2.
THE BOY BECOMES A MAN
Another day of hard work was over for him as he stretched his arms above his head to release the tension that had built up in his muscles throughout the day. He should have been used to it by now; he had spent six years of hard labour in the huge servicing room, knowing every vehicle, every part and every single piece of scrap metal in it by memory. He was clever and had become something of a master mechanic, despite his young age. Not all 'lost children' were so lucky, and Jack was fully aware that he was alive mainly because of that.
In the beginning, when he realised he was captured by the very tribe his parents fought against and most certainly lost their lives, his first thought was revenge. However, soon enough he understood that it would take much more than the rage he had felt inside, fuelled by his grief, and he was still only a boy. Over the years, he learned that no resistance, hard work and keeping his thoughts of disagreement to himself were the main means of survival in the Wasteland, including the Citadel. He saw the ones who had tried to escape from captivity, and he knew how they ended – none of them succeeded. They all had to return to the Citadel, realising that living as a slave was better than dying of thirst and hunger in the endless desert.
The countless days during his early life when he had spent helping his father repair various machines and vehicles they used in their town became very useful for establishing his status as a skilled and knowledgeable mechanic in the Citadel's service team. He had just turned nineteen when he caught the interest of the war convoy commander, the Praetorian Stearn who saw him tweak the engine of one of the massive transport trucks one night. At first, he thought Jack wanted to sabotage it, but the boy explained he thought it would allow the driver to reach a higher speed. The Commander observed him with interest, remembering Jack's excellent reputation among the servicemen.
"Can you drive?" he asked.
Jack hesitated for a beat before replying. "Yes."
The older man nodded and pointed with his hand toward the vehicle. The boy's face remained unchanged as he followed Stearn and climbed into the driver's seat.
"I suppose this is a little bit bigger than a land mover you're probably used to, but let's see if you're as skilled at the wheel as you are with the engine."
Jack took a deep breath and started the engine; its roar made his heart skip a beat. A sudden jolt of excitement ran through his veins as his hands examined the stirring wheel and he got accustomed to the dashboard.
"All right. Let's drive a little," the Commander said calmly, ignoring Jack's sudden amazement as the realisation of what was asked of him dawned on him – no vehicle had ever left the Citadel at night without any planned purpose.
"Are you afraid?" The older man raised his eyebrows.
"No," Jack immediately replied, shaking his head.
"Good. I'll tell you when to stop. Drive."
Jack drove as slowly as he could to get out of the Citadel, aware that the sharp engine sound at higher speed would definitely catch someone's attention. It did indeed, and he spotted a handful of War Boys, belonging to the convoy, curiously watching them drive away. He remembered that Praetorian Stearn was a big authority in the Citadel; Immortan Joe (as Colonel Joe Monroe called himself for years now) held him in high regard. Despite Stearns not being the youngest man anymore (he had already crossed fifty), he was still as efficient and reliable as when he started serving Immortan Joe twenty years ago, and the number of successful drive missions under his command was still very high. He didn't look like most of the men in the Citadel; his face seemed mainly unharmed by any injuries or conditions; his always focused, hazel eyes reflected wisdom and intelligence. Jack realised that Stearn's status and reputation were surely the only reason why no one had stopped them on their way.
They drove into the night desert; Fury Road stretched out before them like a snake. It was the first time Jack was behind the wheel of something so big, yet he felt the truck's heart beating like his own, fast and strong. The years of servicing it and observing from afar others driving it paid off since he immediately fell into its rhythm, leading it on the road safely and comfortably. At that moment, he knew he was meant to drive. With each mile, his confidence grew and a sudden sense of freedom washed over him, reviving his spirits.
The truck reached a speed like never before, covering the chosen distance in almost half the usual time. Whatever Stearn told Jack to do, Jack did it with ease and mastery worthy of an old driver. The convoy Commander very soon realised the youngster had calm nerves, superb reflections and rock-steady technique.
"Where did you learn to drive like that?" Stearn asked him in awe once the truck stopped back in its place in the Citadel.
Jack let out a barely audible sigh, his eyes pinned to the steering wheel.
"My father," he replied quietly. He didn't feel the need to mention that the vehicle he was taught to drive on was an old tractor they had in the backyard. Had the commander seen him manoeuvring the rusty machine in the dusty field behind their house at the highest possible speed, he would have felt even bigger respect for the boy's driving mastery.
"Well… he did a bloody good job," the Commander remarked admiringly. "Welcome to the convoy."
Jack forgot about his usual self-control and his eyes widened.
"We'll see how you'll get on under attack," Stearn added, with a smile and got out of the truck, leaving the new recruit stunned.
From that day, Jack, the service boy, became Praetorian Jack, the driver, ploughing the Fury Road once a week with the convoy in its quest for gasoline and bullet supplies. With time – and the help of his commander - he polished his skills to perfection, not just in driving but also in self-defence, in and outside of the truck. His confidence grew equally with his mission success rate as he matured in age, and every War Boy in the convoy, no matter how deranged and out of his senses, looked up to him with awe and respect. Just before he had turned twenty-three, he became the new convoy commander – undisputed and unchallenged.
"You earned this," his former superior patted him on the shoulder before he officially left his post.
Jack didn't reply at first, the look in his eyes was anything but joyful.
"Driving is the only time I feel in control and… free… It's the only thing I know," he said then solemnly, lowering his eyes.
"I doubt that, my boy," the older man remarked with a smile. His hand gently landed on Jack's chest over his heart. "There is much more here than you might realise. I know it will come to light one day."
