So... Funny story. I got pretty hammered last night. Poor judgment happened. I'm bald now. Straight up bald.
It was really hard this morning to resist digging out the Halloween make up and dressing like a War Boy for the day. I couldn't resist the temptation. Plus I owe a good friend silly pictures for the hassle of helping me shave my skull.
Chug is a what if machine.
-Chug-
I was cooked, got a headache from hell too. That's what a nasty sunburn will do to you and if you stand in the shadows with a burn like that you'll just feel cold.
The homecoming was real shine though. I've never felt so happy to be back to this boring place. Notch seemed pleased with himself too, at least until Ace spoke up about everything we brought back. See, we'd had a very specific order, bring back the brewers so we could have safe moonshine for trade. What if this man we brought back was just a grunt with no knowledge? I understood that a decision had to be made on Notch and Ike's part so that most of us would get back before the desert wicked away all the aqua-cola from our bodies leaving us dry and dead but I wonder if maybe we hadn't tried hard enough. Notch had told us that we'd done good. That I'd done good even though I almost wrecked us twice when he let me try the wheel. I was a lancer, not so much because I was good at it in particular but because Notch was a driver and I wanted to be with him, no matter what I had to be to do that. Notch kept saying I was a shit lancer and I needed to try other things. He kept saying that I could become a good driver if I tried hard enough.
Actually I don't think my lancing is that bad. I just think he doesn't want me to be the first man to be shot at like his last lancer, Tank. I do like driving, it makes my skin tingle under the war paint. And I think maybe... Maybe I could be a driver and really like it.
But Notch really, really is a fucking rotten awful lancer so it's not like we could just switch places. He needs a wheel in his hands and I don't want to leave him. If I was to become a driver then I'd have to build a car, then find a lancer of my own, and then I wouldn't be Notch's lancer anymore. I don't know what I'd like more, driving or staying with Notch.
What if when I become a driver, my lancer turns out to be a smeg eating arse-hole? What if I miss Notch too much? It's not like it would be goodbye but I wasn't sure if he'd keep me in his crew. What if I was an okay driver but not good enough to stay? What if he was just trying to figure out a way to be rid of me?
Thoughts like these consume, burn you up like kindling in a fire but I couldn't help it. Notch wasn't keen on me at first. He hadn't wanted me at all the first time I asked for partnership back when I was just an unranked fledgling from the litter of pups that slept in his crew's kip. Notch and Tank had been the ones to haul me up, bring me here to food and water and life in the Citadel. I could still remember how they argued over me. Tank was the one who insisted actually. We had the same eyes and something about that made Tank want to take me up with him on the lift. I don't remember much in the way of details. I was too little to hang onto everything that had been in my head at that time but often it's better for pups to remember little if not nothing at all.
For the rest of the waning high noon heat I wandered about finding members of our crew to assist. When Fork and Ike came up with Gizzard and Bolts with them I had to help take the wounded to the blood hall and the organic's shop. Shock and Lug gave me a hand with that. Ike had to be carried and Gizzard had to be persuaded. Gizz and Ike had sand burns from being tossed down off the speeding cargo truck by the masked maniac. Tales would be told of that weirdo for seasons to come. What a nutter. The mask that creature wore might just haunt the dreams of Bolts who was notoriously tender headed. I think maybe the mask he wore was supposed to be like a skull, but the "teeth" were made of what I think were fingernails. Whole human fingernails.
As the afternoon drew on it seemed like Notch was avoiding me. He had never returned to the space where we always parked our ride, surely he'd have a mind to assess any damages and begin lining out a plan to deal with it. There were some nasty scuffs and the front end was looking pretty rust with a ram bar that had been bent in the road skirmish. Could he be annoyed with me about that? That made my stomach sour, even after daily rations were handed out and there was food in my guts. Was he angered? He didn't seem mad before we arrived home. He had seemed happy, proud even. Why was he avoiding me? I just wanted to know what I had done.
I had his bowl of grits and green stuff in my hand and a half full canteen for him under my arm. He always forgot to feed and water himself when we returned from a wild hunt. Always too busy doing this and that and reporting to this person and that person, taking care of everyone else and their bullshit until finally he realizes that he's running on fumes. He wouldn't need a top-up, just food and drink. Like many others he was a half-life but for the longest time it was just his chest that was messed up, not his blood or the sickness deep in the bones. There are a lot of reasons to call someone half-life. Anything that cuts your chances at long years in half really. If Notch inhaled too much exhaust, or road dust, or got a little too close to the holy gates and chromed himself then not long later he'd be on the floor turning blue in the lips and trying to suck air through pipes that had slammed shut. Now with the lumps on him showing up and growing slowly over the last few seasons I was anticipating the day he'd need the blood to keep going. So far he hadn't but it was only a matter of time and he wouldn't go to the Organic to get them looked at. He was too stubborn and just maybe too ready to die. There's not really much you could do for lumps but I still wished that he would just go ask about them.
Why wasn't he checking in at our lot yet? He usually let me shadow him while he made his rounds looking after the others following a homecoming.
