Heads up, this is a two chapter update so if you skipped right to the latest chaper, you'll want to go back one and read The Blunder first.
-Dune-
I woke in a place I hadn't fallen asleep. I was fairly sure I'd been at Arddie's, next to the fire pit with the battle fodder sprawled across my lap. The disorientation was only momentary, I was in the car and I could recall being told to get up and walk the night before. So, Slit must have had us move to spend the night safe and sound inside Shirley and now I was the one with my head in a lap. How curious.
He was awake, not having noticed as I shifted to peer up at him. Oh, what happened? A drying smudge of red hardened over a cut and a blotch of dark maroon. Did I serve him a wallop in my sleep? He glared into the distance, jaw clenching and releasing, which seemed to mean he was thinking long and hard about something. He jerked away when I lifted my hand to circle the forming bruise on his left cheek with a middle finger, perhaps caught off guard.
"What happened?"
"Nothin,"
"Did I whack you?"
"No,"
"Well, whose arse am I moppin' the floors with about it?"
"No one's. Go back to sleep, Nutbag."
I'm not fond of it when he doesn't tell me things. It wasn't the same as me not wanting to rehash my history and I do realize I may be a hypocritical wank about this whole subject of trading the painful stories. This wasn't like that, I don't like not knowing what is going on now. Who did he quarrel with? I could tell that I wasn't about to get more out of him, he had his stubborn face on.
"I've slept enough, but you don't appear to have caught your forty winks. C'mere, gimme that forked up face and lemme fix that."
His beautifully ruined mouth twisted toward an irritable frown as I sat up and reached out, but he could not resist. My hands were soon full and guiding him down onto the rolled out mats that had made a home for themselves where the back seat had once been. The blankets were left behind at my old home, but there was still the tarp. I pulled that over us to let our hot breath warm the air trapped under the thin plastic. He shivered once, and I cannot say if it was the touch of a hand or the sudden change of temperature. He grumbled something about not wanting to fall asleep, that Phil would probably turn up soon, I cared not. Phil could spare Ducky a few hours of comfortable rest. I knew he'd been having troubles falling asleep.
I smoothed out his eyebrows, stroked his lower lip, down his nose, and it wasn't long at all before the grouchy look on his face slackened into something resembling peace. When he shifted to slip his arm out of his gauntlet, I saw the pressure marks from wearing it over the cord of leather which he used to bind our hands at night. Did he simply wear it all the time? It hadn't been very long on the grand scale of things since this binding of the hands became a necessity, felt like it had been a far more integral part of our routines than it truly was. For all his flaws and self centered nature, he seemed concerned enough with my night disturbances to safeguard me from their cruel effect. The unfeeling fingers of my right hand plucked at the length of leather where it still stuck to his skin. I know this scarred hand isn't his favorite, but maybe just to ease his worry, I slipped my half of the loop over his fingers and put it on, tight and secure on my right hand. He drew in a deep breath and hummed out at that.
There was a comfort here, in these strange places where insidious silence is held at bay only by the sound of two heartbeats. I hate silence and I fear it so. Before Slit, the world was being eaten up by the quiet, and in those hushed places I could hear my unwanted passenger creeping up from behind. I never want to go back to that dark place inside my mind again. The visions are dangerous, they make life harder than it has to be, but they don't threaten to chew through my identity. My thoughts only seemed dark and fitful, really I was thanking the goddess for bringing the war boy to me, the shiniest haul.
With swirling thoughts of thankfulness to old gods, I'd gone and begun to fall back into my dreams before seeing Duck through to his own, the opposite of what I wanted to do. I was adrift in a world of pure thought, some senseless, others focused, yet not quite in a dream. I was pulled from this journey of the mind by a tickling around my nose and mouth. I'd turn my head left and right to shoo away whatever insect had come to pester me, but the feeling came back again and again. Once roused, I opened my peepers to find that Slit was looking at me, a hand between us and a finger outstretched. He was tracing laugh lines and the hollows of my eye sockets. That's new, lately all things with us seemed to be new and alien, just like at the beginning but softer. Now, I thought on the day before. That furious mashing of mouths, the way it had first startled me and how the instinct mum had instilled to retaliate kicked in at full force. He had not asked for permission, not that I'd have given it to him. There was also the conundrum of what I had done after. If I think about it, I can still feel his mangled lips and taste the blood, and I did not hate it.
Odd to be on the other side of this, being touched this way, explored was more like it. I considered the idea of trying the business of a kiss again, if you could call it that. I believed that I'd made it clear that we needed to talk about the matter of it first. I didn't want to have this discussion last night and perhaps not for a long while, but chat about that issue we must. Not now. Dangerous as it was to indulge, I scooted myself closer. My good and whole hand relocated down his arm, shoved the sleeve of the jacket up so that fingers could roam over his flesh doodles where they would stay and caress.
Looking someone in the eye too long can leave you feeling violated, invaded, not this time. He had that look about him again, when he'd seem much younger than he really was.
"What're you thinkin' about?" I asked, and he looked away.
"Not important,"
"It's important to Dune,"
The corner of his lips pulled into spiteful grimace. "Crank roped me into going to some crow fisher meeting with him."
"Who?" I hadn't heard that name before, or maybe I had but failed to remember. Was it one of Ard's friends?
"Mm, I meant to say Phil."
"Oh, I'm assuming you don't really want to go?"
"What makes you say that?"
"Look on your face says you either haven't shat in a week or there's something buggin' ya."
He hunched his shoulders with lips thinned into scowl. "Not much choice, already made a deal."
"Another deal?"
"I'm getting a windscreen out of it." He asserted, perhaps trying to convince himself that it was worth it. He had that tone that said he didn't want to do what was required for the reward, but the reward was too great to pass up. It would be nice to get that front glass, keep the cool morning wind from chewing on us when we take Shirley out. Still, there was this protective twinge in my core. I didn't like that the failed war boy felt pressured to do something. He spent his whole life before the wreck having orders crammed down his gullet. I could hear Mama, dispensing her ultra-green advice inside my mind.
"Slit, Mumsy used to say, you don't have to put on pants every morning. You're not actually obligated to do that.
His eyes narrowed, then pinched themselves shut as he shook his head and showed me his teeth in a cringe, confounded. It was as if his ears had rejected my words. "Dune- What? That makes no fangin' sense. What do pants have to do with anything?"
"Ya know, like- Hmm, like there's no physical necessity in wearing pants. You only do it to make other people comfy and secure around you, right? Wearing pants is not a life or death mattah. It's just a thing people do 'cause they feel like they have to. Same logic applies to lots of stuff, like not knowing how to say no when someone asks you to do something you don't want to. If it's not gonna kill ya to not do it, then why do it?"
His eyes opened, shifting to and fro as if searching the air between us to locate something that might not exist. "Your mum was just as warped as you, then."
