Archive of Our Own

Not all deserts are hot.

With the tip of his left index finger, Nux felt at the stitches on his lips, the twine that sealed him shut like a corpse. The white that marked him a dead man, walking through the dusty trail of tire tracks, making his way home.

I live. I die... The thought stopped partway as he followed the tracks. Where did they lead? Were these the right ones? He knelt and checked again, touching the ridges of dirt that crumbled under his fingertips. They had to be: tire gauge, diameter, depth...but details seemed hazy and insecure. Visions flashed before him as he stood: grasping hands, whitened faces, livid eyes glowing beneath blackened foreheads. The snarl of a V8 rang in his ears, and he focused on the tread of the tires through the dirt, and how long had it been since he had started walking? Didn't matter. Keep going.

“Right. Four days walk from here to the citadel. Enemy territory, Nux. If you're lucky, we find you in three days. If not, you're part of the waste. Un-Ended. Un-Lived. Un-Witnessed.”

Those last words sent a shiver down Nux's spine, and he wiped at the sticky blood on his face that trickled slow down his chin, blinking against the bright sunlight as he tried to see again, transitioning from darkness to light.

“You got that?”

Nux nodded, unable to speak.

“Remember who you are. A War Boy.” The Ace shoved his fingertip into the center of Nux's chest, the pain briefly competing with the pain of his face in red-black harmony. “You'll be a War Boy of War Boys, if you can manage this. We're counting on you.”

Nux's eyes narrowed, and he nodded.

“Now off you go.”

Not everyone had a chance being an initiate. Nux felt at the smooth plane of his chest, where the Ace had poked him. Even the Ace himself, first among War Boys, had never done it. Those that did bore the scars of the sewing. Those that did were entitled to more. Driver, Half-life Noble, Imperator... positions to aspire to, and the initiation was the fast-track to those positions. Perhaps he'd drive a pursuit car. Perhaps he'd drive the Bigfoot. Even the War Rig, someday. There was nothing that he couldn't do, if he could just do this.

Day, when the sun warmed him up up like a lizard, unfreezing his joints, he walked. Night, when the cold white wheel of the moon turned the air into ice and the shivers got him so bad that sometimes his muscles seized up, he trotted along to keep warm, to keep the blood moving. Blood, breath, heart, brain. Keep moving, that was the law. Keep moving.

He stumbled along, delirious from exhaustion. How many suns and moons had he seen? The cells of his body were drying up as he lost moisture with every exhalation. His blood felt slow, sluggish, as if its course through the pipes of his veins was moving less rapidly. He licked at the roof of his mouth; it felt like sandpaper, rasping against his tongue or perhaps it was the other way around. He had no idea how long he had walked. The rising sun was at his left; he was still in the right direction. He hadn't lost the track; it was still beneath his feet.

The light, the heat, the welcoming warmth of the sun gave him a sudden jolt of life, and just as he stretched out his hand to grab it, to grasp the sun in his cupped palm and hold it to his breast to warm himself just a little, he saw it.

There it was, the way he had left it years ago. The thing: long, broken, sideways leaning. It gradually stood in stark silhouette against the iron gray sky, sharp edges sticking out of its snapped column like a Buzzard splintered with metal.

He took a wrench out from a tool pocket, and digging a few centimeters into the hard-packed soil of the track, stuck the wrench in it upright to mark his trail. Satisfied with his marker, he walked to the thing.

*****

“Come on Nux, you hear it? Feel it? Pullin at the reins, jerkin its head, so you slide it into second. Now! Second!”

Nux could barely hear over the pounding of the blood in his head, the tremor in his hands, the sheer nervousness and excitement that came with this. This was really happening; he was learning how to drive. Even Lancers were taught the fundamentals, but here, he wasn't anything more than a Revhead and he was chosen to learn.

Meant for greater things, Nux thought, as he put the car into second, trying to calm his nerves, to steady his shaking hands. Taught by the Ace himself, who could be a Driver in his own right, but chose to stay a Lancer on the War Rig, not because he had to, but because it was a position of pride. Nux's hand stroked the carved skull of the gearshift.

