dreamt I was with the war party on the day the Organic and the Immortan put the old history woman to the torture. The sun bared down on us with all its scorching fury. As if the Immortal himself willed it to express his outrage

"There's a new world coming! She's already on her way!"

The history hag's words. She'd declared it proudly as Immortan Joe came to the end of his patience. These had been her words but the voice I heard hadn't been that of an old woman. It came in a painfully familiar wheeze. Nux. My driver was shouting them as Rictus jerked him around on the bungee cords from which he hung on the Doof Wagon. They were torturing him, attempting to twist out the word of where Furiosa is headed with the wives.

This is just a dream. Nothing but memories mashed together to create a realm of nonsense.

The Immorta rallied us, revved us up. The Immortan wanted us to search every inch, every rock, and hole in the dirt. Turn every grain of sand he said. We chanted to him, shouted his name so loudly that the honored in Valhalla could hear us.

Immorta I shouted. Immorta, Immorta, Immorta. Another War Boy came to stand at my side. He was short for a warrior and had hair woven into a mohawk of tendrils. He was shouting something else and the V8 salute he signed was wrong, hands flat and wrists crossed.

"GREEN PLACE! GREEN PLACE!" He looked at me with green eyes beaming from their black adorned sockets and it was then that I realized he was not a he but a she. It was Dune all painted up like a war ready brother, grinning like mad with a mouth full of fangs.

"You! Climb aboard."

I turned my eyes to the Immortal but found he was not there. He'd been replaced with a rogue Imperator, that one-armed bag of nails. She was pointing at my scavenger, beckoning her to join the lead team in a pursuit. Dune's eyes darted back to me before she shouted with her hands cupped around her lips.

"Dune don't go nowhere without Ducky!"

I looked back to the Imperator. I found that she was now leaning out of the driver side of the War Rig. Joe's corpse was strapped to the grill like a blasphemous hood ornament.

"I'm sorry Slit! About before. Come with me this time!" It was Nux, now poking his head out from among shiny creatures wrapped in white linens in the back. He extended a hand to me. Dune was clambering up into the cab too but halted to take a position hanging onto the window.

"He said he was sorry. Come on already Duck, we're wastin' daylight here!"

They both reached out to me, wishing to pull me up but I could not move forward nor back. I was stuck, my metal leg was sinking into the sand under me. The more I pulled the more it was swallowed down. "NO! WAIT!"

"Can't wait forever. We keep moving!" Shouted the Imperator.

Everyone was revving up, shouting praise to V8 and pumping nitro through their war chariots to catch up with the War Rig as it sped ahead. Everyone was moving but me. There was a boot in my hands. It was the only thing they left behind with me.

"WAIT! I'M STILL USEFUL! TAKE ME!"

I woke up soaked in sweat and panting as if I was about to burn out and die. Dune was laying there with her head back, open mouthed snoring and blissfully unaware of my terror. It might have been true that it was just a dream but I was pissed at her anyway for saying one thing and doing another in it. Really, I probably couldn't get rid of her now even if I threw her off a cliff and if I were being honest, Nux would probably never say he was sorry for leaving me behind. Fuck, I wouldn't apologize to that seat-belt wearer either if I had the chance to ride with the Immorta. I'd probably have left his ass in the dust in a hot second too. Maybe not. Or maybe. I don't know anymore. Shit is different now.

I looked back down at the scav after sitting up and untying my wrist from hers. If - in some unlikely twist of fate – the reincarnated Immortan showed up at the cave mouth today looking for the last loyal boy who was still true to the faith, I'd grab the loon and toss her up onto the Gigahorse first. He'd need a longshot as good as Furiosa in order to take that bitch out now. It was a stupid line of thought, a self-congratulatory kind of fantasy that Dune would chide me for entertaining in my mind for more than a minute. I'm quite possibly the last believer in Immortan Joe. There was something great in that, and also something mediocre as fuck in it too.

I got up and left the space where we slept to get all of that crap out of my head.

Today was the day we were meant to begin this journey across the wastes to her homeland. After loading jugs of aqua cola and guzz into the trunk of the Impala I stood there looking at the worthless interior, wishing I'd thought to rip out the unnecessary seat a long time ago. This was going to be a four-day round trip at minimum and we'd have to sleep sometime. Without the back seat, we could probably throw bed rolls back there and sleep in the car. With both bench seats still in there I could probably get away with putting her up front and tying her wrist to the steering wheel but knowing my luck I'd probably wake up to both the maniac and the wheel gone. I could sleep in the front. This was a two door hard top so, she'd have to climb over the seat and me to get out if she got up to dream walk. Bed rolls got stuffed into the trunk next to the guzz even if they might not be used. If I had the proper tools I'd have installed a gas tank that could hold all this. V8, I felt so... domesticated. Still better than being a traitorous wretch, though.