I stuck out my tongue for him, he did the same in return and grunted a mocking noise. He still had a swollen red crescent on the tip of his tasting bits from that nip I gave him.
"And I'm keeping the trousers on, thanks." He added, much to my frustrated amusement. Sometimes his misunderstanding of the things I tried to teach him were charming, in a way.
"Heheh, that's not what Dune meant at all, love."
He said nothing, but I realized my slip of the tongue when eye contact was made. That small boy look again, making my heart bleed for his childhood locked in invisible shackles.
"Just a figure of speech, yeah?" I assured.
No response, just another long pull of breath and a slow release. We were both over examining everything, poised and vigilant for any misstep. I had no idea what either of us might do if we could positively identify the other pushing the line between us too far. The line already curved and twisted and blurred to nothing in some areas, so who knows what could happen.
"Hey, I'm coming around the car on the passenger side. Don't shoot at me. You lovebirds are decent, right?" Oh, that's Phil, turning up just like Slit said he would.
What he said, it made my face burn. Slit moved like greased lightning, flipping himself over to his hands and knee and pulling my hand from the loop of leather. He scrambled over the front seat toward the door to throw it open and poke his head out to look around. What the elder man said next had my teeth grinding, feeling that sense of shame.
"You guys really freaked out Jackie yesterday. Jus' do me a favor and keep it in your pants while you're around the house."
"There's nothing coming out of any pants!" Slit snapped.
"Whatever you say, Romeo."
"The fuck does that mean?!"
"It means you need to shave your face and get ready because we're leaving in about... twenty minutes? Bring the girlie, got some questions for her too."
"I don't give her orders."
Phil rolled his eyes, handing something to Slit rolled up in a scrap of burlap. "Just look proper and IF she decides to tag along, that would be chrome. Give back my shaving stuff when yir done, and for the love of V8 clean it before you hand it back."
My guts tightened, I've heard that tone before, from my Pa. Firm, not to be disobeyed, but not harsh. When I leaned over the back of the seats to look at what Duck had in his hands, it was revealed to be a straight razor and an old altoid tin. Phil went back inside and I watched Slit as he smeared grease from the little tin through the hair on his face. Usually, back at my kip, he would sort of just vanish with into the deeper caverns with stubble and then return with a clean, smooth face. It was interesting to watch him look onto the side mirror and make faces at it to see what he was doing as he dragged the blade over his skin. Could not help myself but to run my little finger from his upper lip back to his ear to feel how soft his flesh had become. He clacked his teeth together and captured the tips of my middle and index finger between his stained ivories for a moment before letting them go and pouring water from his canteen over a rag to wipe down his face.
"Lookin' sharp, Ducky,"
"Always look sharp,"
"Gah, yir ego is morbidly in need of pruning, ya know."
"Speak English."
"I am, battle fodder,"
He glared back at me, but that was the end of the discussion regarding his self image. He sighed and asked me if I wanted to go with him to this meeting he was being hauled off to. If nothing else, I could see that he didn't want to go alone, so I nodded and gave him another touch, fingers straightening out his hair where laying on the mats had mussed it. That was the moment that the whole clan once sleeping inside the home before us emerged, young'uns and all. They surrounded Shirley, Phil and Ard entering through the passenger side.
"Yirs is the only running car on the property at the moment. With you's guys in tow we think it ain't fair either way to make you drive there mapless while we walk around on the stilts. I'll give directions." Phil said as Arddie settled in the back with me.
My initiate sister's arms wrapped tight and nice around me as her little ones piled in around us, even the older adopted one who hid his face in her shoulder. Slit was driving, and it all felt so much like a family trip. I could even hear Rus and Flick, somewhere in the cacophony and Pa telling them to quiet down. I could also hear the roof of the car give a metallic thud when the weight of Featherknife and bones made it cave in ever so slightly as they sat on top. Slit cursed and I could spy his hands gripping the wheel with white knuckles as Phil helped him navigate.
He wasn't prepared for this. I could see it, smell it even, that there was more to this business of tagging along to a sky fisherman meeting than I had been told. My right hand was held in Ard's, she seemed to examine the destroyed flesh with a kind of calm sadness in her eyes. My left arm stretched out so that I could brush my fingers over the back of Ducky's head. It was an action without thought. He turned his head slightly, jaw set, but his shoulders relaxed. Perhaps him knowing that I saw his tension helped to ease it, just a little.
Time seemed to pass in a strange way, soon we were parked before a tree. An incredible monolith of a trunk and dead branches holding up a whole house built from the salvaged remnants of a ruined past. I could see others, on their stilts and making their way across the muddied earth to meet us. There was a ladder of rope to the top, up we had to climb. Poor slit had quite a rough time of it with his heavy metal leg just hanging there useless, but he managed, puling his lower half up one rung at a time. Once at the top and standing around a kind of front porch, we watched more arrive, piling their walking stilts against the broad stalk of the tree. I could feel the sky home sway under us with any breeze. It was the wind of this strange day which made it possible to watch the others come to the place. The moving air picked up the fog and carried it away. Most of those who joined us were old men, grizzled faces and hanging tendrils of gray hair when they lifted their masks and bandages. Some looked at me and Ard, heads bowed and eyes on the floor.
It was status, women held higher standing here for years before the water turned sour and our place of green began to die. There were a few older women, one in particular who had to be carried in her ancient fragility. It was a man about Slit's age who carried her, perhaps her grandson. I recognized her, one of the elders who was too old and weak even fifteen years ago to leave this place with the caravans. Her name was Heta.
Phil leaned in between Arddie and I, a hand on each of our shoulders. Slit glared at him as he spoke.
"I'm leaving the kids with Jackie watching um. I need you two in there today. Ard, honey. What we talked about this morning."
She nodded, but I was confused. When Phil went inside with Ard and her other two men following after them, I reached out to grasp Slit at the wrist.
"Do you know what's going on?"
He glanced down at me, expression contorting into what I suspected to be concern, but not for either of us. He took a look around and leaned in close, speaking quietly enough for no one else to hear.
"He's trying to- I don't even know how to start explaining this in five minutes. Come on, you'll probably hear the whole thing in a minute anyway."
In we went, Ard had to vouch for us and my full name was given. Something I hadn't heard in years. My ears wouldn't hear it, a garbled mash of words from a time when surnames actually mattered. They didn't anymore, it was just a reassurance to the old ones who still abide by their social relics.
"That's funny name," The battle fodder remarked.
"Forget it. It died with Ma an' Pa."
Whole place was circular, built like the nest of a mud dabbler with a hall which wound around the exterior wall until we reached the interior, a single room with a fire burning under a metal grate in the center. There was no food being cooked, only the old ones throwing dust over the flames to smother the licking tongues of orange enough that people on directly opposed sides of it could see one another.
