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All was quiet at this time of night in the wasteland. The stars shone brightly in the night sky, while the moon cast a glow on the sand below, making the orange sand glow white. In a nearby rocky out crop stood the Interceptor, covered in dust and sand, its engine cooling in the cool air. Inside, a man dressed in torn and ragged clothes fitfully slept. Many days had passed since Max had left the Citadel, but tonight was the first night he had been able to fall asleep. The past few days, he thought he had seen a skeleton man with piercing blue eyes follow him whenever he got out of the car. Always creeping in his peripheral, the skeleton man haunted his every step, but whenever Max would turn to look, the skeleton man would be gone. Trying to flee his demon, Max would try to drive as far away as possible, still keeping the Citadel in sight, but no matter where he stopped he could see the skeleton man creep slower in the corner of his eyes. In his dreams, he could sometimes hear the man whispering to him about war and blood and regrets. Other times the skeleton man would be screaming, surrounded by a ball of fire and explosions until Max would wake up screaming. Tonight was one of those nights.
As his scream pierced the quiet desert, Max lurched forward while sweat dripped down from his face. As he tried to calm down, images of the violence he saw as a blood bag and on the Fury Road raced through his mind. Flashes of powered white skeleton boys with dark eyes dying in caves, cars cover in spikes roaring past him, war boys coming from every direction trying to tear him apart. The roar of the engines and explosions rang in his ears as he tried to reorient himself. Shaking his head free of these haunting memories, Max stumbled out of the driver’s seat of his Interceptor and looked around. He was alone.
Trying to calm down, he fingered the survival bracelet on his arm as he started to slow his breathing. It was the only thing he took to remember the young girl, Glory, and her mother by. It wasn’t so long ago that he rescued Glory from the buzzards, only for her and her mom to suffer the same fate as his own wife and daughter. Grimacing, he remembered her mangled body lying on the desert sand, as he sat next to her and lied, promising her he would look after her mother, her body broken and mangled behind him. He had buried them in the shadow of a small rocky outgrip on the outskirts of a ruined city, only two crosses marking their graves. By now, even those were probably buried in sand.
Looking off into the distance, Max saw a familiar large mesa with deep canyons. Only a week ago, he had driven through these same canyons with Furiosa, the Wives and Nux. He winced as in image of Nux and the war rig flipping over, bursting into flames flashed briefly in his mind. He had unfinished business there and maybe, just maybe, if he went there the skeleton man would stop following him. Max got back into the car, turned the ignition key, revved the engine and sped towards rocky outcrop. The Interceptor raced along the desert sand, while Max occasionally glancing back in his rear view mirror for any sign of the skeleton man.
As morning dawned, Max reached the familiar rocky cliffs and got out of his car, gripping tightly his sawed off double barreled shotgun. Shifting his weight, he scanned the canyon for any signs of the Rock Riders. Seeing nothing, he followed the familiar path deeper into the canyon. Continuing along the path, he spotted several of the war boy’s wrecked vehicles along the floor of the canyon. Some were already partially cannibalized while others were still smoldering from recent fires. As he turned a corner, to his left he saw the remains of the doof wagon surrounded by broken speakers and ripped drum heads. Max remembered the red jumpsuit clad Doof Warrior and his flame making guitar. He had been surprising difficult to fight despite being blind. The corner of his mouth twitched at the memory. Turning forward, he stopped in his tracks. Ahead of him was the war rig, or what was left of the war rig.
Slowly approaching the wreckage, Max scanned the rig for any signs of life. The rig was on its side, the front end completely smashed and melted from the fire, while the trailer was crushed underneath several war boy cars that had run into it. Pieces of metal and debris surrounded the rig. It appeared there wasn’t much left for even the buzzards to scavenge.
“Nux?” He mumbled as he cautiously continued towards the rig. When there was no answer he broke out into a jog. “Nux!” He shouted as he reached the head of the war rig and bent down, peering through what was left of the front windshield. “Nux,” he sighed. Despite the twisted metal and melted dashboard, Max could see there were still blood stains and a faint smell of burnt flesh, but its driver was gone. Max shut his eyes and grimaced, the memory of Nux’s final moments were still fresh in his mind. He tried to shut out it out his memories of the war boy, but they started to bubble to the surface. Trying to fight back the tears, Max pinched the bridge of his nose as more images of those he lost flashed before him. Lost in thought, Max didn’t notice the rock rider approaching until he heard the click of a gun cocked behind him.
