Chapter 14

I don't know how long I sit there, just looking at Vates's body, waiting for the shock and adrenaline to wear off. His bird caws suddenly, and I snap out of the trance. I can't hear the War Party at all - no music or sirens or shouting. The only the sounds are my car's engine and the pounding in my ear. I need to go. Chuckles won't last much longer - if he isn't already dead.

I get to my feet and move quickly, ignoring the horrible aching in my head. The bird continues to stare at me as I drag Vates's body to my vehicle. The heavy coat makes the dead man weigh a lot more, so I remove it before lifting his corpse onto the rear of my car. Anuket didn't ask for any proof, but I'm in the habit of bringing the body back with me by now. Besides, he popped my tire, so now he can be the counterweight. I toss the large, bloodsoaked coat in the car and reach for the canteen under the driver chair. I only allow myself a few sips of precious water, but it's enough to bring some energy back to my battered body. I tuck the canteen away again and grab the chains I got from the dead Mozzies. They're still coiled behind the driver seat, right where I left them. When I return to the body of Vates, the bird is perched on his chest. I swat at it, but it just flies onto the roof of my car. Good enough.

There's blood all over the car - on the roof, running down the sides, pooling on the back, covering the front seats. Red stallion, Vates had said. Nonsense. The words of a madman. I chain his body to the back of the car and head around to the front. The zealot's pickaxe is still lodged in the hood, but the engine doesn't sound like it's been damaged. I pry the axe free, pick up my pistol and its cartridge, and get in the driver seat.

The engine growls as my vehicle follows the tracks left in the sand by the War Party. Outside, Vates's bird caws as the car slides out from under its feet. It was probably hoping to make a meal out of its master's body, but it'll just have to settle for some of the other carnage. In the passenger seat, the dog is still unconscious. His chest rises and falls, ensuring me that he's alive. I can't tell how badly hurt he is; the blood covering his head could be his or Vates's. Without that neck wound to weaken him in the end, I don't think I would have been able to beat the madman. He was too good - experienced, well-trained, full of zeal. This dog saved my life. I take the opportunity to reach over and pat him gently on the head. I'll have to repay him somehow.

As we race across the sand, I examine the spoils of War: Vates's coat and weapon. The large garment lies between the front seats. It was there just a little while ago, too, but with a very alive and very deadly Vates inside of it. Now it's empty and stiff with dried blood. The once-grey fur on the collar will be forever matted and stained a dark red, but I don't mind. It's got more pockets than my leather jacket, and the long body is perfect for hiding weapons stashed on my body. No sense in letting such a fine piece of clothing go to waste.

I look at the pickaxe next, turning it over in one hand. The long handle is curved and has a grip at the base. The head has sharp, serrated edges. The entire thing is made out of black metal without a hint of rust. Vates took good care of this weapon. On one side of the handle, some words have been engraved in the metal. They don't look like the written symbols I usually see, but it doesn't really matter; I can't read them either way.

Without a windshield, hot air and sand rush straight into me, and I have to squint to keep most of the grit out of my eyes. The blood covering my body dries quickly in the wind - on my face, my hands, my neck, my chest. It's everywhere. I reach up to touch the back of my head, and my fingers come away wet. Still bleeding from where Vates slammed me into the window, but it's not too bad. I'll live. Got damn lucky this time.

The tracks stretch on before my ride. The War Party has a big head start, and my speed is severely limited by that flat tire. I don't know if I'll ever catch up. I can't even see any smoke in the distance. Eventually, however, things begin to appear. Bits of scrap metal. A few dead bodies with the braided hair of the trailer riders. I pass an abandoned drumming truck. Still no sign of my teammates. Could both of them still be alive? A small flicker of hope forms in my chest, but I tell myself not to let it get to me. For all I know, their corpses are tangled in the Rig's chains or left to rot in the trailer.

A black form appears beside my open window. I glance over to see that damn bird flying alongside my car. Wish it would leave me alone. When I look ahead again, a vehicle appears on the horizon, not moving. Too big and too dark to be one of the chrome trucks, but much too small to be the Rig. As I get closer, my stomach goes cold once again.

It's Three's truck.

My arms lock up, holding the wheel steady, as if my body is telling me to just keep going. Chuckles is the priority here. If he dies, I can't go back to Anuket, and this whole thing will have been pointless. Maybe she won't care as long as I don't come back, but maybe she'll send people after me. I can't take that risk. I got lucky with Vates. No way I could take on a few of those massive Crocodiles - not even with Jaw's help.

