Survive [Mad Max: Fury Road]

Chapter Twelve

"It is from my hand that you will rise from the ashes of this world."

-Immortan Joe

If anything was going to drive me out of my home, it was the sound of revving engines, hooting War Boys, and the voice in the back of my head that was Immortan Joe's. His heavy breathing, his mechanical voice. After Furiosa took my vehicle back, taking a long route around and probably ditching the car and walking the rest of the way to the Citadel, I considered staying where I was, dying with dignity as I took out as many War Boys as I could. But I was one person, and while I knew Immortan Joe wouldn't send out his entire armada, he would send enough to take me down. Probably keep me alive, too.

Furiosa's bike was loaded with guzzoline, and there was extra in the saddle bags. I plopped my tomato plant inside the left saddlebag, and everything else I owned went into my bag. The only thing left behind were the traps that would take out at least a car or two full of War Boys. I glanced back only once, and the dust was beginning to rise in the distance, coming from the Citadel. I had gotten out just in time, and I just hoped that they would search my home, some of them would die, and by then, they would have no idea where to search for me. I had escaped the clutches of death again, only to enter what could be even more dangerous that the hunting party; the Canyons.

The Riders were more like nomads, though I knew little about them. They controlled passage in the area, which meant no one ever got through. Gas Town, the Bullet Farm and the Citadel were all on the same side of the Canyon, so only other Nomads might want to get through anyways. I reckoned that most of them ended up dead, or a Canyon Rider themselves. Their code was foreign to me, I did not know what to expect. It was at least a day and a half ride, and I planned to go straight through until I arrived within a few miles of the place. When I was close, I would rest, regain my strength, and then attempt to bargain with them.

They couldn't know I was a woman, not until they had agreed to let me join them. I had little to bargain with, just a small saddlebag of guzzoline and a dinky little tomato plant. That was more than a lot of people had, however. After I had rested, just outside of the Canyon and out of eyesight of any spotters, I started up my engine; the bike felt unfamiliar in my grasp, but I liked it better than the feel of a car. I felt more in control, even though I knew that I was far more vulnerable. The worn down grips were smooth, but my gloves created a firmer grip than my sweaty palms would have. Keeping myself in a low gear, I rode slowly through the Canyon. My hair was covered, and I wore a thick jacket despite the heat to throw off my shape. My face was covered almost entirely by the bandanna and the goggles. Hearing the other riders in the hills and rocks above me, I felt as if I were in the perfect place for them to gun me down, blow me up, deconstruct me.

"STOP!" A voice shouted so loud that I could hear it over the low rumble of engines. I geared down and planted me feet on the ground, my bike in first and my hand on the clutch. I was ready to tear off if I had to, but the fact that they had not killed me already was a good sign. "Are you seeking passage?"

I realized that despite my efforts to hide my identity, my voice may be the hardest part to cover. I had to yell to get my voice heard, but I kept it as low as possible. "Not passage! Unity!"

One bike roared in the distance and came down through the sandy hills, evading rocks with almost a graceful touch. It took about a minute, but a man in a mask with feathers and teeth hanging from it made it down to the bottom of the canyon and rode towards me. He stopped about ten yards away from where I was, still sitting on my bike, still frightened of the unknown that was around every corner. I missed my labyrinth already, the safety I felt there. It was a false safety, but it was safer than being out here, vulnerable and outnumbered twenty to one.

"Turn off your engine!" A voice above called, and I decided it would be best to obey. If I showed compliance they might be more willing to let me in. Though, this could easily be a test. Killing my engine nervously, I popped the kickstand down and leaned the bike over, gracefully lifted my leg over the bike and standing tall. My bike was like theirs; dirt bikes like the ones kids used to ride for fun back in the good days. They were the ideal vehicle for the canyons, as they were great on fuel and could handle almost any terrain.

The man ahead of me mimicked my actions and got off of his bike. His black pants blended with his thick black boots that went half way up his calves. They were minimally buckled, which was actually odd to see these days, but I supposed it was less likely to catch on anything, and out here, they were tons of things that could rip you from your bike. His strong arms could not be hidden by his tight jacket, and his long dreadlocks hung out from underneath his helmet; it was rare to see anyone wearing helmets, but this man clearly knew that he wanted to remain as safe as possible when riding. I was not given the safety gear for the bike, Furiosa was unable to spare such items for me.

"Hands above your head." The man above shouted, and I wondered why the guy ahead of me hadn't spoken yet.

I raised my hands above my head, not bothering to touch my gun or my knives; they would surely take that as a threat and shoot me down where I stood. I knew that they were coming to remove the weapons, pat me down, and then question me thoroughly about why I wanted to join them. It was rare in this world that anyone came to anyone else for community, but if anyone would accept new people, it would be these nomads. They were a small group of people, and I was sure that they had to have taken in new people here and there. From what I could tell, there were no women, and there were certainly no babies or children around. They would dwindle if they didn't take on more people.

The man was only a few feet away from me, and his hand reached up to his mask; his skin was kissed by the sun, and I noted that his pinky and ring finger were detached on his left hand. When his mask was pulled down, there were a few visible scars, even from this distance. A scar above his left eye forced his eyebrow into a wicked look, as if he were finding something sadistically humorous. Another scar under his right eye that was perfectly horizontal was obvious, and I was sure that he had many more that I couldn't see with all his garb. He used his deformed hand to gesture to me, and I knew that he wanted me to remove my mask as well. In front of all his men, I would have to mimic what he did, step by step. I'd heard of this sort of trust game before.

I pulled my bandanna from my face, and then my goggles. With my hair still up and dirt caked on my face, I hoped that they wouldn't know I was female until later. I watched as the man reached behind his large body, and pulled two large daggers from his back, dropping them to the ground in front of him, and followed through with all his hand guns, including a sawed off shotgun. I did the same, slower than him, though, as I didn't want anyone to mistake my quickness for drawing on them. My eyes never left that of the man ahead of me, even when I heard shuffling in the rocks above.

"Your name?" The man finally spoke, his voice was gravelly.

I wondered if I should lie, come up with a new identity. But something told me that my name was my true self, and once I began denying that, I would begin to deny reality. I couldn't be someone I wasn't. "Omega."

He did not comment on my name, whether it was because he was unsure of the gender of such a name or not, he did not give it away. By now, he was only a few feet away, and I could hear his breathing. He studied me, then began to walk around me. His eyes fell to the guns and daggers on the ground, but he circled me within a few seconds and then nodded. "What can you bring?"

"Survival skills, Guzzoline –not much- vegetables, health care." I hoped that it would be enough, and I was teetering on the edge now, waiting for the okay. The words that would mean I was a part of something, for the first time. Though I had been a part of the wives, I had not truly been one of them. My heart sunk at the thought of them; if this didn't work, I wouldn't be able to help them.

I would be dead.

But alas, death evaded me today. "Welcome, Omega."

Yeah, so.... I used Jason Momoa in another one of my stories. Don't judge me. I will be doing a few more chapters of this freestyle, and the movie will come into play soon. I just don't want to rush things.