“Put your hands were I can see’em,” The rider shouted, “and slowly turn ‘round.” Grumbling, Max dropped his shotgun and raised his hands next to his head, while slowly turning around to face the intruder. A Rock Rider stood before him, his face obscured by the horned headdress and mask he wore, his pistol aimed at Max’s chest.
“You look familiar mate, you were one of Furiosa’s yeah?” Raising his pistol so it was aimed at Max’s head, the rider looked him over once more. “Well? What’s it then?” But Max could only stare defiantly at the rock rider as he calculated different escape routes in his head. Shifting his weight, the rider repositioned the gun in his hand, “Are you a mute then? Speak!” The Rider closed the distance between them in a few short strides and grabbed the back of Max’s jacket, pressing his pistol to Max’s temple.
“Speak, damn you!” the Rider shouted as he hit Max with the gun, causing him to fall to his hands and knees. Max was about to retaliate when he noticed a familiar looking boot on the rider’s right foot. Squinting, Max bent down closer to get a better look, while the rider continued to yell obscenities at him. It was the same boot he had given Nux after destroying the bullet farmer’s tank. Realizing where he must have gotten it, Max’s eyes burned holes in the boot, his jaw clenching as his anger threatened to boil over. Growing unease, the rider shifted his weight.
“The fuck you are looking at shit stain?” The rider yelled as he grabbed the back of Max’s head and pulled it back so he could look him in the face.
“Your boot,” Max growled, his rage starting to bubble up inside him. Confusion spread across the drivers face. “My boot?” The rider laughed, “You want a look at my boot? Well, why don’t you take a closer look!”
Letting go of Max’s head, the rider started to kick upward, aiming for his chin, but Max leaned backward as the boot missed his face by mere inches. In one fluid motion Max grabbed the rider’s boot, pushing it upward as he started to stand, causing the rider’s left leg to buckle. Losing his balance, the rider dropped his gun and fall backward. Max pounced on him and pinned his arm beneath his knees while he sat on the rider’s chest as he repeatedly punched him in the face.
Soon, Max lost himself in the punches and didn’t notice the rider had stopped struggling. All Max could see was Nux enveloped in a ball of fire, sacrificing himself for them. He could see members of Vulvalini as they were speared, shot down or run over. He could see Angharad hanging off the side of the moving rig, slipping on her own blood from a wound he had given her. He could see her falling, rolling under the large tires of Immortan Joe’s Gigahorse, screaming as she fell. Now all he could hear were her screams, mixed with his own, echoing off the canyon walls as he continued to beat the rider’s face into a bloody pulp.
Gearing up for the final blow, Max paused only to look down at the rider. His headdress and mask and come undone during the fight, allowing Max a closer look at the rider’s face. One of his eyes was already starting to swell shut, but the other stared intently at Max’s bloodied fist. The rider’s eyes were full of defiance and were hardened from the experience that comes with living in the outskirts of the wasteland. Turning his head, Max took another look. But his eyes still held the fire of his youth, along with shreds of hope for a better tomorrow. He had seen that same look somewhere else. Looking over the rest of his face, Max could tell that rider wasn’t more than 8000 days old. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he pulled his fist backward, causing the rider struggle with renewed vigor, but Max stopped. The rider shifted his focus to Max’s face and looked him straight in the eye. Again, Max geared himself up for the death blow while the rider continued to stare him down, but he couldn’t look away from the boy’s intense stare.
His fist started to shake and in a growl of frustration he brought down his fist just to the right of the boy’s head, causing him to flinch. Not 7 days ago Max had killed many war boys and riders this boy’s age and younger, yet he was unable to kill this one. Leaning backward, Max screamed his frustration at the sky and listened to its echoes. Looking back down at the boy, Max could see his own madness and confusion reflected in the boy’s eyes. Pushing himself up, Max turned and hurriedly took off the boy’s right boot and looked it over once more. It was definitely Nux’s. It still had hints of white paint from its previous owner.
“Got it off a dead war boy in the rig,” the rider gurgled around a mouth full of blood as he lifted his head to stare at him, “He was your mate yeah?” Max turned around, looking back down at the rider but giving no answer.
