Cayden drove across the desert, steadily growing closer and closer to the tiny outline in the distance. It had shifted from barely a speck on the horizon to a more distinct, though still hazy, dark shape, increasing in size and detail with every passing second. As he closed the distance, wheels bouncing over the firm sand, Cayden began to consider what would happen when he finally reached the Rig, spending his time running through as many possible scenarios in his head as he could. It was, to put it bluntly, less than settling. The majority of them revolved around Furiosa killing him and taking his supplies, an outcome Cayden knew to be incredibly, depressing possible. In the Wasteland, trust was something hard to earn and harder to give. The assistance he'd provided against the War Boys and Buzzards didn't matter. Furiosa had no reason to even listen to him, let alone accept the aid of a random stranger, offering for seemingly no reason. Cayden came to the conclusion that, when he reached the Rig, he would have to face the possibility of reliving his past, in order to garner a successful outcome. The only way to get her to accept his help was through total honesty about his motivation, no matter the pain it would cause. Taking a deep breath, he resolved himself to the inevitable. He would do whatever it took, provided he wasn't shot within the first five seconds.
By this time the car was close to drawing up alongside the stationary War Rig, Cayden's thoughts having absorbed him enough to not notice the fast dwindling gap. Startled out of his contemplation at this realisation, he began to slow his vehicle, taking in the detail and, more importantly, size of the Rig. Having been focused on other matters before, Cayden had never truly taken the time to admire this marvel of machinery. It truly was colossal, over five times his car's length and over twice his own height. He could definitely see how such a vehicle had been gained the reputation to be known as the flagship of Joe's armada: it looked to have been kitted out to take on the entirety of the Wasteland by itself. Covered from engine to exhaust in armour and spikes, it was a fearsome sight, the jagged razors coating the hubcaps making Cayden fear about the damage it could cause his car with just a single swipe. His eyes roamed over it, from the guard and lookout positions overlooking the great sphere of the fuel pod, over the walkway and empty Thunderpoon racks of the tanker, all the way to the large cabin at the head of the whole contraption. He could see the broken and twisted metal from where the Buzzard saw had bitten into it, as well as the innumerable pockmarks of bullets that coated the whole thing. Lastly, his eyes went down to the very front of the monstrosity, where, jutting proudly from the hood, two giant V8 engines rested, glinting in the son and putting his own motor to shame. All in all, this Rig was one bad-ass ride, a titan of the Wasteland and one very few would willingly take on. Despite the flaming skull symbols that littered the metalwork, Cayden could feel himself almost falling in love with the thing, never having seen a vehicle that commanded such a presence. As his car finally pulled up alongside the beautiful beast, Cayden succeeded in wrenching his eyes off the great engine at its fore, focusing instead on the small, rag-tag group clustered beside it.
The second he saw the group, Cayden knew that his earlier assumptions had massively underestimated Furiosa's plan and hatred of Joe. Whereas he had thought that there was only one of Joe's Wives being smuggled out of the Citadel, there were five women, aside from Furiosa, standing next to the Rig, all of them dressed in white clothing, sticking out like a sore thumb in the Wasteland's barren brown and yellow. The Imperator, to Cayden's delight and utter respect, had succeeded in freeing all of Joe's most prized breeders, with Cayden's quick scan of the group telling him that their reputation, while well earned, paled in comparison to seeing them in the flesh. The women were undeniably, impossibly beautiful, looking like angels who had descended into Hell. In the few seconds he still had before suspicion could surpass curiosity for the Imperator, Cayden paid each of the Wives, none of whom looked to be older than him, a deeper amount of attention, taking them in. The one in the centre was most certainly the leader. She was the tallest of the group and seemingly the oldest, looking to be about his age, with blond hair and a well-defined face, fixed into a hard look. Cayden's eyes couldn't help but lower to the large pregnant bulge of her belly, and he let out a sigh. Being forced to carry around the spawn of that madman was not a punishment he would wish on anybody. To her right, gripping her arm in an iron fist, was a much younger girl, looking to be the youngest of the group, with jet black hair and a thin, almost waif-like figure. She looked, in a word, terrified, half hiding behind another woman, whose arm she held in a similarly tight grip. This wife was a pale blonde with a dazed, dreamy expression on her face, looking at Cayden with eyes that seemed too old for such a young person, especially one as sheltered as this, kept safe from the fires of the Wasteland. To the left of the leader was a woman with fiery red hair who, despite her position of slight shelter, looked on with more curiosity than fear. Lastly, Cayden's eyes landed on the final figure of the group, and he felt his breath catch slightly as he took her in. She was, in a word, exquisite. The shortest of the group, with short brown hair and dark eyes, she looked to Cayden like an exotic goddess, one he couldn't look away from. Following her eyes, he could see how, instead of trying to see him behind the windshield, she was looking at his car with an appreciative gaze, and he chuckled to himself. At least she had good taste. All of the Wives shared a look that was laced with fear, clear on their faces, ranging from clear as day to barely evident, and he knew he would have to remove these looks if they were ever going to trust him, or at least accept his services. Realising his time was up, seeing the look on Furiosa's face shift into one he had seen on those about to fight, Cayden surreptitiously reached under the dashboard, flicking a number of switches and priming the car's booby trap. Better safe than sorry, he thought to himself. Finding comfort in the knowledge that his car, his home, was protected, he reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out slowly into the Wasteland's hot sand.