The old one, Heta, and a man very nearly as decrepit stood, gnarled hands motioning all others to sit while they remained on their feet. They were hunched and leaned against one another just to stay upright for long enough to address the group of perhaps twenty five individuals. So strange, being here on the outer fringe of the green place, traditionally territory of the Sky Fishers, and seeing both men and women speaking together.
"We come together this day, the same as we have every passing quarter year, to assess what remains. I see young faces, more than there had been the last time we met," I felt Heta's eyes on us. "And this concerns us. We cannot feed more on these lands-"
"What if them showin' up brings hope?" The entire room turned their gaze to Phil, the eldest among us clutched the ornately adorned rams horn in her hand closer to her chest.
"You're speaking out of turn, Mechanic."
Phil stood then, reaching out with an open hand for the rams horn. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. It was passed slowly, and he sighed with his relief evident. He hadn't been sure they would allow him speak.
"Does the name Furiosa mean anything to any of you? Her mother was Mary Jo Bassa, so Ardith tells me."
Some around the room broke their silence in murmurs. Others, the women, snatched their memories out of the air and pulled them to their hearts. The crone shook her head harshly, waving her cane at the former war boy.
"They were taken more than twenty years ago, during the first raids. They are among the lost, or dead, the latter being the most likely. What place could the remembrance of a stolen mother and child possibly have here, now?"
"She's not dead, I've met her, fifteen years ago when the fever rashes broke out at the Citadel and she was cast out of the vault. Never knew she was from here, not till I met Ardith."
"So what? The child lives. Is there a point to your babbling, war boy?"
"Hearken to these words!" Phil called out, pulling the curved horn further out of reach when the old man moved forth to snatch it back for Heta. "Furiosa rules the Citadel, in the west. It's green there, with water. More than you could ever drink. I- I have proof that one of your own took control there. And that proof is sitting right here among us."
A resurgence of hushed voices spread through the room, but quieted as soon as Phil moved to hand the rams horn to Slit. My ducky froze, taking the artifact slowly as he mouthed a few words at Phil. It looked like his lips soundlessly formed the phrase 'the fuck do I say?', to which the older failed war boy specified with: "The whole story,"
"Okay. Fine." I could see his lips form another silent word, windshield, before he started. It was a reminder of what the gain in this venture was. "I was up top on the skull tower, hosing down the spinach when I heard the rallying drums and-"
I couldn't help it, interrupting him, but I was having a hard time picturing what he just said. I wrapped my hand around the end of the ram horn held in his hands. "Wait, hold on... You know gardening?"
His nostrils flared at that and his brows knitted themselves together. "It's not like I was on the back of a pursuit car ALL the time. Who do you think did the waterin' and polinatin' on the plants? It sure as hell wasn't the Imperators."
I had to laugh, in spite of the grumbles I could hear around the fire. "I'm sorry, mate. I'm having a hard time picturin' that, war boy gardeners! How queer!"
Duck ground his teeth and hissed at me. "Could you be any more inappropriate?"
That was when Phil cleared his throat and nudged at Slit's shoulder with his knee. "You should stand up when you talk."
The story began anew, starting with a grunt and growl as he rose. So, not everything he said made sense to me, nor to others in the room. The problem was the terms and slang unique to the cult of the V8. Phil nodded at some of it, sighed and scowled through other parts, but you could see in his eyes that he understood the gravity of the words my Ducky spoke. I only understood how serious this road war had been because of the tones and textures in his voice.
Fire, blood, bullets, death. How many fell? More than just a tyrant. A hundred maybe. A hundred men who had been raised in ignorance and culture death, for what? For water, for half a chance at life longer than only a handful of years. Could their mothers have known? Could they have understood that they were handing over their babies to be placed in a world of cruel ritual at the expense of the individual? The sacrifice of the true self? Joe might as well have slaughtered them with his own hands, that was my opinion.
I think the story from his perspective was enough for them to understand what kind of power Joe Moore held at his total command. There were parts I heard which concerned me more, things that he seemed to gloss over, anything to do with Nux and anything to do with someone he referred to simply as the bloodbag.
Slit had to stop once, at Heta's insistence, to explain why Joe had five wives in the first place, and why he felt compelled to chase after them. Healthy pups was what Slit answered with, even he seemed to hear the absurdity of what he had just said, and he looked to Phil before he could go on. The old battle fodder could only nod his head, stoic features falling into a state of distant guilt as he crossed his arms and looked down. It was like... Hmm. It was like Phil was ending a conversation with Slit that I had never been aware they'd had. Slit appeared for a moment, between two blinks, to have unraveled a riddle inside his own mind. He had to slam those wonky eyes closed and shake his head before he could continue.
"...She took the war rig through here, through the Toxic Lands and after his favorite wife carked it we had to turn around. We lost them and Joe, he just didn't give up. He had us search everything, everywhere around the swampland and back toward the canyon to see if she had come out of the fog to- Well, I have no idea why she would, besides the fact that we all thought no one would hang around this mud pit for very long. Would have been smart to hang around here if you people are still hanging on after all this time. Doesn't matter, she still came back through, took the Citadel after she shredded Joe. Now she's up there with a couple old bags and the ex-wives, handing out food to wretched folk. That's all I know. I was wrecked a few miles before the canyon."
Slit then extended his arm to his left, held in his hand was the rams horn for Phil to take back. He was done talking. I could see it, he hadn't wanted to be forced to speak out about this, the last day of his time as a warrior for a false god. That had been the day his world dissolved. I might not condone a lifestyle centered around servitude to a terrible man, but to stay my hand was impossible. A point of contact at his knee as he settled himself on the floor once more, and after he was seated I had to take his hand. I spied his left eye roll toward the corner to see what I was doing and he was as still as stagnant water, but he did not pull away. He was still wearing my Pa's jacket and I wondered if the old ones around the room recognized it. Probably, it could be why Heta squinted so intensely at him. I shifted the thought out of my head, instead rolling the cuff up his arm to trace the shapes of his scars. I was busy trying to piece together the reason for all of this fuss in my mind. The name, Furiosa, sounded familiar but I couldn't remember why. There's a chance I may have met her when I was a sprout. Perhaps Mumsy knew her.
It was certainly illuminating to have it revealed that the Citadel indeed boasted a wealth of crops, as rumored. I'd never actually seen the place and I had only ventured a short distance over the mountains, with great caution, upon the cycle for scavenging Buzzard mash-ups. Slit came with me a few times, when I was teaching him how to negotiate the treacherous mountain trails which were simply impossible to navigate by car. The mountains are a playground for beady eyed snipers. Never a greater thrill than to best a gunman at his own game or survive a narrow miss. Why did Phil feel such a need to bring this up? The only thing I could wager was that Phil wanted to go home, maybe convince others to go with him. My thought on the matter was soon echoed in the man's very own words. Phil dropped the ram horn. He was forfeiting his right to turn by turn talking. This I could remember from the mother's meetings my own mum attended, the rule that if the horn is dropped, a debate was to be initiated. The faces around the fire were astounded.
