A long chapter written under the influence of Redbone and my liquor cabinet.


The wastes and badlands are wondrous places. Never know what you might find. "Shiny baubles for mama, grub for the homestead, Salve for Ducky."

I had a shopping list. Though come to think of it- What's shopping? Ma used to use the phrase when we went out looking for particular things. Old word dialog is a strange relic.

Well, the first item on the list was rather important. I couldn't make the burn salve myself. Didn't know how. I had a man I could barter with for the stuff, another survivor from a far off place said to be better than this one.

I had traded with the man many times, ma had traded with him too way back when I was the one laying at home all cooked.

Best announce myself at a distance as always. Just safer that way for the both of us. I parked the sled one hill beyond his camp and whistled a quick tune. I whistled again when there was no immediate response. Finally the tune was echoed back and a figure appeared at the top of the hump of sand.

I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth because I could see the morning sun glint off the Winchester in his hands. "Dune comes to trade! Same supplies as she's been getting all month from Wilson!"

Wilson was a special scavenger. Nobody out here with half a brain shot at him because he had the know-how to mend flesh. A mind like that is too valuable, even Buzzards left him alone and came to him in times of need. You could tell by the name that he was a man from before the world fell. He was wise though, didn't trust no one.

"Hands up Dune. I'm not doing business with you if you've got any sharps or pistols." He called sternly and I complied, hands up and grin wide.

"Knife off the leg Dune. Leave it in the sled. You know my rules." I dropped my hands and threw my head back with a groan. So much bloody effort just to get some goop for a half dead War Boy.

When finally Wilson deemed it safe to let me approach I felt naked. No bullets or blades. I hate that shit, but this was necessary. We met at the crest of the hill. His face looked like a clipping from an old word map, wrinkles so deep that they could swallow up half the desert and keep it tucked in the folds forever.

"Kid, as much of that shit as you've bought, I'd say whoever you are buying it for is better off if you just put them out of their misery. Then again, your mother was just as stubborn with you. So I don't expect you to take my opinion to heart. What do you have to offer me girl?"

It was impossible resist a jest, flashing a lascivious grin and poking my cheek out with my tongue as I made a lewd pumping gesture with my hand.

He pounded his knees with his palms released a laugh that echoed miles across the dead world. "Cruel girl, you know my fun stick don't work no more! Not that anyone wants to brave those teeth of yours anyhow... Alright, no more jokes. What else you got?"

"A gallon of water and a pint of guzz. Like last time."

"Skip the guzz, got enough to get by. I want something else." He pointed at me and at first I turned around and looked back, wondering if there was something he wanted from the sled.

"The hair fog head. I want your hair. I could make some twine outta that."

My first reaction was to clutch at my tangles in both fists possessively. "No deal. Dune don't need the sun cooking her dome."

Wilson shook his head. "Nah, not all of it. We could leave some on top."

And that's the story of how I ended up with a bloody scalp. The dreaded locks had to be broken apart and combed through before Wilson would take them. Whatever the hell he was needing twine for it had better be forkin' important. I was there damn near until nightfall getting my hair pulled on.

Well, for all the effort and inconvenience I was rewarded with enough salve to last Slit another week and new strips of linen to bandage him with. The extra cloth was a surprise perk. Wilson must have felt poorly about the line of red seeping past my hairline and between my eyes now as I sailed away on the evening sands.

Now to take care of that other necessity. Food. There was one thing I could do to make the grub appear fast and I'd make it to the place where such a thing is done by the time the sun retreated behind the horizon. To make it work I needed the daylight, so I'd be spending the night out there and waiting until dawns glorious light returns. It wasn't a problem to bunk down there, but I wasn't keen on leaving the War Boy alone too long. I knew he wasn't going anywhere fast but their kind can get rather creative and they have absolutely no self preservation instinct. I had War Boys in my brain for the entire trip across the least inhabited zones, remembering the things I'd seen them do when I watched the war parties go by. Maniacs, all of them crawling all over speeding cars, defying death yet embracing it too.

"And people call Dune crazy."