I was soon making my way to each lot which our crew and chariots occupied, peering around to see if I couldn't spot him among the black thumbs and tired members of our group. I passed Fork, pulling out a couple dents in the Volkswagen he refused to name and kept saying was only a temporary ride. It was a beetle, which was problematic for a driver like Fork who was so tall that sitting in his own car practically put his knees up by his ears.
Deeper into our tangle of cars and scrap parts I passed by Nytro and Cutter's spot where only Cutter was standing there looking forlorn in the odd absence of Nytro. It wasn't hard to guess what the driver might be doing.
The next lot I walked by belonged to Shock and Lugnugget. A quick glance was all I needed and after that I moved the fuck on. Those two were at each others throats for something or other and if anyone stepped too close they'd get pulled into the dispute as well.
"You drank ALL of the aqua-cola you greedy filth!"
"You spilled half of yours and coughed out the other half laughing at yourself! Don't blame me for your problems you shit head! Stoned shitless idiot."
"I hate your guts!"
"My guts aren't there for you to like arse-hole!"
Soon tools and fists would be flying. It wasn't my argument so I intended to stay out of it. They were just tired and haven't quite throttled down from the war we waged the night before against Brewers and Buzzards. I knew Notch wasn't there or else he'd have sorted them out already.
"Aye CHUG!" I heard followed by a thud clank thud clank. "You lookin' for Notch?"
It was Ross, clumping down the aisle to catch up with me on his flesh and metal legs. I turned to look. Eyes drifting down to the straps, leather and the rod of half rusted steel that started just after the bend in his knee and ended with two funny shaped hooks welded into it so that he could hitch it onto his gas pedal. See, Ross was the senior boy of another hunting and patrol crew. Getting a leg whacked off in the meat shop cause' of infection wasn't going to stop him from driving.
When our eyes met again he was smirking. What an exhibitionist. He just got off on everyone looking at it. "Yeah, You seen him?"
"He's up ahead in G4 among my boys. I let him use one of the vacant spaces on our turf to park that piece of shit for the twins to polish up."
"Right. Thanks."
We followed each other up to Ross and his boy's patch of garage. He waved a hand toward where I'd find who I was looking for before moving on to prepare his team for dusk patrol shift.
There he was. Notch was elbows deep in the Ford Escort showing Tap and Die the trouble he suspected might be found there under the hood.
"Finally caught up to you." I said, but he must not have heard me.
Find something else to say. Louder.
"Valkyrie is all put away. Had to help Shock and Nugget take Ike in. Poor sod. He was so hoping this was it... I give him days mate. If there ain't nothing else to do between now an' then. Fever will prolly take him."
He wouldn't supply me with a response. He just turned his head to look at me, slate hued eyes looking even more colorless than usual. Red had run like a slick down his jaw and onto his collar bone. My guts did a back flip. That gnash on his face hadn't been so bad before. Did Furiosa shred him?
"What happened to your face mate? It was only a scratch before." I may have let the worry seep into the question too thickly.
Notch's brows lowered. He wasn't happy, something must have gotten deep under his skin after our return. He seemed to shrug off any further questioning from me as he wiped his hands and wrung his greasy fingers through a rag from his pocket. "It's nothin'. Come here."
I wanted to know what had happened; more was buggin' him than the tear on his face but he wouldn't say. Maybe after he eats he'll tell me then.
He extended a hand and at first I thought that he would reach for the bowl I'd brought him but instead he snatched my face in both hands and shoved up my lip with his thumb. "Gums are white. You better go get a top-up before you cark it."
I twisted away, feeling frustration burning holes in my head. As he let go I tried to rear back as if to ram him (since my hands were full) but instead stumbling backwards over my own boots and almost ending up on my ass. You really do get too accustomed to feeling like rust. I was only just now realizing how fuzzy in the head I was feeling but I regained my balance. "Would you park whatever stupid pride or bullshit hang-up you're on about? That thing on your face needs staples!"
The moment I had finished spewing angered words Notch moved forward like a coiled snake striking out for a kill bite. It was too quick for a boy in need of blood to counteract.
I was spun around and pushed down by his grip on my head and his knee in my spine. The bowl that had been in my hands clattered to the floor and slid three feet into a tool box, creating a splatter of grits and slimy green food stuffs but I wouldn't notice the mess until after the altercation. What had my attention now was the way he had me pinned up against the stolen car. Six inches to the left and the rail road spike welded on under the driver side window would have been buried in my guts. I'd feel and see a nice purple bruise on my brow tonight but for now the adrenaline had me and I didn't feel anything but how tight his hands gripped me. His breath hot on the back of my ear too as he hissed.
"Unless you want a few more staples in your own head, drop this and just leave it alone... And I don't take orders from pups like you." It came from him like growl so I silenced my thoughts, keeping them caged behind clenched teeth.
There were no more words before he left. Only after he was out of sight did one come free.
"Tosser."
It escaped in a whisper as I touched at the scar on my skull. It felt cruel for him to bring up the stables that held my scalp together. Long ago I'd felt so stupid falling off a boarding wagon during pup-hood on a training run. Got scalped on a passing pursuit crew's side mirror as I had gone down. It was a scar I hated because it was for a stupid mistake; which I made a lot of.