“Now give it its head. Try turning about. See how it feels when it slides or sticks in the sand. You'll know; you got the feel for it.” The Ace set his hand on the wheel, giving it a sharp tug, and Nux could feel force dragging them in the direction of the turn. So that's what those other War Boys were talking about, being swung around like a pup by the rig.

Nux laughed, spinning the car around again the other way, in a sharp circle, making the Ace cling onto the side of the car as force tugged them about, tossing them to the side like a great unseen hand.

“Right good turn. You keep at it, you can change direction any way you like. Ain't a damn thing anyone else can do against you and your Lancer if you know how to keep your car on its feet and put it where you wanna go.”

Determined, Nux hit the gas and eased up on the clutch, and when he heard, no felt, no understood that moment, he changed to a higher gear.

“Yeah, that's it, Nux. That's it. Now fang it. Fang it. There ain't nothin that can hurt you out here. Ain't nothin out here to hit. You got a feel for it. Push, see how far you can go. Find the limits.” The Ace settled back and stared out the window. Nux glanced at him, at the scarred and worn body, the broken jaw that had set askew dragging the man's mouth when he spoke. The growing lumps on the man's neck, slowly killing him. Nux felt at his own neck; for now it was still smooth; the sickness was not yet visible, but it was only a matter of time. The sickness got everyone, eventually.

And then Nux gritted his teeth and pushed the car harder, feeling the engine open up, the horsepower under his feet, the breath and pulse of iron and metal moving through him, becoming one with it.

The world flashed by them in slow procession. Nux saw glimpses of hills, distant mountains, endless plains. All empty, but for him and the Ace, and it felt like they were the only living things in the entire world. Nux swung the car to the northwest; had anyone been this way before? The ground here was free of the mark of tracks; maybe they were the only ones.

They were moving uphill now, and Nux breathed as the engine breathed, a churning roar of steel and leather and bone under his hands, and then suddenly, almost before he could react, a black shape appeared out of nowhere, and for a brief moment, Nux could only think that it was enemy territory. Slamming on the brakes, he snapped the wheel to the right, away from the object, but then there was a sickening crunch as they hit it, and Nux felt himself slammed against the steering column. The car jerked down into a slow rumble before Nux cut the engine, and then there was a great, deep cracking and Nux looked up to see a tall, massive pillar slowly ease itself down into a bent and broken angle.

It took a while to muster up the strength to pull himself out, and by the time he was out of the car, the Ace was already sitting on the bent and broken thing, stroking the gnarled column of the strange pillar with his hard, calloused hands, tracing the twists and turns of its surface with the tip of his right index finger. The Ace's gaze was impenetrable under those dark goggles, and Nux limped out, blood trickling down his face from where the goggles had cut into his cheekbones, his forehead.

“Nux. What have you done?” The Ace sounded surprisingly mild.

“Trashed your car.” Flushed with shame and humiliation, Nux tore off the goggles, letting them dangle around his neck. Misery sunk through him, all the way to the marrow of his bones, and he thought that an Un-Witnessed death would be preferable to this pain. “What are we gonna do? We're in the middle of nowhere. There are enemies all around out here.” His eyes smarted, and shocked, he blinked back the tears.

The Ace pointed to the southwest. “Can't be more than a day's walk from the Citadel from here. Run if we can. Walk if we gotta.” He patted his hip. “Got my tools. You got yours. Gun's in the car. Got plenty of guzzoline and Aqua-Cola. Probably some food too, somewhere.”

“But the car...”

“Are we War Boys?” The Ace wiped at his lips, glancing down and licking his fingers, and Nux winced when he realized that the man's mouth was full of blood.

“I'm...I'm a Revhead.”

“Not what I was askin. You a War Boy?”

“Yeah.”

“'m I?”

“Yeah.” Nux smiled weakly to himself; it was evident what the Ace was trying to say. He took a gulping breath, steeling himself.

“Then we do what War Boys do.” The Ace hopped off the thing and came down to inspect the wreckage. “We keep going. Let's get to work.”

