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I’ve got sand in my mouth, Max realized as he returned to consciousness, his eyes slowly opening, I’ve got sand everywhere. He was lying face first on the desert floor, the weight of his muzzle pressing him further down into the sand. Pushing himself up, he tried spitting out the sand, but was unsuccessful. Frustrated, he stumbled as he tried to shake off the orange sand that covered him from head to toe, but his vision swam and there was a sharp pain throbbed at the base of his neck.
His fingers gingerly probed the area and found the hook that connected him to his driver, still pumping his blood into the other’s body. Tearing it out, he followed the tubing with his fingers as it intertwined with the chain of his muzzle. Pulling on the chain, he saw it rise out of the sand he could see it led to the wreckage of the car.
His memory came crashing down around him as remember the events of the chase. He sneered as he remembered his idiot driver tried to blow them both to pieces. Maybe he was still alive. Now alert, he followed the chain to the wreckage, where it was connected to the driver’s door. Giving it a vigorous tug, a metal brace with an arm still attached to it burst from the sand. Jerking backwards, he realized it was still attached to its owner and peered into the buried wreckage. Inside, he found his driver unmoving.
Max had seen dead bodies before, but he was surprised when he felt a wave of sadness washed over him. He had been a nice kid and, despite Max being a blood bag, had always treated him kindly. The driver was brave, but stupid, he thought as he remember the driver had head butted his lancer, fighting to die historic on the fury road, even as he could barely stand. He had barreled into the desert storm ready to sacrifice his life for what he believed in.
‘Kamicrazy war boy,’ he grimaced. ‘Weren’t they supposed to be witnessed when they died?’ He was just kid. Even if Max didn’t believe in the Immortan, he still recognized a good soldier when he saw one and hoped the driver found the Valhalla he had died for. What was his name Nuts? Nux?
Suddenly eager to leave, Max tried taking off the brace around Nux’s arm but it was locked shut. Panicking, Max scanned the wreckage around him for bolt cutters. War boys always carried around a variety of tools, but it was just his luck that neither driver nor lance brought one. He was about to give up when he spotted the double barreled gun. Picking it up, he wrapped the chain around his hands so that it was taught and pulled, straightening the boy’s arm. Placing the muzzle of the gun on the boy’s arm, he took a deep breath and didn’t think about how he was mutilating a boy’s corpse.
Closing his eyes as he pulled the trigger, he waited for the loud bang of the gun but was confused when he heard the soft fizzle. Cursing to himself, he looked down and realized that too much sand had gotten inside rendering the gun useless. Here he was in the middle of a desert, chained to a door and dead boy, no food, no water and that son of a bitch lancer took his boot. There was only one way he was getting that brace off. Enraged at his situation, he grabbed the drivers arm and was ready to start chewing off his hand when he heard several loud metallic bangs in the distance.
Curious, he turned around and as the dust settled he could make out the war rig, not 20 meters away. Max could already feel his bare foot burning against the sand as he glanced down at the driver. Before he could change his mind, he pulled off the driver’s boot, sparing one last glance at the boy’s face before he put the oversized boot on his own foot. After throwing both the boy and door over his shoulders, he gripped the gun tightly and carefully made his way over to the rig.
‘There had to be at least half a dozen war boys on the rig when they crashed,’ he thought to himself, ‘The woman driver was definitely still alive. Unless the Immortan had caught up with her,’ he paused. Max shifted his weight as he studied the war rig, ‘No,’ he thought, ‘they wouldn’t have left it here unguarded.’ In fact there was no one guarding his side of the rig and concluded that only a few war boys must have survived. As the banging continued, he walked towards the rig as he put his finger on the trigger, ready in case someone came around the rig and saw them.
The plan was insane. He was up against an unknown enemy, weighed down and almost bled dry, defending himself with a useless gun. ‘It’s mad,’ he chuckled to himself as he approached the war rig. As he was about to turn the corner, he thought he heard female voices and running water between the metallic bangs. ‘Oh I am definitely mad,’ he thought as he braced himself for what awaited him around the bend, tightening his grip on the gun. He took a deep breath as he closed his eyes to try and steady his hands. ‘But at least I’ll survive,’ he thought as he whipped around the corner of the rig, his gun at the ready.