"I'm going. Ardith and I are packin' up the family and taking our chances at the Citadel. Anyone is welcome to join us, and I urge that you do. If you think this swamp can support the clan for another ten years, or even another five, then you're just gullible. I wanna hear what everyone else has to say."
The room was dead as a graveyard for a solid second, but the break in sound was only momentary. The room fairly exploded in a roar of voices, all different thoughts and concerns. Some shouted to Phil that he was an irresponsible fool.
"You can't drag those children out there! Animal men dwell in the sand!"
"Featherknife! What of your daughter! Do you want her out there? Among the monsters who would jump at the chance to sell her to the pleasure houses in the North?!"
"I'll join you!"
"You will NOT join them."
"How long ago did that happen? How do we know Furiosa is still in power there..."
"...Too risky,"
"Yeah, can't put all the eggs in one basket..."
"You only resent the idea because he's from the Citadel, ya old rat!" That shriek was a furious Ardith.
They all snapped or shouted over one another. I could barely make out half the things that were being hollered in every direction. The cacophony was simply too much. Hands both whole and scarred fluttered in the air before me, as if to deter a kind of attack on my person before my palms clapped over my ears. It's not often that noise bothers me, usually it's the opposite that chews at my skull, but this time it was far too much to take. It was Slit's hands, shoved under my arms, that pulled me up from my spot around the fire. I think he meant to leave now, for what he said to the elder war fodder seemed to suggest it as they now argued.
"Wait! Where're you goin?"
"I said my bit an' I'm done."
"I still need what you know about the Scavenger Lands to make this work, you can't just abscond from a meeting!"
"This is not what I came here to do!"
"I know, but what if going back an' taking her could do more good?!"
"I really doubt that."
"Why?!"
"I- Becau- Look at her! She's damn near fangin' feral! Remember what we used to do to ferals?!"
"It might not be like that anymore, Slit!"
"You can't guarantee that!"
"If Furiosa is holdin' the power there, then it might be-"
"Furiosa let her whole damn crew get chopped to meat by Buzzards and a sandstorm, what makes you think she would give a shit about you and yours?!"
Oh, the two were caught in a full on shouting competition now and it blended into the raging storm of voices throughout the room. I turned away, going for the door. I could just hang around with the young'uns. Yeah, their playing and happy little cries are nothing compared to this riotous ruckus. Just as I was about to exit into the spiraling hall, a hand caught my wrist. Reflex is a dangerous thing, I very nearly socked the old crone right in the eye but had enough of a shock when I turned and saw her face there to stop myself. I was surprised by the strength in Heta's arthritic hand as I leaned away only to be pulled back in and tucked under her cloak of feathers and baubles.
"You stay, child." She said, and a kind of calm swept over me, like the numbing peace which came with Theta's moonshine. I could sense something from deep in my happy childhood stir, what I cannot be sure. Just a vague memory of sitting upon a lap, not my mother's, and waiting. So strange. Now her hands slid over my own to doubly hold at bay the chaos of the room, I could still hear her holler in all her authority, and the pause of all others left my ears ringing. Silence, she had called and everyone listened, even my stubborn Ducky.
When I escaped her hold to look about the room, I could see all men, with one exception, bowing their heads in submission to the elder. Only Slit stood there not knowing what to do because no one had told him. Phil was the one who had to grab him by the back of the neck and shove his noggen down. The women still stood tall, as is their right.
-Slit-
"Someone get me my damn chair." The old breeder snapped, the scav still shielded under one of her emaciated arms.
I should have just pushed Dune out of the room instead of engaging Phil about this stupid ass plan of his. There was some virtue to it, nothing ventured nothing gained is an old saying and a true one, but this idea of his was bordering on suicidal. Pulling me down to bow at this swamp witch got him slapped but it didn't matter, soon Dune and I would be out of here, unobligated, and out of the way of an old war boy's mad ideas. Right?
Their elder's request was fulfilled swiftly, Featherknife was the one to dart around the grated fire pit with a fold out chair and position it behind her shaking knees for her to drop into it with a terrible creak of both metal and worn bones.
"What I was going to say, before our mechanic took his time to speak, was that two new faces, who seem to be well fed, have appeared. It indeed disturbs us. I remember you." She motioned for Dune to sit next to her, and the scavenger did as she was told. She had this look like a dumb kid who wasn't sure what was going on, but satisfied to be lead along. The old one's hand landed on her head, and Dune did not move. "I wanted to ask if you had found new green."
The nut shook her head, speaking quietly and scratching around her right ear. She was nervous. "No, the wastes provide."
With a nod, the elder began again. "So, the answer I sought did not come from where it was expected. Still it came. We of the old world have shared our whispers long before this day of meeting. Even the crows are leaving this place. The mechanic says we'd be lucky to eke out a living for another five years, I'd say we'd be lucky to last another two."
I could see it, everyone shifted with a distinct discomfort. To hear their old one agree with a rusted out war boy struck a note no one wanted to hear. I may have lived in Dune's parched world too long to see it myself, but the way this old hag said it, the place was dying a second death. Seemed that no one really wanted to lend that revelation any credence. I think I get why Phil saying it caused an uproar, his kill count, even though he was more repair boy than warrior, made it look like the Citadel was nothing more than a swarm of rats chewing up everyone and everything in its path to sate hunger. This is both true and not. Our people are born of war and die in its throws, as the mighty V8 intended, but I can't say we kill completely indiscriminately. We had alliances, although, they all wore Joe's logo. Water owns oil and lead. Can't live long enough to drill for crude or mine for ore if you can't slake your addiction to aqua cola. Fuck, I never had to think this much before Dune found me.
Never mind my pondering. They hadn't wanted to hear Phil, because he's a killer, like me, like Joe. Even Furiosa has red on her hands. It doesn't make a difference if she was from here, according to Phil, She's still got a kill count that even makes mine look like nothing at all. They hadn't wanted to hear a war boy's foolhardy hopes, but their old bat? That's a different matter isn't it?
"You say you're going to the Citadel. I'm going too. I'm too old for the young ones here to keep supporting. It would be best that I go, if nothing else, then I could perhaps aid the negotiations with the child who survived. It would be my last offering to the goddess." The old one said.
Now I looked to Phil, who seemed to be in some kind of state of disbelief in what we had all just heard, mouth hanging open and everything.