The feel of the sun on her face, with a cool breeze blowing through her hair, felt magnificent to Toast. Having been huddled up in the Rig's hidden compartment for hours on end, confined and barely able to breath, the sudden freedom sent her head spinning. Toast could barely remember the last time she had felt so free. It was while she still lived in the Wasteland, moving from place to place with her tribe, her family. They had passed too close to the Citadel, a foolish mistake and their last. She could still see them when she closed her eyes, being butchered by War Boys whilst she survived, imprisoned inside the Vault of Immortan Joe. What she had gone through in there, what she and the other Wives had been forced to endure, Toast never wanted to think of again, the very idea of it making her feel sick. She was alive, she was with friends, and she was free. She still couldn't quite comprehend the escape. It had been days, weeks in the making, and was riddled with the risk of capture, setting the teeth of all the Wives on edge throughout the entire thing. Toast pushed those thoughts out of her mind. It was over, she was free of the Citadel and that was all that mattered. She reached up to the sky and stretched, her muscles losing the stress they'd built up over the past day.
The rumble of an engine caught her attention. It wasn't coming from the Rig, and it was far too quiet for that monster of engineering anyway. She turned to locate the noise. There in the distance, close to the way they had come, Toast could see the outline of a car. It was too small to see if it was War Boys yet, but Toast felt her blood run cold with fear. What if it was a War Boy? What if Joe caught up with them here? She couldn't bear the thought of being taken back to the Citadel, to the life she had run from, and a glance to the other Wives showed they shared the same feeling of dread. One by one, each of the women turned to Furiosa, eyes searching for a sign as to what happened next. Strangely, however, the Imperator didn't move. Toast's eyes, searching for the next move, found only a look of anticipation mixed with curiosity. Surprised at the lack of movement from the warrior, she turned back to look at the car. It was closer now, and Toast could clearly see that it wasn't War Boys, no skeletal figures clambering over the framework. Toast just about heard Angharad's whispered 'We're not going back', and glanced at the other Wives, her friends, her sisters, finding an identical resolve on their faces, despite the fear coursing through them. No matter what came next, they would not be going back with Joe. And so they waited.
The seconds seemed to stretch into minutes, minutes into hours, until eventually the dark car reached the Rig. As it stopped, Toast took in the vehicle. It was old, that much was clear. The black paint that covered it was flaking, flashes of metallic silver visible at the edges of the body. Long and lean, with metal bars attached to it as armour and a large V8 engine sticking out of the hood, she had to admit that it was a beautiful ride. The damage done to it was no surprise, they did exist in a world where the only choice was fight or die after all, but Toast was astonished at the sheer extent of battle scars. The whole thing looked to have been through Hell, metal dented and pockmarked with the windshield cracking in places. She saw the twisted metal of the hood, clearly a recent repair if her memories of before the Citadel served, and it was clear that the car, not to mention its driver, was a veteran of many fights. She couldn't see the driver, the car's interior being too dark, but she could see a vague outline. She waited for something to happen, seconds beginning to stretch once again. After what felt like an age, the outline shifted, opening the door and stepping out into the harsh sunlight.