They moved quickly while there was still daylight to work by. Together, they hauled the car off the thing, whose feet were long and twisted like coils of rope, stumbling their own feet as they maneuvered the heavy car onto a flat surface. The engine was good, hot but intact, and Nux found his fingers folding together briefly in thanks that he had not trashed that. Most of the work that had to be done was on the back right side of the car, where the back end had smashed into the thing, puncturing the tires, bending the axle, and crushing exterior exhaust piping.

“Car ain't crippled, not for long. Go top it off, it's thirsty.” The Ace had not much more to say than that, just pointed at elements on the car and Nux knew what to do. They started by taking off the tires and fell into a rhythm, the natural pace of Revheads, and Nux almost could feel the sizzle and flash of welding around him, the pleasant cacophony of ringing and grinding metal in his ears, as if all his fellow Revheads were by his side, cheering him on.

They made quick work of it as dusk fell, and by nightfall they were nearly done.

“Finish patching the tires. Tomorrow when it's light out, we'll refill and remount 'em, cut the pipes down below the crush point, and drive 'er back.”

“Can't we make it back now?” Nux finished sealing the last of the tires and shoved them against each other, leaning them so the patch would dry faster.

The Ace shrugged, a brief, one-shouldered motion. “Ain't no moon tonight. No moon, no movin. We wait here.”

“You think we're safe here?”

“Ain't seen tracks for a couple miles now. Probably no one's been here inna hunnert years or more. Otherwise this thing woulda been cut up already.” The Ace patted the thing, curious. “Shine. Heard about these from folks, long time ago.”

“What is it?”

“Like 'em vegetables we grow, just bigger. Green. Can't eat 'em though, but they burn good.”

“Yeah?”

“Don't get any ideas, Nux. Would be a shame.” The Ace slipped off his goggles, and in the last of the fading light of the sun, Nux could see that his eyes were pale gray. “It's like guzzoline. Once you burn it up, it's gone for good. Seems like a waste to burn up something that's held out for so long.”

Nux came over to touch the thing; it was hard and dry, and splintered at the weak point where it had snapped. Scratches and a smudge of black paint were the only signs that they had made impact. He rubbed at its surface with his blackened fingertips; bits of it crumbled underneath the pressure like brittle cast iron gone to rust, and curious, he brought his hand up to his nose.

There, underneath the machine scent of oil, was the elusive scent of resin.

Nux shook his head and went to wipe off his hands.

Like the Ace said, there had been a stash of food in the car, not much, but enough to hold them until they got back. Aqua-Cola they had too, and a couple strong sips filled the belly and helped keep hunger at bay.

They slept in a hollow beside the thing, dug into a patch of sand so that the earth would keep them warm, a shallow grave for their bed. The Ace kept the gun in hand, pressed against his chest, and he snored faintly, his other arm cradled around Nux's shoulder. Nux curled up against him and closed his eyes, grateful for the warmth, for the comfort of another War Boy's proximity.

Almost like home, he thought, only with less snoring. The Ace smelled like steel and leather and machine oil and whatever made him a man.

Just as Nux was about to fall asleep, he caught the scent of the thing again, rising with the cold night air, a sweet, resinous smell that made him take a deep breath as if he could capture it all in one great lungful, only to choke him briefly so that he coughed.

“Go to sleep,” the Ace muttered, his hand tightening on Nux's shoulder in a brief, painful squeeze. Embarrassed at his strange thoughts, Nux shifted faintly under the loose sand to get more comfortable, closed his eyes and found himself asleep before he realized it.

“All right, let's get. One drink for you, one drink for me, and the rest of it for the engine. It's a real thirsty run heading home.”

Nux took the jug gratefully and had a long drink. He finished bolting on the last wheel, and they eased it off the improvised jack, the car bouncing a little as they let it go.

“Anything else?”

“Nah. Get in, you drive.”

“I shouldn't.” Nux kicked at the dirt with his boot, and he could feel the guilt there, sitting at the pit of his stomach, gnawing on him. “I messed up. I did worse than mediocre. This was just...incompetent.” He ran out of words bad enough to describe his failings.

“Know what a Lancer does, first time he falls off?”

“No?”

“Gets back on. And the second time?”

“Um.”

“Gets back on. Third time? Fourth?”

“Gets back on?”