"I- I will take you with us." He said. "I'm old, for my kind. I've got maybe a few good years left. Losin' weight too. I'm going because if I don't, I'll die here. My brothers and these little ones of ours will never see any green if we don't do somethin' about it. I'm tired, I know I've only got a little guzz left. Might as well use it to be there when they see it. Ardith and I want them to see it, the green."
Made sense, he sounded like he could drop dead at any time and he sold a solid sob story too. The old woman heaved a great sigh at Phil's words.
"An assurance is still needed before the matter can be taken to a legitimate vote. We need to know that a path can be traversed from here to there. More than half of our people need to be willing to go. First, a show of hands, those willing to hear Phil out and consider a new place of green."
Damn, it looked like Phil's asinine plot was going over well, there were only a few who didn't lift an arm to show their support. Once again, it was the word of their elder which must have spurred on their hope. They should know better, hope beckons death, yet even I was starting to see the luster in the plan. My eyes returned to Dune, her neck craned to see over both her own and the old one's shoulder. She looked confused and maybe overwhelmed by what was going on. Six years alone will do that. I wanted to declare that we lived in Scav Country and there we would say, but Dune's hand rose with the others and she looked at me, speaking for the first time since questioning me about the peace time duties around the Citadel.
"Is it really that green, Ducky? Can it feed an entire world?"
She wanted to go, and I didn't know what to do. No, you couldn't feed a whole world on what I remember being grown back home. Definitely not the entirety of the wastes. Diligent growing might feed the wretched plus another group or two. We traded most of it away for other things. Stuff Immorta wanted to build, to create alliances, to keep Gas Town and Bullet Farm happy. The way I heard it when I spied from among the wretched, they were feeding people with it, not trading it all for metals, engines, and raid support. I didn't want to get her hopes high for no reason. I've used harsher words to keep Nux's hopes low and reasonable. He looked at your bloodbag I'd said once and immediately after he was scanning the horizon. Hope is lethal, but like Nux, her sanguine nature made it hard to tell her that it was all a fools errand.
"Eh, It's a lot of green, but I dunno know the full scope of what they're doin' with it."
The elder sat back in her chair, cloudy eyes leering into the unseen void. "If the war parties we saw two years ago were in pursuit of our Furiosa, then perhaps the old faith lead her though here. There is nothing in the east but the memory of this place. It would be the only explanation. It could be that she simply could not recognize these lands. It was indeed bountiful before she and her mother were taken, along with the many others. She would not have seen us, nor remembered. Furiosa was too young... Tell me, is there a way to bring a caravan through the parched land from here to your Citadel?"
She was looking at me when she asked this, it's not easy to say no to somebody that frickin' old. "I don't... know. The mountain roads aren't in any kinda shape for anythin' with four wheels exce-"
Phil, too eager that this was all going his way, cut me off and earned himself a glare. "I came here through the canyon, I traded to the rock riders. Gave um maps through Joe's lands to avoid convoys. Wasn't that hard to break bread with um."
Things have changed since then. Rock Riders don't control the canyon anymore, couldn't let the idiot lead everyone to their death. "Rock Riders scattered after the road war. We only ever see them in nomad packs, occasionally trade with them at the local organic mechanic's place. So we know it isn't them up there. Far as I know, the canyon isn't passable to anybody we've met. People in Scav Country avoid it because they see scope glint outta there all the time, but Citadel convoys come through every month. I'll bet my right leg that Furiosa set up a small outpost there. If she did, then she must have cleared the Buzzards out of the badlands or set up some kind of treaty with them... Though, can't be any solid thing, we still see Buzzards shoving bits of war boys down their rashy cola holes all the time."
"Well, that solves the problem, doesn't it? If her people are out there, we could get through. All we'd have to do is say her name." Bones piped up but he was wrong, so fucking wrong. It felt like a great opportunity to point that out for him, and I owed him scorn for the night before.
"Don't bet on it, Freckles. No one would believe you if you shouted 'We know your boss!'. If that was the case, everyone would do that."
His face started turning a funny color and he rose from his spot. Couldn't help but grin and hiss, wouldn't mind rearranging his face for him. Phil, once again, threw up an arm to stop the ginger bastard from making a painful mistake.
"He's right. If any of our kind are stationed there, there will be no getting through. We're world class bullshitters and we're quick to declare B.S. in the same vein. War Boys aren't likely to believe anyone claiming to have some loose association with their leader. We'll look like a war faring caravan to them."
Dune squirming next to the elder caught my attention. "I only know a handful of the bike trails between cragglies, no way you can get anything more hefty than a ratty little crotch rocket up those paths."
"Good oil, How many bikes we got?" Someone asked from behind me to be answered by another across the circle.
"Ah, a couple dozen maybe, most not in workin' order. Not a plan when we only got three or four members that can actually ride with some confidence. Phil, your opinion?"
"I've seen those mountains, unless you guys got Scav Country or Rock Rider blood in yir veins, there's no way we're getting over um without half the damn clan breaking their necks on the shale."
I might have made a suggestion sooner, but between getting interrupted constantly and not wanting to be here, I didn't really want to offer a solution to a problem I was being dragged into unwillingly. The idea of going back didn't sit too well with me either, and that was on a personal level. I think I was much happier at the time not knowing for sure if Nux was alive or dead. Logic says he'd have carked it a long way back, but if I didn't know for certain then that meant I didn't have to think about it too much.
The entire group wasted a great deal of breath on the pros and cons of trying to get enough bikes working and others accustomed to riding them in order to make the trip. Phil was vocally pissed that if they chose this option for transport, he'd have to scrap the truck, for that was the vehicle he'd been meaning to modify to make the journey. None of that mattered to me, all I could see was the way Dune looked around the room with eyes sprung wide open and chewing the knuckle of her trigger finger. It could be that the whole ordeal was confusing to her, it could be that all of this talk about the green growing atop the place I came from had her hallucinating it. I couldn't tell you what was happening inside her rusted skull, but I could say that I didn't like her being across the room when she looked like that. Took a bit to get her attention, chucked some debris tracked in from outside at her and once she was looking my way, all it took to coax her out from under the old bird's wing and back under mine was an outstretched arm. I didn't bother to check how the others interpreted that, because fuck um, that's why. I could possibly convince Dune to step outside with me, after that we could conceivably hop into the Impala and just rack off back to Scav Country. Not sure how she'd take to that, she was still following the conversation, getting sucked in deeper still when Ardith bent an elbow around her arm and started prying at us for more of what we knew.
"How long do ya think it would take to get around the mountains?"
"Oh, weeks. Dune never made the attempt herself, an' the caravan she an' mum were with never had enough water to try it. It gets wicked hot out there, an' dry. What you an' the wee ones drink here in a week is what Ducky an' Dune drink in two days out in the sand, searching for the blessed scraps."
"Damn, where are you two gettin' that much water from?"
"Oh, er... Um."