The first thing she noticed about the figure was that it was tall. It looked to be roughly as tall as Furiosa or Agnharad, with long limbs and a lean build. Its face was covered by a balaclava and tinted goggles, with the hood of the figure's jacket hiding the top of its head. Despite this, Toast still got a lot from the clothing it wore. A battered leather jacket covered its torso, the original black colouring still showing through, littered with patches, stitches and scorch marks. It had clearly been through a lot of punishment, just like the car. Black combat pants covered the figure's legs, and a lump formed in the back of Toast's throat when she saw the shotgun that was strapped to its left hip. Fighting the feeling of fear it inspired, she quickly moved on. Combat boots were wrapped around its feet, the toes capped in dull and dented metal, having obviously seen heavy action. At the end of the figure's arms, a set of fingerless gloves encased its hands, fingers long and slender. Toast spotted a gap, and noticed that the figure's right ring finger was partially gone, the stump wrapped in dirtied bandage. Just from the figure's clothing, Toast could clearly see that it was a fighter, the battered and repaired outfit definitive signs of a hardened road warrior. This thought just made her more anxious. What would such a person be doing following them? What was it they wanted? Questions like these flitted through Toast's mind, making her desperate for the answer to at least some of them. Was this person, whoever they were, her to help or not? And, more importantly, what had they done to merit Furiosa's lack of a violent response?
Just as Toast came close to being wrapped up in her thoughts, the figure moved. Toast jumped back, as did the other Wives, while Furiosa merely gripped the pistol she held in her hand. The figure raised its arm, palm opened outwards, while slowly tugging the shotgun from its holster. It held the weapon for the briefest of seconds before tossing it forwards, sending it rolling in the dust to stop at Furiosa's feet. The Imperator, as well as the Wives, looked at the item in astonishment. The figure was placing an enormous amount of trust in the group, surrendering its weapon like that. Toast saw Furiosa's grip on her gun lessen slightly as she examined the metal item at her feet, before looking up to examine the figure.
"Who are you?" she asked, voice like a gunshot in the silence as she stepped forward, coming to a halt in front of the Wives, shielding them slightly.
"A friend" came back after a pause. The voice was deep and slightly gravelly, seemingly not having been used in a while. Furiosa's eyes widened slightly at the statement, but quickly returned to their original glare.
"Why did you help us?" she asked, a question that was swimming through Toast's head as well. Instead on words, the figure answered by raising its arm, gesturing to the Wives that had slowly moved closer together. This did nothing to appease the Imperator, her furious look and tightened grip making even Toast feel a deep sense of apprehension.
"How do I know we can trust you?" she asked, the question laced with venom and barely contained anger, focused on this stranger who had appeared from the sands with an offer of support. Her senses were on high alert as she moved in front of the Wives fully, ready to protect them from this potential threat. A harsh sigh was released from the figure, and Toast watched as its arms were slowly raised up to its head. It flipped the hood back, revealing short brown hair, and pulled the balaclava down from its mouth. Finally, the goggles were pushed up to its forehead, and the six women were finally able to see their mysterious ally's face. He was young, that was the first thing Toast noticed, around Angharad's age, if not a bit older. His face was thin, made up of sharp edges and strong cheekbones, with his jaw covered with a stubbly layer of hair. He was handsome, Toast admitted, but his entire face was cold and empty, as though he had seen some terrible atrocity, and was looking at the world the way an outsider would. Even his eyes, a vibrant shade of dark green that made her feel slightly weak at the knee, were filled with a deep sadness and burning rage that seemed unnatural for someone so young. She snapped back to reality when he once again spoke, his voice clear and strong in the desert air.
"You don't," he stated, taking Furiosa by surprise with the admission, "but everyone deserves freedom. Besides", he added, with a ghost of a smirk, "any chance to bring suffering to Joe is a chance I will accept with open arms."