“Nah, he's usually dead after two or three falls. Or gets sent back to the shop cuz he ain't got the grip to hold on.” The Ace laughed, a raucous croak. “But you fall, you get back on. And you do it 'til you can't do it no more, and even then, you keep going.” He straightened his body, and the powerful muscles that Nux could only aspire to flexed, and he stretched out his arms, showing Nux the scars from years of battles. “So get back on, and go 'til you can't go no more.”

Nux stared at his hands, blackened and grimed with grease despite being wiped cleaned by the cloth. The car awaited; it didn't look half bad, not even with the sawed off exhaust. It was scratched and dented where they had hit the thing, but it was in good shape. He couldn't even see the patches on the tires.

“Yeah... Yeah. We ride!”

And just as they got into the car, the Ace smiled at him, a crooked, awkward expression from the twisted set of his jaw, shaking his head. “All these years I've never seen the like. The one thing in the entire waste to hit, and you, Nux, you hit it. Banged it up good. That's gotta count for something.”

*****

There it was again, the thing. This was significant; Nux now knew it was a message for him. He looked around, and there, in the trough of deep sand in the shade of the thing, was a round, black object. He ran over and knelt and got to digging. It was an entire bottle of Aqua-Cola.

I live.

He opened it and pressed it to his lips before he remembered that his mouth had been sewn shut.

I die.

No, this was a test. It had to be a test. How did it work? He filled the cap and dug a depression in the sand, setting the precious container of liquid into it, holding it steady. He thought about it for a moment, about the Aqua-Cola, and the twine on his mouth, and could he perhaps put it through his nose? But then he would choke and that was stupid when...

He wiped his fingers clean of dust and dipped the tips of his index and middle finger into the water, and let the droplets soak against his mouth. Tilting his head back, the faintest bit of moisture seeped between his lips.

There, that worked. He could do this. He had patience; he could do this until the water was done. So he dripped water into his mouth, bit by bit, and then something semi-miraculous happened. He guessed that the water softened the twine, made it flexible somehow, and it stretched minutely and he could open his mouth, just a few millimeters, but it was enough to go by.

I live.

Gratefully, he downed half the bottle, tasting blood with each gulp. Half for now, half for later, Nux thought, as he capped it tight. Digging into the bed of sand, he closed his eyes, gripping the bottle firm against his chest. Sleep smothered him faster than the shallow grave of his bed, and he was gone.

Bang. The shot was a thunderous roar. A rifle? No. A lance. Nux snapped awake and opened his eyes; the thing blocked his view, but he could hear an engine in the distance. It sounded like a Buzzard, all grit and churn, and the anguished whine of the belt set his teeth on edge. Dishonor, he thought. Mediocre.

Bang. Another lance, and it was followed by the sound of a great explosion. It must have somehow pierced the tank. Blown up the guzzoline reserves. He dug himself out and peered over the leaning mass of the thing. There, in the distance, was the fiery wreck of a Buzzard and swinging around its crippled flank with a resounding roar was the FDK.

He ran out, waving his arms, the half-empty bottle of Aqua-Cola sloshing about in his right hand as he waved. The FDK headed straight over and he realized it was Slit, clinging to the back, acting as Lancer for the Ace. Honor upon honor; this was a vehicle that escorted the War Rig, and here it had been brought out just for him.

The Ace stopped the car and got out; beckoning Nux over, he cut the stitches briskly with a sharp knife. There was no ceremony, no fuss, merely twinges of pain when the stitches tugged as they were cut through. Nux gasped as the last stitch was cut and opened his mouth reflexively.

The Ace left the twine hanging where they were; Nux imagined it would be the Organic's job to take them out entirely. But then just as Nux was about to say something, the Ace shook his head and set his hands on Nux's shoulders. Leaning down, he pressed his forehead gently to Nux's.

“By his deeds we honor him,” the Ace murmured. Lightheaded, Nux momentarily forgot who it was that the Ace was talking about and wondered if the Ace was talking about him.

“Witness,” the Ace snapped to Slit, and Slit jumped. “You saw it. I did too. He died in the waste but lives again.”

“Lives again,” Slit scowled, as best he could. “Surprised you're still alive, Nux.”