That must have awoken Dune's rightful reluctance to share information of such a value. The only people who know about the cavern's location and qualities were her, myself, and Wilson who was smart enough to keep his gob shut if he wanted to keep being supplied with cola in trade. It was a serious risk to let too many in on the secret. While we had an excess thanks to Dune's frugal nature and tendency to hoard shit like plastic bottles and old jugs, it's important to remember that our aqua cola only came in drips from a few points in the roof, deep under the scorched rock. We exchanged a look. Ultimately it was her territory so it was her decision. She could probably figure out my opinion on the matter just by looking at me anyway, so I didn't say anything.
"Ah, we have a source. Reliable one. Low cost."
A wise answer. Truth that doesn't reveal too much. Desperation can turn best mates into enemies quick, even Dune wasn't too skull sick to understand that. Took her more than a year to give back my blades and blender wrenches. That's because she's no fast trusting moron, although, I suspect part of the reason it took so long to get my stuff back was because she forgot where she hid my crap in the first place.
Everything was falling into small conversations and bush beating between groups on what to do, how to do it, what to take. Ugh, not my problems. When Phil pulled me back into the debate, it was to try getting us to stay even longer than I'd already agreed to. I was going to have to take a hard pass on that.
"Ey, what'cha think about hanging around until this issue is sorted? Apparently I've got a metric fuck-ton of bikes to bang the dings out of, extra hands would help."
"I'd rather kiss a radiator grille movin' fifty."
"Ey ey! I've been real fuckin' shine to you this week, ya little turd. Ya could at least talk with a lil' respect for your elder."
"You tried to kick my arse around last night while my donger was out!"
"You'd do the same to me if I had somethin' you needed! Now you got somethin' I need again and it can either come with a size ten boot up your arse or black fingers that can sort out dressin' up your bare nekid car."
I wanted to yank out my hair, and I almost did, with fingers curled like claws in the air around my head. I just wanted to leave but Phil, probably desperate, wouldn't let me walk.
"AARrgh! What if I told you that you don't even need to fuck with motorcycles?!"
Phil's face hardened, he knew I had been withholding. "Alright, spit it, pup."
"There's..."
A growl rose up in my throat, took too long to find the right words and everyone had shut up and begun staring at me by this point. I couldn't talk up my experience getting passed the mountains, once to check on home and a second time to get into Buzzard territory to steal guzz. It's not like it was much better an option but still smarter than going through the canyon. Nothing out that way comes without the risk of getting creamed and turned to maggot shit. If they hauled ass down one particular road, they would have a fair chance. I dropped my arms at my sides. So, you can say that I gave a shit if they died trying to do something enormously stupid just to see some green. Living with Dune made me soft, so rust.
"There's another road weavin' through the mountains, it's a little further south than anybody would care to go. Plenty wide enough for four wheels and it'll take you out into the Dead Barrens. Long as you steer clear of Pink Eye and Gas Town, you shouldn't run into much trouble. Just, stick close to the mountains once you're out. Most outposts out that way are scrapped nowadays. Reasonably safe, cuts a week and a half off a trip all the way around the mountains."
I could hear Dune utter a simple 'huh?' and that would be because this is the first time she's hearing about this mountain road, too. By the end of my admission, I was looking at the foot of the metal leg while I pushed around some dried clods of mud brought in on boot treads. I truly hated how small Phil managed to make me feel in that moment. All of the old bastards back home from the crew that trained me up seemed to have that power right up until my last day at the Citadel. I expected the hammer to drop, not a hand on the shoulder.
"Ah, you knowin' what's goin' on back home makes some sense, now. You've been down that road. Lay it out, I know there's gotta be a catch."
I managed one glance at him, instantly regretted it. He looked almost kind, and I dunno what to do with that kinda thing.
"Once you're on that road, no matter what you see. Do. Not. Stop."
"You're certain it's a passable road?" The old lady wheezed.
I nodded, eyes back on the floor. "Went down it to knick guzz off some buzzards a day or two before Dune and I took off outta her territory to come out here. It's clear, just not anywhere you wanna stop."
Dune made an odd noise behind me, I didn't get a chance to turn around and see what her problem was before the old one swept up the horn from the floor and announced that the meeting was adjourned and would resume again the next day. She told everyone to think hard about what they had heard today, and tomorrow they would talk again and vote. I guessed that meant I had to come back to this weird house. I didn't like it, too many eyes and the place didn't move right being up so high in a dead thing.
-0-
Dune had nothing to say to me, probably pretty miffed about finding out what I went off and did by my lonesome to get her here. When we were all on the soggy dirt again, she was walking ahead with Ard while I fell behind trying not to let my dumb leg get sucked sown by the sludge. Phil fell back and waited by the car while the others rounded up the pups left outside with a flock of other ankle biters.
"Why exactly can't you stop on this road yir talkin' about?"
I really didn't want to get too deep into it. The first time I made the trip passed the mountains, I'd made a mistake that I didn't want to own up to. It was best to give a simple explanation that summed up the worst of what they'd have to deal with. I popped the trunk and dug passed the now nearly empty jugs of cola and still half full the jerry cans. When I returned to dune with enough guzz for the trip, I'd found this thing sticking in the car, and I'd tossed it into the trunk to keep the nosy woman from questioning me about it. My fingers found it way at the back, it was a thin shaft of steel with red clay painted in rings around the blunt end. There was fletching made from thin bits of aluminum can, the other end was once sharpened to a point, now it was bent from what it had struck. I handed it off to the mechanic.
"Found that between the seams around the trunk once I got back to her kip."
To show what else undoubtedly got launched at the car on the way down the road winding through mountain valleys, I scrubbed my thumb at the scars where other flying metal needles scratched off the matte paint. I didn't need to think about this, it was spooky enough the last time I was there, downright a nightmare the first time. That's why, more than a year ago when I checked out the place I came from, I took the long way back.
I was distracted, looking over his shoulder to watch what Dune was doing and Phil must have been distracted as well by the scrap crafted projectile weapon in his hands. He turned, presumably to go find someone else to talk with about the arrow, and the stolen pup ran right into him. What the kid was carrying in a bag slung over his shoulder got spilled in a mess on the wet ground. The boy whimpered like a kicked mongrel.
"Aw, I'm sorry Jack."
Weird, never heard anyone with a brand on their neck talk that soft to anybody. Phil even leaned over to help the pup pick up the mess and pulled a rag from his pocket to wipe the filth off. At first glance, it all looked like trash to me. Just paper that looked good for shit tickets and assorted crap.