Furiosa eyed the young man, expression giving nothing away as her mind processed what he had said, and, for a brief moment, Toast thought that the Imperator was actually going to shoot the man. Slowly, the gun in Furiosa's had crept back into its holster and she stepped forward again, arm out in a gesture of acceptance that the man returned, the two gripping each other's forearms for a moment before dropping. Toast could barely repress a smile as she saw the man surreptitiously eye the large metal arm hanging from Furiosa's right arm, particularly lingering on the sharp claws. As Furiosa turned back to the Rig, Toast realised with a start that they had never got the man's name. Mentally shrugging, she came to the conclusion that it didn't matter. They had a new ally in their escape and, as Toast knew from past experience, allies were a rare thing in the Wasteland, especially trustworthy ones, with the help they now had already boosting their chance. Slowly but surely, they were getting closer to freedom.
Cayden followed Furiosa to her position beside the Rig, pausing for a moment to stoop and retrieve his gun. It had been a risky move, and he knew that, had he failed, he wouldn't have been fast enough to reach for the knife in his boot before being killed. Nevertheless, it had worked, a fact Cayden was immensely grateful for. He stopped next to Furiosa, who was opening up a hatch in the side of the Rig, through which he could just about see a section of the engine. Admiring what he was able to see of the contraption for a moment, he snapped back his attention as the Imperator turned, signalling him to follow with a small head movement. The pair walked around the front of the vehicle, Cayden looking on the great ram in awe and some fear for what it could do to his own ride, before they reached the other side of the engine. He leaned against the metal, waiting as Furiosa reached into the cabin and pulled out a handful of tools, tossing each one to Cayden who caught them effortlessly, a skill born from long years of practise. Throwing him the final implement, Furiosa closed the door and crouched down, gesturing to the underbelly of the Rig.
"She took a few knocks, need you to patch her up." she instructed, Cayden kneeling down to examine the damage. It looked to only be minor damage, nothing he couldn't handle.
"You got it." he grunted, already lowering himself beneath the beast. Furiosa's sudden grip on his arm made him stop and look at her, a confused expression on his face, masking the wince her strong fist inspired.
"You've offered your help and I've accepted. Fine. But I don't trust you. And I swear, if you do anything that even slightly threatens me or the others," she leaned in closer, her face never changing its calm look, even as her eyes burned hellfire into his skull, "I swear that I will make you beg for death when I'm done with you." She stood again, walking back around to re-join the Wives, leaving Cayden, half on his back, to consider her words. Recognising how deadly serious she was, as well as recognising her threat, he forced away the slight shiver of fear that had accompanied the words, and got to work. If she didn't trust him, then he'd better hurry up and give her a reason to.
Half an hour later, Cayden was dirty, sore and angry. The damage that had at first appeared light was in fact more extensive than he'd thought, and he had spent many a painful minute trying to repair engine parts that were always only just within reach. His face was covered with oil, his fingers were red and burnt and his back screamed from the twisted position he was in. Nevertheless, he refused to stop, determined to earn at least a fraction of Furiosa's trust through repairing the Rig. A light tap on his leg made him pause in his efforts, and he pulled himself out from under the Rig to see who had interrupted him. One of the Wives, the leader, stood above him, clutching a water flask in one hand. Cayden was forced to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked up at her, the look of curiosity on his face mixing with a pained scowl to form a slightly unnerving expression as he regarded the young woman. She stretched out her hand, offering him the flask.
"I thought you might be thirsty." she said as he took it, almost snatching it from her as he brought it to his lips. In truth, he was desperate for a drink, and the cool liquid on his tongue seemed to have come straight from Paradise. A few moments passed, the only sound being the slosh of water. Cayden eventually lowered the bottle, his thirst quenched.
"Thanks." he muttered, holding out the flask to hand it back. The woman shook her head, a smile touching her lips.
"You keep it, you might need it later. And it's really no problem. You're helping us, it's the least I could do." Cayden stared up at her for a second, amazed. Nowhere in the Wasteland would such a simple act of kindness occur, most survivors too focused on helping themselves instead of others. He slowly pocketed the flask, sitting up slightly to lean against the warm metal side of the Rig. He looked at the woman with curiosity, the scowl loosening on his brow.
"What's your name?" he asked. She, slowly, lowered herself to sit beside him, hands coming up to support her belly as she eased herself down.