As I arrived I kept my ears pricked and my blade at the ready. It's always best to make certain that you are alone. No stranger in the wastes should be trusted. Once I was certain that no one was there, I looked to the shape of this landmark's silhouette against the starlit sky. The place was a rock formation which looked as if the largest stones had all fallen together in an embrace over their smaller brothers and sisters. I liked the visual poetry in it. I also liked that it was close to a path that many travelers took to skim around the mountains and avoid the Citadel. It's the perfect place to set some bait.

"No fun yet. Must wait for tomorrow to make my grand performance. For now, prayer that the wastes will provide once again and then sleep. If the goddess will allow it, be kind to Ducky while I'm away from home. If his jacked up face is any indication then his life has been complete shit." Said I before rolling out a mat in the sled and pulling the tarp over myself to fend off the cold desert night.

-0-

Morning was chilly. My breath had become a dew under the tarp, wetting my shoulder and dampening what was left of my hair. I stumbled out of the sled and began the climb up the stone formation to bask in morning's first light and warm up my shivering limbs. I also wondered how my Ducky had fared through the night.

With Mama's Enfield in my lap and back turned to the sun to catch its heat I began digging in my pockets for the bullets. The first order of business was to load the rifle. It was hard for me not to imagine mum's hands making the same skilled movements, sliding across the wood accents and sleek barrel. It had been her lead slinger first after all. Her finger prints were branded deep into the worn and pitted metal.

She had taught me to care for it, fire it, and had bragged day and night about all of the sharp shooters she had instructed over the years as one of the many mothers.

Weapon ready, I stood to fetch something I'd left here the last time I had the need to lure in the unwary. I kept an old boob-tube antenna adorned in shinies and reflecting mirrors stored here for those desperate occasions when I had to play the role of the siren. It was wedged in a shady spot where the embracing stones created a deep crevice. I propped up the thing at the top, wedging smaller stones around the shaft to hold it upright. It somewhat resembled a tree if you squinted at it. Almost as soon as the attention getter was set and casting radiant beams of light across the land, I felt the beat of another song mum used to sing. It was such a fitting tune for today, I couldn't help but dance to it.

Hips thrusting, legs kicking, arms waving and head thrown back as I danced across the top of the rock pile, singing to the sky and the rotten earth.

"Hail! Hail! Whats the mattah with ya head? Yeah Yeah! Hail! Hail! What's the mattah with ya mind and ya sign? Oh-woah-Oh! Hail! Hail! Nothin' the mattah with ya head baby, find it... Yeah... Come on and find it."

There's nothing quite like cutting a rug on a big rock in the middle of nowhere, strutting around like a horny bird. If you can't make your life fun then what the hell is the point?

"Come and get your love! Come and get your lo-oh-uve! Come and get your love. Come and get that love!" You don't even have to sing it right, to be Frank -who the fuck is Frank?- I don't really remember all of the words, just the tune mostly. But who cares? It's just me and the miles of nothing.

I must have sang it a dozen times. I just adore the moments when I could remember mums singing.

"Oh yes, come and get your-" The growl of a motor. A car I think, small block V8. Yes, yes. I tore the long lookers from my belt and scanned my surroundings. Yep. I couldn't tell what the make or model right off the top of my head as I'm not very good with naming such things, but they seemed to be carrying quite a lot of crap strapped onto the roof and stuffed into the back seat. Some of that could be ready to eat stuffs. If not then, desperation does funny things to you. Long pig. Enough said.

They were making a wide turn to circle back this way. They must have gotten curious enough to head toward the sound of the song and the glinting of the mirrors. Curiosity is deadly. No matter how wrong it is to take life, this world isn't kind. Everyone is responsible for a grave yard. The days where I had to deal death felt strange, but it was always my guilty pleasure.

I dropped low, laying upon the stone and feeling the nearly noon heat on the rock warm my empty gut as I snatched up the Enfield and peered through the scope. Two men, two bullets. I prepared to take aim.

Breath slow, hands steady, thoughts tranquil, mind the wind. POP!

Driver down. The car swerved in a sharp arc and slowed to a stop. There was return fire from a revolver but every bullet just whizzed by or pinged off the rock. I counted the shots, six. He wouldn't have time to reload. A final bang tore through the silence hanging in the air and the men were no more. I lifted my head, a grin so wide that my lips pulled painfully tight against the points of my teeth.

