AN: Mab, many thanks for the uplifting reviews. ;)

Lyrics to "Five Years" are by David Bowie.

Chapter 2: Desolation's Depths

Pushing thru the market square, so many mothers sighing...

News had just come over, we had five years left to cry in...

News guy wept and told us, Earth was really dying...

At the edge of the Marketplace stood a dingy gray tent, lonely and abandoned. Night had settled fully in. Lights from Desolation flickered all around but did not seem to reach the pergola.

Meg sat on the top of a broken television set, holding a flashlight and watching Max sort through mounds of old metal junk bits.

"Whaddya need all this rubbish for?" she asked nonchalantly.

"None of your business," he replied, motioning for her to bring the light closer.

"Sorry," Meg muttered.

As she shined the light on the clutter of mechanical parts, Max looked at her and shrugged. He finished looting, secured his bounty in a worn leather shoulder bag, then turned to Meg.

"All this stuff just been lying around?"

Meg wrinkled her nose at him.

"Yeah. I watched the place for three days before coming in. Never saw anybody."

Max looked even more sullen than usual. A hand went over his mouth as he scanned the area. He looked perturbed.

Meg tucked the flashlight into her belt so that she would not have to carry it any longer.

"Guess no one has much use for old car parts anymore-"her voice trailed off as her gaze locked onto something under the table Max was standing by.

Following her stare, Max found what had silenced her- there was a foot sticking out from under the table. They had not been able to see before Meg had lowered the light to waist level.

Meg knelt down by the table.

"Well, he certainly doesn't need 'em," she reported, lifting a corner flap of the table covering and dropping it quickly.

This news was of no consolation to Max. His frown deepened.

Meg stood up again and looked to her companion.

"Strange," Max said, thinking aloud. "Not much, if anything, was taken..."

"Yeah, it is strange," Meg agreed. She felt Max tense beside her. "What is it?"

He didn't answer. With one hand tight around his bag, he took hold of Meg's arm.

"What are you doing?" she asked, but he offered no explanation.

"Move," he commanded, half-dragging her out the tent.

Silently, Meg obeyed, too afraid not follow orders.

No sooner had they stepped outside that a mighty roar was heard. It sounded like it came from a hungry animal.

The pair turned to back to the tent, Max instinctively stepped in front of Meg.

The sound had, indeed, come from a sort of animal- a mutant man, monstrously large and slightly green. Veins stood out everywhere on his hairy body and his face was caged in a wire. He was easily three times Max's size. And armed. In one massive hand hung a long titanium chain. Razor blades had been affixed to the end- it was a modern cat-of-nine-tails.

Meg knew they were in serious trouble and had little faith that even Max, who had defeated four men alone, could take on this one successfully. Still, she tried to quell her trembling and put on a brave front.

Max defiantly stared the animal down, which only served to outrage the creature more. It suddenly lunged at Max with its chain whip swinging wildly.

Meg saw little of occurred after that. She hit the dry earth hard, landing squarely on her right shoulder. The flashlight disconnected from her belt and rolled a distance away from her.

Struggling to slide over to it, pained coursed up her neck. She reached the light and rolled over, shining it in front of her to see the fight.

Max was down and didn't appear to be breathing. The creature stood over Max, but turned on her when the light fell on it.

Meg gasped as he aimed his weapon at her. Involuntarily, she raised her uninjured arm over her face and stifled the scream that arose in her throat. The expected blow never came. Instead, a thunderous crack was heard. Meg opened her eyes and shone the light into a haze of smoke. Pushing herself into a sitting position, she tried to see through it. The wind pushed the smoke in her direction, filling her lungs as she inhaled. Through the haze, a dark figure moved towards her. She cringed-there was no time to run.

When smoke dissipated, Meg saw the massive, dead body of the masked beast before her. Standing over her, bloodied and exhausted, was Max with his hand extended towards her. In his other hand was a double-barrel shotgun.

Meg stared at the gun Max held, wondering where it had come from. Then she focused on his outstretched hand and crinkled her face into a look of disdain.

"You didn't take my hand when I offered it to you," she snorted. "But now you expect me to take yours?"

He rolled his eyes skywards.

"Suit yourself," he shrugged and began to walk away.

Meg bit her bottom lip.

"Wait!"