I was still sore from the fight. Double sore now after going to get the fuel we'd need to make a this sort of drive. Oh, it was a monumentally moronic move, stealing from Buzzards. Dune was still in the dark about details but she had to realize that I'd done something foolish on her behalf. I put my neck out there just so that she could see some place that's apparently gone to shit since before she left it. Her debt mounts. I'd told her to stay behind yesterday, left and came back with two full jerry cans and new bruises to go with the old ones that were starting to turn yellow. Immorta, I'm lucky. Or maybe just that fucking chrome that I could crawl into a Buzzard den and crawl back out with the goods and only a few bloody bits to show for it. She said nothing but had tended to the minor wounds with far rougher a hand than usual.

The filthy Buzzard den was what I expected to appear in my dreams. Standing there in the dark, trying to sink into a wall and avoid being sniffed out as I held the heavy cans at my sides for what may have been hours. A single mistimed breath may have given me away to the ones pacing about in the darkness looking for the thief who stole their guzzoline. The dream that got me last night was just... Weird.

Dune ambled out into the garage looking aware enough that I didn't feel compelled to stand in between her and the exit. Her eyes weren't quite open yet but she was coming at me with a purpose, a dented metal bowl in one hand and a gourd canteen in the other.

"Here. Breakfast of champions."

I never stopped missing the pale gruel and green sludge they fed us every morning back home. Looking down into a bowl of live maggots was no more appealing today than it had been the first time the nutter shoved a handful of them into my face.

"No potatoes? Or lizard?"

"The plants are still immature and the rest of the lizard jerky is for the trip... Good stuff in the canteen will make up for it."

"Mmmf. The hel-" I wish she had told me there was something else in the aqua-cola before it was running down my throat hole. "That tastes like... boiled ass."

"No, it does not. Big baby."

"What is it?"

"It's tea. Excuse Dune's maternal grandmother for being incredibly English."

"What the hell is tea and what are you making it from?"

"Dune may have steeped it but she didn't make it. Had it for a while. From Wilson."

"Tastes like the dirt hole he lives in."

"Your mother..."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just finish the canteen. It's good for you."

I didn't do as I was told. She wound up finishing the stuff for me as I ate. I asked why she didn't have a bowl. Her answer was that the maggot farm was running low. It was easy to see that she was going to treat this like a scavenging trip, she was insisting that we should keep a look out for corpses or consider hunting birds while we traveled so that we would have something to turn into crawlies. I argued that we could just eat any bird we shot. She just grunted indignantly at my pointing that out.

"Did you gather your munitions? Guns cleaned and ammo at the ready?" She had been taking apart, scrubbing and oiling anything that could shoot for the last three days.

"What do you think we're going to come up against out there? If I didn't know better I'd think you were revving up for war."

She shook her head. "Just uneasy. Got a bad feeling... Nothing out there but easy targets, honest. Getting caught in the middle of that shit-hole with her pants down 'round her ankles, though? Dune might be crazy but her brain wasn't put in backwards. She'd rather pack heat if we're goin' somewhere we know life ain't welcome."

Well, it didn't matter how she felt about it, this was happening whether she liked it or not but I couldn't shame her for being prepared. That – and luck - was no doubt what had kept her alive this long. She spent her morning arranging weapons in places she felt they belonged in the Impala. A pistol in the glove box. A hand full of bullets sitting in the ashtray within easy reach. It was likely that her rifle would stay in her lap for the length of the drive. Procrastination set in. She checked everything twice, opened the trunk to see for herself that I'd already stowed the wet stuff and the fuel in there, then some back and forth bitching over when we should go. Now or after the sun fled behind the horizon. The midday sun was hot but that had never stopped her from letting the both of us roast while we scouted the territory before. She was just dragging her feet about this.

"Could we just go already? We got enough to feed and wet the mouths of a whole fuckin' hunting crew for a week. We're ready. Just get in the car and start giving directions."

"Dune ain't ready."

"You agreed to go. I will tie your screwy arse to the hood if you don't-"

"You're in my kip Slit! Ain't leavin' it till Dune is good and ready... Something's itchin' in her skull. Gonna go have words with Mumsy about it first. Then... THEN."

Just had to throw my head back and pull at the hairy mess sprouting from my scalp. I must have been a real flat tire in a past life if fate would condemn me to live out the rest of my half-life days with this stubborn wench.

I counted one thousand, eight hundred, and seventy-one jumps of my blood pump while she was gone to talk to the dead. I wished it wasn't necessary but the green visions she complained about were getting out of hand. The dream walking was burden enough. Scarcely being able to trust her awake was too much struggle and work for me. I'm not some pup sitter and she was no pup. Maybe going where she came from will put an end to a level of crazy I wasn't willing to go on living with. I sat in the driver seat and just waited, feeling my patience wear thin.