"Did Dune say love? She meant lead. Come and get your lead. And that you did."

I clambered down from my stage, gun still held up just in case of surprises. Impala. I found that the car was a Chevrolet Impala now that I could take a closer look without my mind busy figuring out how many heads to put bullets into.

There was no movement, no signs of life, so I lowered my guard and began the work of looking through the spoils. The men were hauled out and laid in the dirt shoulder to shoulder. They were old enough to have hairy faces but I could not tell if they belonged to any particular faction. Oddly, I felt a wave of peculiar relief that they weren't Immortan Joe's war fodder. Somehow it would feel wrong to feed Slit maggots that had been raised on the bodies of men he might have known before I snapped them. These couldn't have been War Boys, there was no branding on their necks and no pretty little doodles etched into their skin. One had long hair and the other had kept it much shorter. Their bodies and their clothes would be of good use. I started up the sand sled and pulled in close to load the corpses and strap them down under the tarp.

With the first chore done I popped the trunk. Guns, ammo, knives and things I could not even begin to recognize. Some of the things in little leather pouches smelled decidedly herbal. Perhaps I could trade that to Wilson. A few of the guns and all of the bullets I'd keep for myself. I closed the trunk, then set to work examining the shit strapped up top. Bed rolls, scrap metal and a lumpy sack that caught my interest straight off. I pulled that down and loosened the ties holding it closed... Oh. My heart skipped a beat and my skull meat processed the smell before my eyes had a chance to make sense of it. Potatoes.

"Glory! Glory! Gods be praised, the wastes bring a bountiful harvest to a lucky scav!"

I hadn't seen the underground tubers of this sort of plant in ages. Not since the Green Place. I sat clumsily in the sand and pulled one of the round, bumpity things to my lips, eating it raw just to savor the taste of a home I once knew.

Where did the travelers get them? Who knows. I'd heard that the local moonshiners had figured out how to grow things in their territory. Maybe these had come from them, an excess that they traded off for whatever other supply such weirdos like them would need.

Inside there were all sorts of trinkets and this and that glued to the dashboard. The back seat held a few more sacks of potatoes, more than Duck or I could eat before it started to go bad. I'd have to barter with it but that wouldn't be hard. I had Wilson to trade to. We might not trust one another nor like each other very much but I wasn't about to hoard this stuff until it rotted. Wilson was a bloody expert at catching lizards anyhow, maybe I could trade some of these for a bunch of squirmy scalys to munch.

Finally there was the matter of the car. It looked to be in alright shape. The tires were a nightmare, once deep wide treadies for moving through sand, now nearly bald. The body also showed its age in wear and tear that suggested it had seen many a skirmish on the roads. Still, I'd never lured in a prize of this magnitude before. The best I had done in many many days was draw in cyclists or the weary ones who walk. Then again after a road war such as the one I had seen, the power might be shifting. People might be displaced. Change means danger and suspicion swelled within my brain. I should take what I can and leave.

"Yeah. No reason to linger now."

I considered the car for a long time. I didn't think I'd ever have enough Guzzoline to keep it fed, nor the knowledge to keep it healthy. Hell, the sled barely worked and the cycle I had back home ran on luck more than anything. I was no blackthumb. I excel in shooting and salvaging but not much else. I know enough to get by and that's about it.

"A car is a responsibility Dune. You'll be drivin' one day mum said. It'll be fun she said. Now Dune isn't so sure. But War Boys like Ducky know cars. Maybe it'll tickle his fancy... Anyway, all of this shit is much too heavy for the fan sled to push around."

I decided to tether the sled behind the car and take a whack at driving something like this. I knew the basic principle. Pedals, steering wheel, gear shift, clutch. That didn't stop the beast from jerking and fighting me though. It wasn't a smooth ride back into familiar territories.

I stopped at Wilson's. He looked at me as if I had grown a second head pulling up in this thing, but he couldn't say no to the goods I brought and soon I was homeward bound.

There would be lizard and potato stew tonight.