Max stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"Maybe I could use a hand up," she admitted uneasily.

With Max's help she rose unsteadily to her feet. Gingerly, she rotated her shoulder trying to determine the extent of the damage. Since the injury was not life-threatening, Meg dismissed the pain, turned to Max, and asked,

"Now what?"

Max regarded her with a veiled look as though he was still trying to determine if he liked her or not. He moved to put the strap of his bag more securely on his shoulder, but the motion caused him to wince in pain.

Meg saw the agony etched into his features. She reached out for him.

"Let me see."

Max said nothing, but let the bag fall to his feet. Then slowly, he sunk to his knees. Meg settled next to him and began to examine the deep gash in his shoulder.

"Ought to have stitches," she murmured. As nasty as it looked, it was only a flesh wound- it would heal.

"It needs to be cleaned," she said, louder so that he could hear her.

Max grunted his acknowledgment. His head slumped forward onto his chest and his eyelids hung heavy.

Meg sighed and looked around at their surroundings. A short distance away were a cluster of shrubs. It wasn't much but it would at least provide some cover.

"Com'n," she tugged at him, trying to bring him to his feet.

Max struggled to stand.

"Lean on me," she instructed.

He did and Meg discovered that he was heavier than she anticipated. They labored over to the bushes where Max heavily collapsed. Meg did the best she could to make him comfortable before she tended to his shoulder. It took some doing for him to escape from the sleeve of his shabby, black leather bomber jacket. His jaw clenched and his teeth ground together as he slipped his arm away from the coat.

For the first time, Meg was able to get a good look at him. He was battered and bruised, scar upon scar was visible on exposed skin, telling the stories of battles and wars. His once handsome face was deeply lined and drawn. Gray streaked dark, dirty hair that was short and looked as though it had been cut with a dull blade. Blue eyes found her green ones, but he looked through her. It was then that Meg noticed his left eye. It was much darker than the right- the azure hue had been replaced by a milky haze and the eyelid drooped noticeably on the outer corner. Meg touched her fingers to her lips when Max focused on her face before closing his eyes. Only his right eye moved and she knew that the left was infected with glaucoma. That was not something she had remedy for.

Refocusing on the task at hand, Meg investigated the plants nearby hoping to find something she could use. A smile kissed her lips when she uncovered bruisewort, hiding under one the shrubs. Meg built a small fire and took a water flask from her belt. She scrounged for a dish suitable for boiling water, but found nothing. She decided to leave the water in its container and simply hold the flask over the fire to boil the liquid inside. Ripping a length of material from the underside of her skirt, she laid it over the top of the uncorked flask. Carefully, she pulled the leaves from the bruisewort and nestled them in a pile on the cloth. Meg stood over the fire holding the carafe, using the leather cuff she wore on her wrist to shield her hand from the flames. Once the foliage had sufficiently wilted, she removed the bottle from the fire and let it cool.

Wrapping the cloth and leaves into a bundle, Meg took the poultice to Max and carefully applied it to the gash on his shoulder.

Max sucked air in through his teeth as the hot pack contacted his skin. He groaned in pain.

"Don't fidget," she told him gently, then explained, "This'll help your shoulder heal."

He didn't fight her and, after awhile, he spoke.

"Where're you from?"

The question caught Meg so off-guard that it took her a moment to respond.

"Top End," she said at length.

Max opened his good eye and watched her circumspectly.

"North?" he repeated curtly. "That's where most folks are going. Or want to go."

She said nothing.

"What are you doing here?"

"Got separated from my family."

Max bristled when she mentioned family.

"You wound up all the way down here from there? I don't believe you."

Meg shrugged. "What you believe is your business. My father always patrolled the perimeter of the region where we lived looking for travelers who were searching for Oasis, or Paradise as it was once called. When we got word of a caravan got lost on its way to Oasis during the Wet, my father went to look for them. I went with him. We got separated in a storm. I found Desolation. Then I found you." She shot him a dirty look. "Now I'm tryin' to get back."

Rather than admit that her story was plausible, he growled tenaciously,

"I found you."

Meg snorted derisively and went to reheat the poultice. When she returned, she found that he had fallen into a fitful sleep. She crouched next to him and reapplied the bundle.

Who are you, Max? She wondered to herself. Where have you been and where are you going?