“Thought you looked familiar,” he spat, giving just a hint of grin as he rested his head back against the sand, “Saw your mate die for you. Not many out here would do that.” Tightening his grip on the boot, Max turned forward and tried to fight back the memories that once again threatened to overtake him.
“We buried them. All of them, they deserved that, especially him,” the rider coughed as he started to slip into unconsciousness. “He died historic,” the rider murmured as he finally passed out. Max closed his eyes as tears started to trail down his face, he was about to turn back around and answer him, but movement to his left caught his eye. Turning sharply to his left, he was ready to throw the boot if need be. A young girl dressed in rags stood before him, partially hidden behind a large piece of wreckage. Her eyes bounced back between the rider and Max, uncertain what to do. Both were frozen in place.
“Are you going to kill us?” The girl asked as she slowly came from behind the wreckage. Scanning the girl for any weapons, but coming up empty, Max shook his head and grunted.
“My brother and I were supposed to go to the Citadel today after we finished scavenging,” she sniffled, “Rumor is they’re letting everyone up into the Citadel, so long as you’re reliable.” Slowly, the girl started to make her way towards the rider’s side. Kneeling down, her eyes started to water as she started to tend to the rider’s injuries.
“Even rock riders and buzzards,” she continued, “We were going to bring them something useful to prove ourselves.” Her accusing eyes stared back at Max, demanding an answer, but when none came she continued to tend to her brother.
“Take care of him,” Max grunted as he turned to pick up his shotgun and started to head back towards the canyon’s entrance, but paused. He took off his survival bracelet and threw it at the rider’s feet. Turning back around he continued walking back towards the entrance, but before leaving he turned his head to side and cleared his throat.
“Find Furiosa or one of the Wives,” he said, his voice just loud enough for her to hear, “Give them that. They’ll take you,” The girl never took her eyes off of Max and only when he had turned the corner did she reach out and grabbed the bracelet, tucking it into her pocket as she continued to bandage her brother.
When Max reached the entrance of the canyon, he sat down on one of the rocks to the right of the opening and looked out across the wasteland. Off to the right he could see the Citadel, its rocky cliffs jutting out from the smooth horizon. To the left was Gastown, where black smoke billowing up from its large refineries. In between them he could just make out the thin strip of black road where a few cars raced between the two cities protecting their territory. If he squinted, he could see several cars paroling around both cities as small dust clouds billowed out behind them. Rubbing his eyes, he looked back down at the boot. His fingers started to trace every edge, every seam of that boot, while he concentrated on the feeling the smooth leather beneath his fingertips. Hours he sat there, turning the boot over and over in his hands while he looked out into the wasteland and watched as life continue on without him.
Getting into the driver’s seat of his Interceptor, Max took one last look in his rear view mirror at the cross that stood guard over the small pile of rocks. Returning his eyes forward, he revved his engine and raced off towards the Citadel. Too long had he been wandering alone, slowly following the world in its descent into madness. For too long, he had been trapped in this cycle of death and revenge. It wasn’t until the events on the Fury Road that he was shown a new path. It was time he found his place in this world.
Taking one last glance back in his mirror, he spot the skeleton man with his piercing blue eyes standing near the entrance of the canyon, right next to the make shift cross. But the skeleton man wasn’t coming closer, no, instead he was staying behind and watching Max as he drove towards the Citadel. Taking off his steering wheel, Max held it high out the window while never taking his eyes off the rear view mirror. With a smile, the skeleton man waved him off as he turned and walked into the canyon entrance, soon disappearing into its shadows.
Returning the wheel to its proper place, Max pressed down on the gas pedal and shot off towards his new home. Extending his left arm out through the driver window, Max felt the rush of air pass over his hand as the sun warmed his skin. Slowly he reached upward toward the sun, his hand slightly eclipsing its light, as he continued to speed along. He felt as if he was flying over the desert floor, flying home. Home. Letting his left arm rest on the door of the Interceptor, Max kept his eyes focused on the Citadel. He would always be able to pick out the three towering rock formations from anywhere, with their green tops and orange cliffs standing out against the bright blue sky behind them. Even though those towers once held him prisoner, Max could look at them in the distant and feel hope. Hope that one day they would all carve out a new home from those rocky cliffs, one where they could be free to live and die as they choose. And for the first time, in a long time, Max smiled.