Besides, Three might not even be in the truck. Maybe he ditched it and jumped on the train or another vehicle. Or maybe he is in there, and he's dead. Or maybe he's not. Maybe he's injured but alive. But it doesn't matter. I can't afford to care. That's just how it goes out here - we drive until the Road comes up to meet us and buries our corpses in the sand. I know that. Three knows that. Hell, he'd probably give me a lecture about it.

Then again, he did go out of his way to save my life. But that was only because his die rolled a certain way. He didn't decide on his own to help me. Unlike him, I can make my own decisions, yeah?

"Shit," I sigh, already regretting what I'm about to do.

I turn the wheel towards Three's vehicle, pressing on the brakes and continuing to swear at myself under my breath. Better make this quick. If he's alive in there, get him out and get back on the Road. If he's dead, leave him. I park the car and step out, approaching the Cyclop's truck quickly but carefully. Most of the barbed wire has been pulled or cut off, leaving a trail of knotted metal behind the vehicle. Other than that, the heavily armored ride barely has a visible dent. The back and passenger doors are shut, preventing me from seeing inside.

Vates's bird circles overhead - not foreboding at all. I scowl as it lands on the rear of the truck and caws at me. It takes all my willpower not to shoot the damn thing. Need to save my bullets for something that can fight back.

The driver door is open, and I anxiously peer inside. Three is nowhere in sight. In the passenger seat, however, is his shotgun, surrounded by spent shells. I check the back through a small, grated window behind the center console. Nobody back there, either. He must have jumped onto the train. Or maybe he was pulled out. I grab the firearm and run back to my ride, eager to get going. I'm glad I didn't find Three's mangled corpse in the truck, but I'm also irritated at myself for wasting precious time. The sun is starting to set, and the War Party isn't getting any closer.

I glare at the bird as I pull away from Three's truck. This time, though, the winged creature does not follow. It roosts on the Cyclop's vehicle and just watches me go with its beady eyes. Good riddance.

Not long after, the dog stirs in the passenger seat. He slowly sits up, looking around nervously. His ears perk up when he sees me, and he wags his tail a little. I flash him a half-smile in greeting. Despite the assault from Vates, he seems to be doing fine now that he's awake. I told myself I wouldn't get attached, but this dog is making it pretty damn impossible. Maybe I'll give him a name as a way of saying thanks for saving my life. If I'm going to keep him around, I might as well call him something.

Before I have time to think of a name, my attention is again pulled to the horizon. Cliffs appear, signaling the end of this enormous stretch of sand. Flying above one of the jagged peaks is an enormous flock of black birds. As I get closer, I can hear them squawking. This time, their cries are not accompanied by music or engines. Whatever they're circling is silent and unmoving. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the worst as I speed toward the cliffs.

Moments later, I see it. Crashed into the side of a rock wall is the massive War Rig. It lies completely still and eerily quiet except for the birds. No drums, no exhaust, no men crawling on the trailer. The black, metal paneling near the front is warped and crumpled from the force of the impact. The chains are twisted and tangled, and the car plow has been flattened. Worst of all, the shiny V8 engines have been completely destroyed, smashed between the Rig and the cliff. What a waste. Scattered around the machine are large pieces of metal that flew off in the collision, along with several corpses of Vates's men. I drive around the other side. More bodies. Two chrome trucks splattered with blood. Not a living person in sight.

Finally, I look up, and my eyes go wide. There, sitting atop the machine where Vates once stood, is Three the Cyclops. Even from down here, I can see enormous bruises covering his now shirtless body. Beside him, Chuckles sits with his legs crossed. Alive. The young Road Warrior holds still as the older man wraps what remains of his right arm with some cloth and rope. Chuckles's tanned skin looks unusually pale. He stares blankly out across the Wastes, not even noticing my car. Three hears my engine and looks down, nodding solemnly when our eyes meet.

I gape at the scene as my car comes to a halt. Not only are the two of them still alive, but they managed to take down the entire Rig. I couldn't even keep up with the War Party, and I missed most of the fight. They did this all on their own, just the two of them. Three is truly a force to be reckoned with, and Chuckles shows strong potential as a survivor. Maybe Anuket saw something in him when she chose him to be a Road Warrior. Or maybe he just got lucky. Either way, he's alive, and that's all that matters to me.

I kill the engine and step out into the cooling air. The dog stays in the passenger seat, licking at his bruised ribs. I hold Three's shotgun under one arm and start climbing up a rusty ladder on the side of the Rig.

"He gonna make it?" I call up to the Cyclops.

"Yeah, he'll be fine," Three mumbles as I make it to the top. I can just barely hear him with my good ear over the screeching of the birds.