"What crawled up his arse?" Die leaned out of the driver side window and scratched at the back of my head as if to try and encourage me back to a standing position. I didn't feel like it, so I just turned and sat leaning back against the tire looking at the mess from dropping the bowl.
"I don't care what's got him hot in the skull. Don't fucking care." I muttered, to which Tap made an odd noise in his throat before speaking.
"You look like you should probably go to the sick hall for some blood. We're gonna pass it on our way to the wheel shrines for before bed prayers. You can come with me and Die, yeah?"
I felt my shoulders lift and droop. I didn't care. Something hurt but I couldn't pinpoint where the feeling was coming from. "I think I'll just be headed to the bunks once I'm back up. I can wait til tomorrow morning for a blood bag. Prolly crowded in there anyway."
I might have gotten their murmurs of disagreement to listen to if shouting and the sounds of a brawl in the aisle between rows of cars hadn't invaded our ears. A small crowd had gathered around Shock and Lug as their squabbling escalated into a knock down and drag out. We emerged from the repair lot and joined the circle of spectators. Ross was holding up two oil pans full of personal effects used as gambling tokens and shouting "BETS HERE! PLACE UM HERE!" A pile of scrap metal and trinkets had also begun gathering at his boot and peg leg for winnings as everyone wagered goods on who would be the victorious one.
I stood on my toes to see over Fork's shoulder. Lugnugget had Shock under him, attempting to strangle him into submission. Soon the half feral boy turned the odds to his favor with his thumbs trying to hollow out Lug's eye sockets. They broke apart because Lug had to let go lest he be stricken blind. Shock swung a fist, missed, and they were on the ground again grappling for control of the others limbs.
"I'm betting for Nugget." Chirped Tap as he fished around in his pockets for something to wager. "Who do you think has the win Die?"
"Shock's got this one." The little War Girl said as she brandished a handful of bottle caps to bet.
I couldn't help but to look for Notch among the crowd. Was he here? Trying to break up the fight? Nah, as fuming as he was for whatever reason he'd be placing a bet, not trying to keep peace.
I didn't find him and I didn't bother to watch the fight all the way through. I slunk off to the place where we bunked down at every days end. Once there I yanked off my boots to toss toward the dead end of the hall we occupied at night deep in the rock and crawled up to the ledge where Notch and I always slept back to back. It was cool and quiet and I was alone. It felt rusty and soothing at the same time to be my only company. Soon the drip, drip, drip of the damp rock sweating out underground moisture lulled me into a half sleep.
-0-
When next I opened my eyes I turned my head to find that Notch wasn't there. First came selfish relief, then worry. I rolled to look out over the ledge and found that most every member of our crew was curled into their sleep spots.
Our sleep turf was just a corridor that had long ago been dug out of the stone but the work had been abandoned, leaving a dead end. Over generations this had been a spot that many a War Boy had used and over time those determined to make the space more hospitable had carved out hollows and benches in the walls to lay down. Real bunks existed elsewhere, but there were much too many War Boys to fit into the barracks. Some crews fought over the Barracks but Notch never saw a point in challenging the occupants when we had a decent spot of our own. A real cot would be shine though.
I wondered how long I'd had my eyes closed and how deep into sleep I had drifted. This got me thinking on how late it must be if most everyone but the wounded were here. I leaned out a little further to count heads.
Shock and Lugnugget were peacefully -or as close to peace as they could get- asleep on their ledge of low hanging rock that jutted out of the wall, lined with rags to soften the scrape of the damp stone. They were all bruised up from their tussle but clearly they hadn't busted each other up too bad or else they'd be in the sick hall all night. Shock twitched, then jerked in his sleep and managed to kick Lugnugget hard enough to illicit a grunt. Lug flailed an arm and the sound of palm slapping once into flesh cut through the silence. They even seemed to fight in their sleep.
Ike was absent, still at the organic's receiving blood transfusions and sleeping off the nasty road rash he had. At this point I wasn't sure if Ike would be strong enough to ever truly heal again.
Fork was curled against Lugnugget's back, and behind him Bolts shivered and chattered his teeth with a fever. Fork groaned, rolling over to throw an arm over the younger boy and whispering something which sounded abrupt and hard, but was more than likely intended to be comforting. Cutter and Nytro were curled up at the entrance to our kip, keeping warm under an oversized jacket found inside the grog brewer's car. They were probably all tangled up together under the tattered denim of the coat.
The twins were still awake and whispering nonsensical things in their nest of rags and scrap and other young black thumbs.
There were also much smaller pups everywhere. They were crowded in piles between most everyone. Two dozen or so chose to bed down here where they felt safe. They were also hopeful for recruitment.
I looked down to Cutter and Nytro, wondering if they were asleep yet. "Hey." I whispered. "You seen Notch before turnin' in?"
Cutter opened one eye to look up blearily, shaking his head no as Nytro shifted closer to his lancer for reprieve from the cold night air creeping deep into the warrens.
I rolled back toward the wall, pressing my forehead to the stone and fighting the thoughts that warred with my desire to sleep some more.