I lost count of my blood pump thrumming when the sound of Dune emerging from the tunnels caught my attention. What I saw in the rear view was not at all what I was expecting. It took a long look and a quick lean toward the cracked mirror to realize that the thing taking up all the space in her arms and wrapped up in the blanket we had to share was her mother. The fuck.

"What- wh- Is that?" I couldn't make words in order as I leaned out of the driver side to look at her. She put a whole new shine on the word insane.

"We discussed it. Mumsy wants to go home too."

"You CANNOT put that body in the car with us. It's nothing but bad mojo."

"Ouff, You never loved Mumsy."

"Because she's DEAD!"

The next two minutes were spent watching Dune failing to close the trunk with the corpse inside. The trunk was spacious but the issue I think was that the crusty old woman was so dried out that her limbs could not be re-positioned. She had all her constituent parts, just all the aqua-cola was gone. Nothing but dusty old people jerky.

"Stupid rigor mortis." The scav muttered as she tried to rearrange everything in the trunk to fit.

"Dune, I think your mother is well passed the stiff stage. This is more like... Ugh, stop before you snap off a piece of it in there."

"She's not an it... This ain't workin'. Gotta put her on the back seat."

"No way." Had to stay firm on that. It was serious bad luck to have a corpse inside the cab with you on a long trip. Bodies always get tethered down outside if you have to take them somewhere.

"Well, where the hell else can she sit?!"

"If she must go... could strap her to the roof."

"Absolutely not. I won't let you tie Dune's Mum to the top! That's wrong an' sick!"

-0-

"Still sore?" She hadn't spoken again since I started the engine and navigated through the narrow way out. It was starting to feel like it had when she was mute.

"About the beloved family member what sits on the roof? No. Not at all." The sarcasm was fierce.

"Better that way. Really is asking for something to go wrong riding with the dead." They could become trapped in their useless bodies, become angry, unable to escape a road that won't lead to the next plain. Dune's mother surely wasn't Valhalla bound but wherever those not born of war and painted in white go, I wasn't about to call down the wrath of the dead by barring her from it.

"Ducky, why are you doin' this? Dune knows you. A Slit only does for Slit, not for others an' thrice over never for sentiment."

I didn't know what answers she was looking for. I wasn't even completely sure why I did most of the things I did in her presence. I kept my eyes forward. I kept driving. I kept that compass in my lap so that I could keep an eye on the needle. I didn't find what she was looking for in me, it might exist but be buried somewhere that isn't easy to go rummaging through.

"Why save Dune?" Another question before the first answer could be told.

Never been alone before. Can't live on my own. Might go crazy. Might die with a gun in my mouth. Need that shine hand of yours to forget the shame of it all.

"I need you... alive you know, 'cause according to you, I suck at everything but fixing cars and cycles." She had no idea, Nux would make me look useless with an engine and he'd do it just to show off and spite me in front of her if he were around. No use dwelling on that. "I have a better question. Why bring your Mum?"

Dune let her head fall back on the seat as if to look up through the roof at her dried out parent. She just breathed and for a moment, I thought I'd been ignored. It seemed that she was having just as difficult a time finding answers as I had been.

"Dune will miss'er. Like she misses home too. Got you to talk to now, though. Don't need to keep Mum tethered down to the land of the livin' anymore. Deserves to lay restin' next to Pa."

That explained the shovel she stowed in the back as I was chaining the bag of bones down on the top like some ghostly lookout.

I said nothing. Couldn't bring myself to point out that this thing we had going on wasn't permanent. She had time and I didn't. I was half-life and while she might be broken in the head and scarred all to hell she still had good eyes, no lumps, and thousands of full-life days ahead. I could start burning from the inside out at night any time, could have lumps deep in my meat that I'm not feeling yet. I was meant to die young. She was alone a long time before finding me but imagining what she'd do if she woke up one morning tied to a corpse... Truth be told, I'd probably wind up a pile of bones that sat in the corner just like her mother had been. Hearing her jibber jabber for eternity while I sit on the wrong side of the gates.

Hours passed in silence. A canteen was handed back and forth. Dune rested her boots on the dashboard and leaned against the passenger door in a lounge but the Enfield stayed in her hands as I had expected it to. Occasionally she took aim at an imaginary target beyond the non-existent windshield and clicked her tongue, pretending to pop off unseen hostiles. I found it easy to picture her painted in white, pockets heavy with tools and hidden blades. If she'd been born with a cock and found among the wretched she might have been a war brother Nux and I got on with well. That dream was stuck in my skull.

"Quit staring Duck. It's starting to freak Dune out."

