from the corner of her eye, she saw the driver collapse onto the ground, bleeding profusely. One motorcycle down, two more circling them like hungry vultures.
Buddy waved her on as he regained his footing, and she did not hesitate. She resumed her retreat and reached the muscle car in a matter of seconds. Into the passenger seat she went, closing the door just before a motorcyclist could ram into it. Buddy was sliding into the driver's side moments after her, starting the engine and letting it roar to life. He shifted gears, slammed his foot on the gas pedal and sent the vehicle jolting forward. He swerved to the right, avoiding the steep dune altogether and opting for a different path, never lifting his foot even a fraction. The result was a swerving turn that had Asher gripping her seat to keep from being thrown around the interior.
Soon, they were speeding alongside the dune, the motorcycles tailing after them. Asher glanced at the side view mirror.
"Who are they?" she shouted above the guttural hum of the engine.
"Don't know, don't care," he said shortly. Asher did not press further. Scavengers, probably. Those were common. Not necessarily lethal; but when banded together in considerable numbers, they could pose as a nuisance. Such as now.
"Give me a gun," she demanded.
He did not look her—did not consider the request for long. "Won't need it. We'll outrun them."
"Yeah, and use up our gasoline. Don't particularly like that option," she snapped, upper lip twitching with impatience. "You can't shoot and drive. I can take care of the shooting and chase them off."
Dreadful seconds passed as he deliberated. Granted, if he did not answer or, worse, denied her again, she would have snatched away the shotgun resting rightfully in his lap. She had no desire to waste fuel or to be dominated by the scoundrels who were hunting them. Buddy was certainly not going to stop her, and she knew he could not worry about her and his driving simultaneously—not in a demanding chase such as this.
She nearly followed through with her plan when he informed, "Behind me, under my seat."
She followed those orders and discovered a revolver buried in a mess of spare clothes. She tested the weight of the weapon, rivaling the feel of such a powerful weapon in her palms. Much more threatening than her dull dagger.
"Start shooting."
Without hesitance, Asher cranked down the window, twisted her body around and leaned her torso out the open portal. Her left hand was wobbly; therefore, she aimed in the general direction of the pursuing motorcycles and hoped a few bullets found a target. She was not one to dwindle supplies, especially so recklessly; however, she had no plans of being killed and looted by mere scavengers. Besides, this was not her gun. It belonged to Buddy. He could figure out how to find more bullets himself.
Several shots were fired, most missing, but a few managing to take down another motorcycle, leaving it burrowed in the sand. Asher was beginning to focus her attention on the final motorcycle when Buddy gave her the briefest of warnings:
"Turning."
Sure enough, the car turned, nearly sending Asher tumbling out of the window. She flailed, her free hand gripping the door frame, one knee buried into the car seat and the ankle of her opposite leg being held firmly by a large palm. She tried to ignore the weightless feeling she felt as she aimed waveringly at the final motorcycle. She squinted, closed one eye, pulled the trigger—the driver jerked backwards, and the motorcycle went spinning and flipping, engulfed by the darkness of the night.
Hurriedly, she pulled herself back into the car, rolling the window back up. Buddy did not need verbal confirmation of her success, probably having witnessed the final motorcycle fade as the distance between them increased. He released a sigh, but he did not lighten the pressure on the gas pedal.
Asher looked at him pointedly. "They're gone. You can slow down."
"Not until we leave the vicinity."
She shook her head, but did not argue. She was too tired to argue.
After a few minutes, Buddy asked, "You gonna put the gun back?"
Asher stared at the aforementioned weapon still clasped in her hand. She had forgotten about it. She was tempted to say no—to say she wanted to keep it for her own safety. But then she spared a glance at the shotgun in his lap and recalled the image of her attacker, cranium a fragmented mess. She replaced the revolver where she found it, tossing the crumpled clothes on top of it for good measure.
Buddy was silent for a moment. Then he muttered, "Appreciated."
"Don't need your appreciation," she said. "Just don't threaten to blast off my leg again."
He grunted. Asher did not bother to ask what he meant. She really did not want to know.
To the Reviewers:
K: Thank you very much! Hope you liked Chapter 2, as well.
WendyBird21: You sound just like me: Saw the movie, loved it and instantly had a craving for a fanfiction about it. Then that suddenly blossomed into this story. As for the third person, I find that perspective as my strongest. I have tried first person a couple times (resulting in only one successful attempt) and I find I favor third more. Besides, as you said, third is easier for Mad Max. It gets a bit crazy, and one person can only see so much. Thank you for reviewing!
reddevil47: Their dynamic will become even more chaotic - don't you worry. It should be interesting, to say the least.
Anonymoose: Thank you! Hope to keep you hooked!
PsychoBeachGirl88: I'm glad! Thank you for the review, and I hope you liked Chapter 2!
avanns: I can't say Asher or Max will enjoy where this is going; but, it's good to hear that you are, haha. Thank you for the review!
Diamonds and Bones: Thanks!
KatieBees: Thank you! That is very kind of you to say, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story thus far! As for Asher, it's good to know she is coming along nicely and fitting into the Mad Max universe - I hope she remains that way. And the action scenes: Well, I have another one for you up above, and hopefully, it pulled through just as well. There will be plenty more to come, no worries.