"My name's Angharad." she replied, no hesitation in her voice. Cayden nodded his acceptance and watched as she tilted her head, eyes never leaving him. "Normally you're supposed to tell me your name when I tell you mine." she prompted softly after a few moments. Cayden, who had begun to doze off leaning against the warm, soothing metal, turned to look at her fully. His mind fought over what to do next. Should he tell her his name? He did want their trust, but he felt like this might be too far. Out of all the people he'd met in his life, most of those who knew his name were dead, it slowly having become a closely guarded secret over the years. Angharad kept watching him in this time, eventually letting out a soft sigh and beginning to rise from her spot. Seeing this, Cayden made his decision.
"My name's Cayden." he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. She stopped her movement and looked down at him, before slowly sinking back down. She smiled at him, a soft tug of her lips that Cayden wasn't used to seeing from others. The sight, so full of life and happiness at his simple response, unnerved him slightly, and he moved quickly on, desperate to escape the feelings it unearthed in him.
"So, this escape of yours," he began, gesturing to the Rig in an attempt to include the other women on its other flank, "where do you plan to go?" The smile on Angharad's face never deteriorated for a second, somehow growing even larger at the mention of their freedom. As she opened her mouth to reply, Cayden leaned his head back against the Rig to listen. The sensations he felt, the sensations she had stirred in him, seeming so alien and terrifying at first, had begun to settle down into a warm glow in his chest, and he enjoyed the feeling. This was peace, he realised, a taste of peace. And he couldn't get enough of it.
Cayden spent many minutes sitting beside Angharad, listening as she told him of her life, the other wives, teaching him their names, although he paid a little more attention when it came to the one named 'Toast', about Furiosa and about the Citadel, how she had ended up there and what life was like in the rocky fortress. She held her belly when she spoke about the last subject, and her voice was much more subdued. Cayden couldn't blame her. After such a traumatic experience, he was willing to wait as long as she needed for her to get the painful memories off her chest. God knows he had plenty of those himself. She also told him of their plan to escape to 'the Green Place', a virtual paradise where the Imperator had first come from. Cayden listened to the plan and the tales of this place with fascination. A straightforward plan, relatively easy to accomplish, with the goal sounding like a godsend. A land of green in the desert, a place for freedom and life. He listened in silence, taking in every word until there were no more to come. After a moment of processing the new information he had acquired, he turned his gaze back to the pregnant woman.
"Thank you for sharing this with me, as well as the water." he said, careful to infuse his words with the sense of gratitude he truly felt at her gift, "But I think you should go back to the others now. They'll be wondering what's kept you and, besides, you must be eager to get that", he nodded at the metal belt she still wore around her waist, "off of you."
"You're right." Angharad agreed, easing herself up onto her legs. Cayden jumped up to help her, gaining a thankful look from the young woman. They regarded each other for a second, before the young road warrior lowered himself back onto the ground once more, preparing to continue his repairs. Angharad hovered for a moment, a small struggle being fought behind her eyes. Eventually, she came to a decision and moved back towards Cayden.
"What you said earlier, about being a friend," she began, and Cayden looked up at her in confusion, "did you mean it? Will you really help us get to the Green Place?"
Cayden thought his interaction with Furiosa, as well as his position in fixing the engine, had answered the question already, but he understood her meaning after a second. She wanted to know if he would stay, if he would protect them on their journey, or just disappear back into the sands. Looking up at the woman, he met her eye with a steady gaze, never wavering.
"I promise you that I will help you reach your freedom, no matter what. All of you." He stated firmly, eyeing her bulging belly at the last bit. Angharad stared at him for a second more, before slowly smiling at him one last time and walking away, the sound of her footfalls swallowed by the desert and the massive Rig. Cayden watched her go, a small voice resounding in his head. He didn't know why he had made that promise, didn't know what force had compelled in to do so. Despite this, he knew he would keep it, would see it through to the very end. He had made a similar promise before, and he swore that, this time, he would not fail, would not be the reason for more innocent death. Settling this in his heart, he pushed himself back under the engine. There was still much to do, and they had a long journey ahead of them.
Hey guys, sorry about the delay, I will try to be more speedy with future updates (no promises though)
This is my first attempt at writing dialogue, so sorry if it feels out of character or clunky, hopefully it'll get better with experience
Thanks so much for the reviews and support, and I'll talk to you later
TimeFury1347