The veteran Road Warrior takes the offered shotgun with a grunt. I examine him carefully. His face, chest, and arms are incredibly bruised and swollen. Fresh cuts and old scars travel across his entire torso. Behind him, the bodies of several of Vates's men are strewn across the top of the Rig.

"He's gonna need an Organic, though," Three adds, indicating Chuckles's arm. "I wrapped him up as best I can."

I look down at the former Blackthumb. He's suffered a few good cuts and bruises, but not nearly as many as Three. His right arm ends just below the elbow, wrapped tightly in cloth and rope to stop the bleeding. The fabric is covered in dirt and red. Chuckles has managed to survive the blood loss and trauma, but he'll get an infection if someone more professional than Three doesn't look at his arm soon. Silent killer. The Cyclops is right: he needs an Organic, and fast. Chuckles turns his placid gaze in my direction, finally noticing me but barely reacting. Still in shock.

"Glad you made it," I say sincerely. As long as he can make it back to Eden and get the help he needs, we'll both get out of this alive.

"He's a tough fucker," Three observes, standing up. "Commandeered this thing and crashed it with one arm, while I was forced into a gladiatorial pit in the trailer."

That explains the bruises. How many men did Three have to fight at once? I almost wish I'd been there to see that. Despite his age, the Cyclops is one of the most powerful people I've met. There's no doubt in my mind he could have taken out Vates much more easily than I did - and without help from a dog. As for Chuckles, I was already surprised that he managed to stay alive. But hearing that he was the one who took out the Rig shocks me even more. He's young and inexperienced, sure, but he's also resourceful. And tough, like Three said. I look at him with a newfound sense of respect.

"Could have used your help," the Cyclops informs me as he helps Chuckles to his feet. "Where is Vates?"

"Down there," I reply, motioning to my car below. "Dead. Sorry it took so long."

The apology is awkward but sincere. I should have been here to help them. These two went through hell to get this job done. Even the dog did more than I could manage to do. But I can't waste any energy feeling bad about it. We all knew what we might have to deal with when we signed up for this. And in the end, we survived, and the job is done. That's all that matters.

Three leans over the side of the Rig, gazing down at my car and Vates's corpse.

"Holy shit," the Cyclops breathes. "You fought and killed him by yourself? Do you know who he is?"

His voice sounds genuinely surprised - even a little impressed. He continues to stare at the body. Chuckles joins him, finally snapping out of his daze.

"He is a member - a rogue member - of Thor's Asgardians," Three explains when I don't answer. His voice returns to its gravelly monotone. "The elite warriors are trained from a young age to fight on the Fury Road."

"They're animals," Chuckles adds, turning to look at me. Instead of his normal frown, there is a mix of admiration and humiliation on his face. "Eden doesn't have a long history of War with Thor, but there are plenty of tales of Asgardians taking on several Crocodiles at a time."

"And this one was also trained by Bishop and indoctrinated into his crazy religion." Three glances at me. "I'm surprised you're alive. You're tougher than I thought, Roman."

I hesitate, not sure what to say. It takes me a moment to digest all the information. Most of it doesn't make sense. Thor's Asgardians? Never heard of them, but I hate to think there are more people like Vates out there. And if they're as good as my teammates say, there's no way I should have been able to kill one. All luck. And a dog. The praise catches me off guard, too, but it's kind of… nice. I don't really think I deserve it, but having the respect of a veteran Road Warrior isn't something to take lightly.

"I'm just glad it's done," I say at last. Three nods.

Chuckles moves past me and starts climbing down the side of the train. Despite his injury, he moves quickly. He's probably anxious to get back to Eden. So am I, if I'm honest. I could use another bath. I gaze towards the rapidly setting sun, feeling the last bits of adrenaline fading away to leave me cold and exhausted. I wish more than anything that I could be back in that bed. It would be worth the nightmares just to be able to close my eyes.

"What now?" I ask Three, holding back a shiver that threatens to creep into my shoulders.

"First order of business is to bring Chuckles back to Eden so he can see an Organic," Three replies matter-of-factly. "We don't have time to scrap this or get my truck, so can we get a ride? We are going to have to risk raiders getting this junk and come back tomorrow."

"That's fine, yeah," I agree. "One tire's busted, but we should be able to make it back all right. Long as we don't run into any other trouble. Windshield's gone, too. It'll be a cold ride."