The breeze picked up, it scattered the sheets of rubbish and a bit of it blew right into me. Peeling the mud stained scrap off and having a look at it revealed something. There was an image scratched out in charcoal. Two faces, one smiling, one not. The grinning mouth was lined with points. It was Dune and the other scowling one was me. It looked almost real, and something about that was incredibly disturbing. My right eye was smudged out with red, Dunes teeth were similarly decorated this way. When I looked up from it, there the boy stood in front of me, having gone so pale that he almost appeared to be wearing a coat of white clay. I kind of wanted to ask what the fuck, but the pup looked like he might die on the spot if I so much as breathed at him. The freaky art was snatched from my hands, by Phil, and slapped between the pages in a word burger before being shoved back down into the depths of the kid's bag. Hell, I wasn't about to ask. Everyone was cramming themselves into my car and I pretty much just wanted to repress the all the weird from today, eat something, work on plans for the Shirley's interior, and drop for the night.
Most of the ride back to their hills was quiet, besides the younger pups bickering and yowling in the back. Everyone was probably up in their own heads, figuring out what they thought of what happened at the meeting. Not my business, but I did wonder what Dune was thinking, and how pissed off she might be that I'd antagonized Buzzards a week and a half ago to get fuel. I overheard the redhead asking Dune how much she knew about Scavenger Country. A lot was the answer. I know she has a general idea of where territories end and overlap, and she knew loads of routes to avoid certain groups. Ard wanted to have as much information as possible for when the meeting continued tomorrow. Shrewd of her, convenient for me too because it probably meant there was less I had to say when the time for talking came.
Upon arrival, Dune still hadn't spoken to or so much as looked at me. Must be in a mood then. I Cut the engine and got out, these trousers were chaffing nasty around my crotch and the metal leg didn't bend right sheathed in a form fitted pant leg. Didn't bother telling the others where I was off to.
Across the bridge I went, found that my threads were for the most part dry, vest was still kind of wet around the bottom and the inseam of my slacks was still a little damp. It was probably the humidity here. Well, they'd dry eventually, on me or not. Clean stuff always feels scratchy when you first put it on, still came with a comfort because it was mine. I didn't care for the idea that of wearing a dead man's duds. I took the blankets that had been left behind, too. I was sick of this cold hell-hole and I wasn't spending another night shivering.
At the grease pit, I found that I was alone. Phil must be inside with the others, talking and planning or whatever. Dune was nowhere in sight, but I was fairly certain that I'd seen her going inside with Ardith, holding one of those pups in her arms. She seemed fond of the one who looked like Phil. Honestly, I kinda liked that one too. Out of all of them and perhaps even more than the older one, he was most like a war pup.
I spent my time checking that everything under the hood held up the way it was supposed to after that first run since being fiddled with by the old black thumb. She wasn't knocking or making any odd noise, I was just looking for something to do, really.
"Hey,"
The harpy, I hadn't heard her creep out from the door through the inner garage. Chrome, what could the wench possibly want with me? Well, I knew what I wanted with her. If she was out here, then where was the mad longshot? I turned my head to the left to see out of the corner of my good eye, she was just leaning on the wall with her arms crossed over her chest and doing nothing in particular.
"Hey, where's Dune?"
"She's helping Featherknife scrawl out a map through Scav Country. He'll need you to fill in the blanks on that mountain pass, later on."
Well, if that's all she wanted, might as well get to it and avoid being out here alone with her. I let the hood fall closed and turned to head inside, but, to my great irritation, she had more to say.
"Wait, Wait! I'd like to have a real conversation with you."
I suddenly felt bored, but it was a boredom with an sharp edge to it. I didn't want to talk to her, what could we have to say to each other?
"What's there to talk about?"
From the look on her face, I think she felt the same as I did. We had absolutely nothing in common and we both knew it, except the one thing and she made a point of that.
"There's Dune to talk about. Her mother, her brothers. I know she talks to you more than she can with me... Look um, I'm a bit older than her. Used to be the one keeping her stubborn butt out of trouble. When you take that kind of responsibility, you never lose it. I still feel like it's my job to be lookin' out for her. Seems you're not so bad at it, though."
I thought about that, pointing my eyes down at the concrete platform under my foot. I was pretty sure what she said had been some small form of praise, couldn't seem to feed my ego with it, though.
"She told me about you, how all of that started. Then about the storm, how it changed everything. Presented you both with big questions..." There was a second of awkward hush and she was pushing her fingers through her hair. Doing that is probably what gave her a cowlick up front. "And I don't have answers for that either. Phil was already neck deep in this life with bones and Knife when we hooked up. They're the ones that had to deal with the damage Joe did to him and Jackie, not me. I know about it, but- You understand, don't you?"
I sucked in a chestful of air through my teeth. This is not anything I wished to talk about, but I had heard plenty on the subject because Dune was always just full of opinions.
"Yeah, child soldier sickness, S'what Dune calls it."
"You can take the war boy out of the citadel but you can't take the citadel out of the war boy," She recited as if from a mantra. "Welp, you saved each other, there's that."
I could feel my lips thinning, pulling wide and twisting at the scarred corners. "We through with the small talk?"
She laughed, sounding annoyed with me. Good. "Yeah, we're through. Real talk, what happened to her mum?"
"She tells me it was a bloodpump thing."
"Heart attack, then. What about Russell and Flick?"
"Some place called Shatterbone."
Ard blinked a few times before her eyes narrowed in what looked like both suspicion and worry. "They all got tangled in the slave trade?"
"Yeah, thrall rustlers gave her those burns."
"Damn."
"Yep."
That shut her up, got her thinking, or backtracking more likely. I bet she thought I did that to her, too. We stood there, about two meters apart, saying nothing and looking at each other like you'd look at a hostile from another faction.
"You love her?" She asked, and the question blindsided me.
What the hell do I answer that with? Dune and I weren't- but yesterday. That's not what she was asking about, though, was it? I knew that word but I didn't know what it meant. I was handed away by whoever my mother had been, I was left behind by my driver, and Dune- I didn't know how I felt about her. I didn't want her to die, I wanted her to get back to her version of normal, I know for sure that I'd eat a bullet if I had to be alone for good. I might just be sticking with Dune because she was available, liked me for some reason, and didn't seem to want me to die either. There was more to it than that, I was selling her short, Nux too. What my driver did, I probably had that coming. The conclusion? I think neither Dune or I have much choice but to keep on the way we do. I need her around, she needs me around, both of us have said so at least once.
Ard had earned herself a glare that could kill. Talking about questions she can't give answer to, then expecting me to pull one of those answers out of my ass? I knew what she wanted to hear, but I just don't know what love is.
"I trust her," It was more of a correction than an answer.
She let out a breath with a shaking head and lips forming a tight O shape. "...which is important, really. A big deal for a war boy, too."
"Not a war boy anymore."
"Keep telling yourself that."
"Eat me."
"Ah, back to the usual program. I'm going inside, Dickhole."
"Arse master."