The new convoy commander looked up with a quizzical expression, nevertheless, a wave of warmth briefly washed over him. Throughout the years of his life in the Citadel, Praetorian Stearn was the only person still reminding him that human decency and kindness were not just forgotten words from the time before the Fall. Jack suddenly realised he would soon lose the last connection to a sense of normalcy in the world he was forced to live in for so long, and his eyes grew sad. Overcome by his sudden emotions, he put his arms around his mentor.
They pulled apart not long after, and Jack watched his only friend in the Citadel walk away with a gentle smile on his slowly ageing face, until his figure vanished from sight, swallowed by the shadow of the past that had no place in the present. From now on, Praetorian Jack was in charge of the whole war convoy. In a world ruled by the survival of the fittest, the captive, the promising boy became a man, a leader worthy of his reputation.
He never saw his mentor again.
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"Get moving, you lazy bastard, or I'll show you what this staff can do!"
The gruff, booming voice of a tall, strongly muscular man with a grotesquely distorted face scared a little boy of no more than ten. The man was dressed in leather and a tunic made of fish skins and reeked of power – he was someone extremely demanding, who revelled in brutality and terrorizing his inferiors. The boy was desperately trying to find the right screw to use while assembling a part of a contraption on the table in front of him. His shaking little hands failed him again as he dropped the slightly rusty screw he was just holding, and terrified, he went down on his knees immediately.
"You useless scum! What's the point of you being here? We should have left you to rot out there!" The man yelled at him again and hit him with the chainsaw staff he held in his hands. The boy cried out in pain, but fear prevented him from stopping what he was supposed to do. The man stretched out his arm to punish the child again, but an iron grip of a hand appearing from behind forcibly stopped him. Surprised, he turned his head around.
"You?!" he exclaimed angrily. "How dare you?!"
"How dare you to disturb people at work?" Praetorian Jack countered calmly but with authority, looking straight into the brute's eyes. He detested unnecessary brutal use of power. "I need every man, old and young, to work in the service team so the convoy is well-prepared day and night. It seems your father appreciates this knowledge more than you, Scrotus."
Every man in the huge service room stopped working, watching the encounter between the two men. The war convoy commander visited the place only a handful of times during his seven convoy leadership years, only to test a new vehicle. The air was thick with tension.
"My father," Scrotus said with gritted teeth, "appreciates me more than you! You are nothing but a driver!"
"The driver who brings back every war convoy loaded with gasoline and bullets," Jack added with a hint of a confident smile, fully aware of the weight of his words.
Scrotus's jaw tightened as he seemingly turned away, only to suddenly turn back, with unexpectedly quick speed, and lashing out at Jack with his staff. Jack expected this course of action, and the years of self-defence lessons with Praetorian Stearn paid off once more. He swiftly bent down to avoid the blow and with a few skilled moves and strikes, he sent Scrotus down to the ground. Despite Scrotus's strongly muscular build, Jack had the upper hand on him from the start. He kept looking at the brute lying at his feet in the dust with indifference but yet again, aware of his authority.
"I would appreciate it if you let the service team work as they are supposed to," Jack spoke again. "Otherwise I'll have to speak with Immortan Joe about re-evaluating the team's management."
Scrotus shot a hateful look at his opponent, fuming that he couldn't send him to his grave right then and there. Unfortunately, Praetorian Jack's ability to fight off every attack on the war convoy on the Fury Road made him invaluable. No one else had managed the same before him, not even Praetorian Stearn, Immortan Joe's former favourite, and because gasoline and bullets were a precious commodity for the Citadel, Praetorian Jack was irreplaceable. Immortan Joe knew that - Scrotus's hands were tied.
"You'll pay for this one day," Scrotus hissed as he picked himself up from the ground, wiping away the trickle of blood on his crooked lips. "Even if it's someone else delivering the blow!"
Suddenly he grinned, his cruel, dark look piercing Jack's green eyes. Then he finally dragged himself away.
Jack let out a deep sigh, then turned back to look at the boy, huddling under the table and staring at him wide-eyed. All the men immediately returned to their work, making the room buzz with activity again.
Jack walked over to the child, observing him for a moment, then smiled.
"You can come out now," he said gently. "No one's gonna hurt you."
The calming voice speaking those words put the boy at ease, and he cautiously climbed up to his feet.
"What's your name?" Jack asked him.
The boy blinked before answering. "Jesse," he said with a quiet, shaky voice.
Jack smiled again and wiped a tear from the child's face, creating a dirty smudge on his cheek.
"Are you… alone here?" he asked carefully.
Jesse lowered his eyes and remained quiet.
"Well, you aren't anymore," Jack stated, and his kind green gaze met the shy blue one of the child.
Jesse's eyes were filled with sorrow and despair, reflecting the survival mode in his mind. He wasn't the first child in the Citadel to have tragically lost his parents. The dead ones were never spoken of, at least not officially and never the insignificant ones; that was one of the many rules in the Citadel.
"Keep working," Jack continued. "Whatever you do, do it properly. You keep working hard, you won't have problems."
Something in the boy's eyes changed as if his state of mind had shifted – the flashes of sorrow and despair had changed into sparks of renewed life and hope. Jack turned to leave but then stopped.
"Do you like cars?" he asked. Jesse nodded, making Jack smile.
"Maybe you get to drive one someday," he said and after a beat, he left the boy alone.
Jack started walking towards one of the servicemen.
"Show me the new truck," he demanded resolutely but without a trace of excessive self-importance.
The man nodded and led him to a new, shiny vehicle a few other servicemen were polishing. It was larger than the truck Jack usually drove. His eyes skimmed the whole length of it before speaking again.
"Right. Let's see how strong this horse is."
He ascended a couple of steps leading to the driver's seat and took his place behind the wheel. It was time for another test drive.
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