Three only grunts in response, gazing at something on the ground far below us. I follow his eye to see Chuckles not-so-gracefully prying a dirty, leather jacket from the corpse of a man with a fireman's axe embedded in his skull. When I turn back, Three has disappeared. Over the sound of the birds, I hear the scraping of metal and the soft thud of bodies being moved inside the trailer. After a few moments, the Cyclops reappears through a hatch in the roof, now wearing his green jacket. He must have lost it in the fight, but seeing Chuckles looting one from a corpse seems to have reminded him. Below, the young Road Warrior has managed to get the garment free. He puts it on, shielding his naked torso from the oncoming cold. I don't know if anyone really decided that jackets are what Road Warriors wear, but I haven't met many who go without them. Chuckles is one of us now.

Three begins climbing down the side of the trailer, and I make my way to the ladder.

"You sure about leaving your truck?" I call over to the Cyclops. "Might be long gone by tomorrow."

"Yeah, I already decided."

I narrow my eyes, wondering if he rolled his die for that one. Sometimes he does, and sometimes he doesn't. I can't tell if there's any real logic to it, or if he just does it whenever he feels like taking a risk. Strange man.

"It's better to hurry up and get medical attention for Chuckles," Three continues. "And any raider will find Anastasia very hard to scrap."

My suspicion turns to surprise. Three named his ride? Didn't peg him as the sentimental type. Then again, I didn't think of him as a team player, either. Guess I still don't know anything about him.

We join Chuckles on the ground and walk to my car together, stepping over bodies and debris. Three and Chuckles head to the back to see the body of Vates up close. I follow, looking down at the insane man who nearly ended my life. His pale face looks peaceful.

"What should we do with the body?" I ask.

"Keep it as proof that we did the job since we aren't bringing anything else back," Three instructs.

"Lady Anuket will be very impressed that we killed an Asgardian and took out his War Party. Although she will probably be furious with Thor," Chuckles mumbles to himself. Then he turns around and heads for the passenger door of my car. "Shotgun."

Three groans.

"Might have to fight that dog for it," I warn Chuckles as I open the driver door.

I get inside and start clearing weapons off the passenger seat. Rifle in its slot, revolver on me, crossbow and extra ammo under the driver seat. Everything in its place. The dog watches me, wagging his tail.

"Go on, get in the back," I tell him, motioning behind the passenger chair. "And be nice to Three, yeah?"

To my surprise, the dog obeys. Guess he likes me a little more now. Chuckles opens the door and gets inside, not bothered by the dried blood all over the seat. He leans back in the chair, attempting to relax. He may have survived his first Road War, but he'll carry it with him the rest of his short life - both physically and mentally. Despite his injuries, though, he doesn't seem discouraged - just tired and still a little shocked. Chuckles has successfully protected the place he grew up in and loves - possibly the only place he's ever known. If he can make it through this, his sheer tenacity will make him an excellent Road Warrior, and his zealotry will probably keep him from becoming a jaded mess like me or Three. Or maybe the Wastes will get to him, too, someday. I probably won't be around long enough to find out.

I grab my canteen from under the seat and exit the car. The Cyclops approaches me, and I offer him the water.

"Thanks," Three says. He takes a modest swig before handing it back.

The old Road Warrior climbs into the back of the car after I fold down the driver chair. The dog steps over and stares him right in the face, sniffing the air.

"Uh… hi," Three greets him awkwardly. The dog wags his tail. "Looks like you got pretty beat up, bud. How is this dog treating you, Roman?"

"Saved my life already," I reply, handing the canteen to Chuckles next. He grabs it from my hand and happily chugs about half of the contents before returning it.

"Thanks," he says, wiping his mouth. I nod.

"He nearly ripped Vates's throat out," I continue to Three. "Got hit pretty hard for that. Doesn't like being touched, so watch your hands."

"Noted," Three says, scooting slightly away from the animal. "What's his name?"

I hesitate, thinking. The dog looks over at me and begins panting, exposing teeth still covered in blood.

"Jaw," I decide after a moment. The dog tilts his head to the side curiously.

Chuckles returns the canteen to me. I pour the rest of the water into my hand and hold it out to Jaw. He sniffs my fingertips hesitantly for a moment, then greedily laps up the water. I hold back a smile; I know I'm already way too attached to this damn dog.

Once Jaw is finished drinking, I start the car. The noise of the engine floods in through the broken windows and windshield. Even after all this time, I still think it's the most beautiful sound in the world. I press the gas and turn the vehicle around, glancing at the wreckage in my rearview mirror as we drive away. The birds in the sky have now descended to feed on the corpses. At long last, they fall silent. I breathe a small sigh of relief as we speed toward the relative safety of Eden. It's almost over.

Author's Note: Thanks as always to everyone who has been reading. Special thanks this week to el mano for the lovely review. Next week: trouble in Eden. Stay tuned.