Nux blinked, overwhelmed. The sky, it was blue and massive, and in the distant west, storm clouds rose, furious and crimson, and if he reached out to the setting sun, perhaps he could grab it and hold it to his chest, and the heat of it would grant him life everlasting.

“Come on. Time to go, War Boy of War Boys. The V8's gonna look great on you.” Slit's arm was warm around his shoulders and Nux found himself leaning in close. “Hey, is it that thing you told me about? That you hit in the desert that first time. Mediocre, Nux. Pathetic. The one thing in the whole waste.”

Nux shook his head, arm around Slit's waist. “Tired.” His voice was no more than a hollow rasp, and he tried to clear his throat.

The Ace turned just before they were loading onto the car, hearing the slosh of the Aqua-Cola in Nux's hand. “How much of that you got left?”

“Half.” Realizing he was still clinging to it, he tossed the bottle to the Ace.

“New record.” The Ace grinned as he held it up to his ear and shook it. “Never seen it but empty or full.”

“How?” Nux rasped as the Ace tossed it back to him. He caught it one-handed, the familiar heft of the bottle in his hand.

“Empty cuz they spilled it all tryin to drink. Full cuz they couldn't figure out how to drink. Ain't seen more 'n a handful walk back from the initiation, and sometimes they die right after we get 'em back. You're something else, Nux. Half-bottle for a half-life. Drink it down, you deserve it. More where that came from in the back. Get in, we're going home.”

Dazed, Nux let Slit help him into the passenger seat and he clung to the bottle. Half-full for a half-life. He opened it and drank it down, wetting the loose threads of twine sewn through his mouth. It was still faintly warm from the heat of his body.

There was a knock on the roof, and the Ace slid the top door open.

“Yeah?”

“Just wanted to talk to the War Boy here.” Slit reached down, rubbing his palm over Nux's head, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze. “You gonna make it?” He gave Nux a sharp shake. “Not gonna die before we get you back, right? Don't make us look bad, Nux.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me what you saw out there.”

Nux looked up at him, eyes bright with unspoken words, but before he could say anything, the Ace reached across him and hit the nitrous.

“Eyes, Slit! Left!”

Flames shot up around them and Nux closed his eyes briefly. Another Buzzard. This day was going to be historic.

Nux swung around to look. The Buzzard hauled up on their left, growling as it churned over the hard-packed ground, trying to outrun them, to flank them, but it was two, three seconds behind already and quickly fell further behind the lighter, less-armoured car.

“Buzzards! They work in pairs, minimum. Keep an eye out for another, Slit, just in case,” the Ace said as they outran their pursuer easily, putting seconds between them that the Buzzard couldn't match. Just as quickly as the pursuit began, it ended as the Buzzard gave up.

Once the Ace ascertained they were safe, he eased off the nitrous and continued: “Looks like we ain't worth their guzzoline. Now if we was the War Rig, that'd be a different story; they'd throw everything they had for half a chance at our supplies. Them Buzzards are gettin stronger. Used to be that they didn't dare come near a Gastown rig, much less a Citadel car. Now they're almost matchin us in speed. Used to be they backed out of a fight at the sight of a lance. Now they're gettin bolder, puttin on more armour.”

“Didn't think Buzzards came this far north.” Slit again, listening in, sharp eyes scanning the horizon.

“Nah, their territory's big. Gotta have a big territory if you're gonna scavenge. Citadel don't need as much land to be rich, but these guys need a lot just to break even.”

“You think they'll find it? The thing.”

“Maybe, maybe not. If they haven't found it yet, maybe they won't ever find it. Who knows.”

“What, you worried they'll find your failure, Nux?” Slit laughed to himself, reaching down to clap Nux's shoulder.

Nux shook his head, looking for the thing briefly in the mirrors, out the window, but they had put it behind them, outrun it entirely; it was already out of sight. Distant mountains, vast plains. The land was dark to the east, and the darkness gaining. Maybe only an hour of light left, but by that time the Citadel would be well within their sights, and the half-wheel moon would give enough light to go by.

He ran the tip of his left index finger over his scarred lips, feeling the even stitches and the long drying ends of cut twine, tasting blood and dust.