It was hard not to. If I closed my eyes for too long I could still see the charcoal coloring her eyelids black as night and the white clay sticking to her skin, just like in that dream I'd had. I couldn't decide if I liked the idea of war paint on the scav or if it was just disturbing.

"I'll stare however long I want to."

"Till you crash into a rock an' kill the both of us."

"Ye of little faith."

"And ye of too much... in himself."

"Fuckwit."

"War mongrel."

"Scaly witch."

"Stink factory."

"Bitch."

"Dick."

These are normal things, comfortable things, things I should have felt ashamed of but didn't. The insult contests usually end without a victor, it's just something to fill up silences and little else. Afternoon faded into dusk and as the burning eye of the sky rolled away to leave us in sands of blue, Dune began to hum a tune. Soon words sprang out from between her ugly teeth.

"Somewhere beyond the sea, somewhere waiting for me, my lover stands on golden sands watching the ships that go sailin'. Somewhere beyond the sea, she's there watching for me. If I could fly like birds on high, then straight to her arms I'd go sailin'"

I should be quite used to her singing. She belted out lyrics often enough but it always came as a surprise and without provocation. I don't think she always realized she was doing it until half way through the ditty. Usually, I'd interrupt the song to get her bad singing to stop but this time... It was just okay listening to the noise. I could almost imagine water on all sides and driving across it in a life after death. Joe promised many things in Valhalla, like endless water, enough to quench even the most aggressive addiction. The world was said to be like that before. Maybe in death, we'd get to go back to that time? I never asked myself these questions before.

I watched Dune as she sung about two people who must have lived far apart in the before times, separated by never ending water. It felt like that sometimes, that we were near but so far apart that we could never really reach far enough to touch. I thought of my driver. The thing between life and death was like that sea she sang about. Nux had to be dead and gone. I'd have seen him on the convoys by now through long lookers, if not the chase across the wastes which landed me here with the nutter then Larry and Barry would have killed him by now.

I'd known that asshole since before I knew how to throw a thunder stick true. Knowing he was gone and that I hadn't been there to witness it -historic, soft or traitorous- was like knowing nothing about a brother at all. I felt guilty for once, although he was the one who should feel all of the shame for what he had done. I couldn't get away from the feeling that he was watching me carefully. It felt like he was still doing the driving and keeping me on the road. Always took that for granted. Did he really hear it when I prayed to the mighty V8? Was he there when the scav wouldn't breathe? Did he make a plea on my behalf when I didn't want Dune to die? Was he in Valhalla after everything he had done or was he fated to stay behind watching the living? I wondered about it all long into the drive, until the sky turned to blackness dotted with flecks of shimmering steel flakes that others called stars.

Dune slept with her rifle in her lap for a few hours. I kept driving even after my stump felt like it was made of blisters from wearing the metal leg too long and the oddity of using it in such a way with the clutch. I had righteously uneven soreness in the ass from holding it off the clutch between shifting. When my lunatic companion woke and wiped the drool from her lower lip the sun was just beginning to rise.

"How long have you been driving, Ducky?"

"Through the night. Obviously."

"Mmm. You're tired. Can see it on your gorgeously ugly face. Let us pull over and find respite in the shade of a stone formation. After morning comes noon, with noon comes heat. We can sleep through it."

"We're making good time."

"All we have is time, Slit."

It was not entirely true in my case but it was hard to argue. The more she talked the more I agreed that few winks were a good idea.

Like always, she saw the right spot to park before I did. A pair of rocks worn by the wind with an overhang that we could sit under and probably go unnoticed. Not that anyone else would come this far out into the big nothing and find us anyway but it was better safe than dead.

Dune was climbing into the back and grabbing the torn blanket I'd chucked back there before I could even pull into the shelter that the stone provided.

I got settled, undoing the straps of my false limb and digging my fingers into what was left of my leg to work the pain out of it.

When I lay on the bench seat up front, letting the night spent with my foot on the gas catch up to me, I felt fingers moving across my face so softly that it may have only been a bug crawling on me. When I open my good eye, Dune was leaning over the seat and reaching down to touch.

"Slit. Come back here with Dune."

I did. I tied my hand to hers. The seat was narrow and she had to more or less lay on top of me. It was hot when the sun rose. We both sweat out bullets as we slept yet, I couldn't have been more comfortable. There was sin in such a thing but I cared not.

Nux was somewhere in the next plain, pointing and laughing at me. I'd laugh back if I could, 'cause he'd never be able to fathom how good her shine hand felt whispering across scars or holding onto mine tight. When she spoke I jolted under her, startled by the motions of her lips against my good ear.

"'Member what you said before when Dune asked why about all you've done?... Figured out that she needs you alive too, Ducky."

Felt good to be needed.