Repairing the Wasteland

The dry desert air lashed at the parched skin of his face as Max drove the borrowed motorbike toward the place the Interceptor had been crushed. He hadn't asked to borrow the bike, but he imagined Furiosa wouldn't be completely adverse to him taking it, and he'd return it as soon as he'd fixed up his car. If anything was even remaining to fix. He certainly didn't want anything tying him to someplace, or someone. He'd fix the Interceptor, return the bike without drawing attention, and get out.

A girl appeared in the periphery of his vision.

“Why are you running, Max?”

The ghosts were talking to him again. He grunted in response and frowned, keeping his eyes focused on the sand in front of him. A few minutes later, the silhouettes of some of the crashed vehicles from earlier that day came into view. The canyon was several miles to his right, but the Interceptor had been taken out closer to where he was now, in the opposite direction. That's where he needed to look.

Nearing the crashed cars, he slowed the motorbike, leaving it a few feet away, and meandered over. There were a dozen or so cars dotting the sand and he hoped one of them was his. After checking a few of them, he got lucky, which was a rare occurrence, but frowned upon seeing the car. The Interceptor was banged up, in fairly poor condition. Being smashed between two rigs had that effect. He grumbled and started digging it out of the sand that had already accumulated around the vehicle.

The sun was starting to set by the time he finished fixing up the car enough to see if it could run. It took several tries, but the engine eventually turned over and his shoulders relaxed a bit in relief. He strapped the borrowed bike to the back and got back into the driver's seat, ready to return the bike and leave. His gaze followed the path of wrecked cars that lead the the canyon.

“What are you doing, Max?”

The girl again. She was standing a ways down the path of cars, pointing in the direction of the canyon. Max's frown deepened. Something was pulling him toward that canyon and he didn't like the way he was feeling. His mind flashed to the War Boy that had helped them escape. Things would have gone quite differently if the boy hadn't sacrificed himself for them. Max sighed and put the Interceptor into drive, following the ghosts to the canyon. If anything, he owed the boy a proper farewell. If there was anything left of him to say farewell to. He had gotten lucky with the Interceptor. Maybe his luck would hold on for a bit longer. Long enough for him to find the body and bury it before the sun was completely gone.

The wreckage behind the collapsed canyon was massive. It seemed like almost every vehicle that had been in pursuit of the war rig had bit the dust. The wrecked war rig was at the head of the pile up, eerie and looming in the silent darkening canyon. It looked like it had not exploded, just rolled, rocks piled up over the back. The cab was surprisingly in tact. The windows were all broken, the metal frame crinkled like Max's Interceptor. The wheel he had taken from the Bullet Farmer's car and brought back for the War Boy – Nux, he had to remind himself of the boy's name – was several yards away from the rig. Max kicked it and continued toward the cab of the rig. The first thing he noticed as he approached was the upper body of the large man who had ripped the engine off the rig. The man 's lower half was crushed beneath the cab, blood pooled around him.

Max looked away from the sight and returned his attention to the task he had come here for, peering through the broken windshield to the driver's seat. There, sprawled on his side, laying on the broken driver side window, half buried in the sand, was Nux. Max couldn't tell what kind of condition the boy was in, but his head appeared to be gashed on the side and bleeding. His arm was wedged into the mangled dash, forcing his body into an awkward position.

Clearing out some of the glass in his way, Max crawled through the windshield, into the cab as much as he could, digging the boy's body out of the sand, eying the large gash in his thigh. He managed to wrestle Nux's arm out of the dash and then hoisted the boy through the windshield and onto the sand next to the rig. Max crouched next to him. The wounds on his head and thigh looked like they had all but drained him of every drop of blood. The arm that had been smashed into the dash looked broken in several places, a piece of bone protruding slightly from beneath the elbow. Max hoped his death had been swift. Wounds like that would hurt immensely. He grabbed the boy's wrist on the unbroken arm and stopped abruptly. His brow furrowed and he placed two fingers at the pulse point of Nux's wrist. A ghost of a smirk tugged at Max's lips. The boy couldn't even die right. He remained quiet and leaned closer to Nux, the War Boy's shallow breathing barely audible. Max grabbed the tubing off his jacket that he had used to transfuse his blood for Furiosa and did the same for Nux. If death kept spitting the kid out, Max would help him stay out. He knew at least one of the former wives would appreciate him bringing Nux home.

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Night fell on the Citadel. The Wretched took Immortan Joe's death very well and welcomed the new leaders wholeheartedly. The remaining War Boys and War Pups seemed to adjust fairly well to his death and though some were a bit apprehensive, they were ready to follow a new leader, eager to please, not knowing anything else in their half lives. They all fussed over Furiosa, wanting to know if she was going to make it, wanting to help her any way they could. Treating her as if she was another god. Joe's replacement. The former wives scolded them, insisting they treat them normally. They were not gods, just people. With the Organic Mechanic dead, the man's apprentice took over, immediately bandaging Furiosa's wounds when she reached the infirmary.

Things were finally settling down when one of the lookouts shouted in the dark. One of the War Pups scurried off to inform their new Immortan, Furiosa, of an approaching vehicle. Furiosa was too weak to be walking around so Capable insisted that she could take care of this. Furiosa frowned, but nodded, knowing the girl wouldn't take no for an answer. The War Pups lowered the platform for Capable and she hurried to find out what was going on as soon as she was on the ground. She approached the lookout that had spotted the car and questioned him about the situation.

“Well, erm...” The War Boy obviously didn't know what to call her or how to respond. His eyes darted around nervously. “There's...There's a car comin' this way, but it's not from Gas Town or Bullet Farm.”

Capable nodded. “Thank you.” she replied to the boy, who looked very surprised by the words of gratitude, like he had never been thanked before.

Minutes later, the Interceptor pulled into the Citadel and Capable approached the car, a gun strapped to her leg, stopping a few feet away, War Boys lingering far enough away that they couldn't really hear what was going on, but close enough to react in case something happened. She noticed the car was the one that attempted to spike the wheels of the War Rig. A figure got out and Capable recognized him instantly.

“What are you doing back here?” she asked, walking closer, her tension relaxing at the sight of Max. “Furiosa said you'd left.”

Max grunted and shrugged. “Got something for you.”

Capable furrowed her brow. What could he possibly have for them? She glanced at the bike strapped to the trunk of the car and wondered if that was it.

“You could have kept the motorbike,” she said. “It's the least we could give for all you've done for us.”

Max shook his head. “Not just that.” he replied gruffly, confusing Capable as he opened the door to the back seat of the car. He reached in, muffled grunting reaching Capable's ears, before he reemerged holding something. No, not something, Capable realized. Someone. He was bloody and bandaged hastily around his head, arm, and leg. But as soon as Max got close enough for her to see, she knew who it was. She'd recognize him anywhere. Her breath hitched and tears welled up in her eyes. Her hand flew to her mouth as she gasped and surged forward. Nux looked up, only barely conscious, having woken when Max and he were halfway to the citadel. Despite the amount of pain he was in, a grin split his face at the sight of Capable and he fell into her arms.

“Fuck Valhalla.” he muttered into her shoulder.

Capable cried and laughed and clung to Nux like he would disappear if she didn't hold him tight enough.