The door slammed as she retreated back into her lair. V8 damn me, but now my head was a mess of forking roads that lead to everywhere. Small things turn big, I've seen skinny pups become tall and broad, I've seen wilted cuttings from Joe's crops turn into new plants. Complete regrowth.
Two years with Dune, I still wasn't sure what was happening to me. It was like a slow grind, a wearing down of all the moving parts of my machinery as if someone was periodically sprinkling just a few grains of sand between the interlocking teeth of the gears. Everything I had been is dying, succumbing to his half-life in a way I didn't expect. The body still lives free from the need for blood, no black lung, no kidney rot, no fevers. Nothing to kill the corpus yet, but who am I now? I'm not the last devout War Boy, and what's left if not that?
I didn't want to go back and face that place, befouled by disillusionment, but the green there. Dune said she hadn't seen green in fifteen of her years, five thousand four hundred and some days. I wondered if taking her to the green crowns of the Citadel would help, probably not, but she might like to see it anyway.
If we went, I'm not sure what would happen. Could wind up obligated to stay. Fuck, things would change more, of course they would. Scav life is really no way to live, though. Good for her being able to survive that damn humble and enjoy it but... I don't even know what I'm thinking.
She'd be less likely to kill herself in her sleep if there were a hundred sets of eyes on her, not just my one and a half.
Phil was aware of his condition enough to know he was going to die sooner than everyone around him. His desire to go home probably came from worry. This place is a rust hole and he wanted his brats, his mates, and his woman out of it before he wasted away.
I sat on the hood of the Impala and I imagined Dune, years or maybe just months from now, on her own again. My existence is not something she could count on, I don't think she even realizes that. I could start dying next week, tomorrow, maybe even tonight because who knows? I have no idea what condition my parents were in when they made me. I could be full of lumpy potential and no more than absurdly lucky up until now. If I was gone, what would Dune do? Be alone for another six years or more? Phil was trying to give his brood and compatriots something better than this. What am I doing? Just trying to halt change.
I tried working on scratching out those plans I had for the interior, both marking where I wanted to put a proper gas tank on the floor boards and digging into the trunk for the other, far more grand blueprints I had drawn up over the last seven hundred and sixty-ish days. None of what I'd dreamed about doing to this chariot was possible, not without even more than Phil's collection of tools and equipment, but I liked to imagine it. It helped put my head somewhere else when Dune's left hand wasn't there.
I was called in to eat with the others earlier than the days before this one. Dune was the one who came to practically drag me indoors. Seemed her mood had improved through having another go at that moonshine with Ard. I could smell it on her. Those two laughed and wobbled around, hanging all over each other and singing badly. The rest of the night was the usual line for bird meat and Sump pestering me. Dune eventually konked out on the fold out with her loud friend, leaving me sitting there listening to the others talk this and that. Somehow they got on the topic of who their parents were, nothing I could add to that. Phil, when asked, spat out a story which sounds as ridiculous as anything could.
"...My parents? Hmm. They were dentists, turned to preparing for the end of days in the seventies. I was born in a bomb shelter next to enough canned goods and military rations to feed two people for twenty years. Lived in there till I was about 8. That's why I still got fantastic teeth. Floss every day laddies."
Bones snorted, jabbing at me with an elbow as if I was actually a part of the discussion. "The story changes every week. On Monday were his parents were secret agents and he was born at an air base in a whirlycopter."
"And the week before that your daddy was a cattle rancher and your momma popped you out on the back of a horse... C'mon Phil, would it kill ya to let us in on where you actually hail from?" Featherknife added.
Phil only grinned, clicking his tongue and waving his finger and thumb like a gun. I knew the truth, he can't remember where he came from, few war boys can. The others laughed it off.
"Hey, Knife. Spot o' night hunting?"
"Fuck, yeah."
Bones and Featherknife rose from their spots, looking a little too eager to leave. I could guess what those two were scurrying off to do, and it wasn't casting lines for birds that were by now roosting.
The older boy, Jack, was the next to leave, muttering so quietly that he was going to his bunk that you'd have thought he was saying it to only himself. Once again, he looked back at me like he was expecting me to throw something at him.
Did I do something to him, years ago back at the Citadel? I was starting to think I had, why else would he look at me like that? I don't remember kicking around anybody that damn short and scrawny as he'd been then.
"What's wrong with him?" I blurted the moment he was out of sight.
Phil looked up from the pipe he was packing up his choof into. "Jack?"
"Yeah, what's his deal?"
Phil just shrugged and lit up. Only after he was done hacking up a lung did he say anything about the kid
"He jus' doesn't know you too good."
That still explained nothing. You don't look at somebody like that unless you were convinced they might kill you.
"He got head rust or something?"
"Naaah, he's as sharp as road tacks. It's something else, he's got some wires crossed. Jack can take a piece of charcoal and draw a person he's only met once, perfectly. Almost looks like a Polaroid picture. He's great at that, bad at actually dealin' with people and- I dunno, his senses hurt him sometimes, things we hear an' see an' taste an' smell, he feels it ten times as strong. It's amazing he doesn't just scream 'cause of it."
I had no clue what a Polaroid was. Words like that put a fine point on Phil's looming expiration date.
"Why take him?"
"I suspect him and his mum were from here before he wound up a war pup. Long story but, he draws what he sees. Somehow he could remember things he saw when he was just a little thing in his mama's arms. He brought me here, drawing those things an' showin' me the way. I thought, if this place really existed, maybe I could sneak back one day an' convince the rest of my crew to leave too. Too bad this place went to hell long ago, probably around the time that kid's head started recording all those pictures."
"Ah," I said.
I wasn't sure how much of that I wanted to believe, or how much of it was possible to start with. No one remembers things that far back. No one draws shit that precise either. I might have thought on that more, but my skull abruptly refused any further thought on any matter aside from how shine the bedding in the back of the car would feel right about that moment.
"I'm gonna grab the loon and drop."
"Night, pup,"
I gave Dune's arm a nudge, then a push. She groaned and swatted, but a little persistence got her up. She wobbled and stumbled and had to be caught. She'd probably be hungover again tomorrow. She didn't stink too strongly of hooch, so maybe not. A precautionary bucket was still taken. She had to be helped over the seat and into the back, then reminded to take her boots off. Oh V8, the little idiot giggled the whole time, claiming she forgot how to untie her laces. I was yanking off her boots when she grabbed me at the collar of the shirt, pulling clumsily and brushing her lips over my staples again.
"Can't wait to see green again, Duck."
Aw, fuck me.
What are blender wrenches?
Look up pictures of Slit, hanging off his belts is a set of knuckle dusters with friggin wrenches welded to it. Imagine getting punched with that. There's a similar weapon upgrade in the Mad Max video game called "blender wrenches" which is wear I borrowed the name from.
