Survive [Mad Max: Fury Road]

Chapter Twenty-Two

"The soil, we had to get out. We had no water. The water was filth. It was poison, it was sour. And then the crows came. We couldn't grow anything."

-The Many Mothers

The remainder of the drive was when I truly got the chance to relax. In the background there was no noise other than the rumble of the trustworthy Rig engine. Soft breathing of the people around me, the first time I had been surrounded by people that I could feel at ease with. Even Nux, the War Boy, had my trust, and that was a hard thing to gain. A smile danced onto my lips, simple, unavoidable. My eyes trailed to Max, who was leaned against the window of the passenger seat. How did he manage to stumble into my life for a second time?

We drove through the entire night, trying to get ahead of the armada that was sure to follow. It was when we slipped through a place that had the remainders of trees, reminders of the old world. The frail sticks, like the one that freed the Rig, reached for the darkened, black sky, as if begging for rain and water, love and care. Among the skeleton trees were people, people who looked as though they had been shaped by the twisted, disgusting land around them. The clung to stilts in order to stay above the mud and bogs around them, standing almost as tall as the trees themselves. Crows flew about, and I stared at the animals; their blackness was mystifying, as the only birds I had seen in my life were buzzards and vultures. The place sent shivers down my spine, as well as everyone else's, and we passed through it quickly.

Nux sat at the far left window in the back of the cab, Capable fell asleep on his chest, and I couldn't help but smile. After all she had been through, and him as well, she could still trust a male. He was no more than a boy, but probably ranged the same age as Capable. Both so innocent, and yet so exposed to the horrors of the world. There was something beautifully symbolic about a Breeder and a War Boy snuggled together in a Rig with the hope of safety at the end of the drive. For a War Boy, the end of a drive usually meant death. But not for this War Boy, I hoped.

Toast and Cheedo were sitting beside each other, and the Dag was squished up against me. There was not enough room for all of us, but with the minimal amounts of clothing the women were wearing –aside from myself and Furiosa- they likely appreciated the body heat. The place with the Crows was dark and damp, leaving our bones chilled from both disgust and bitter cold. The Wasteland was a strange place, indeed. I shifted to the front, plopping down on a corner of the passenger seat, and Max glanced at me with question.

"Too cozy back there." I nodded behind me, and Max looked back at the crowded space, then nodded as well.

"How much longer?" I asked Furiosa.

"No more than a few hours." She furrowed her brow, "I'm guessing..."

"When was the last time you were there?"

"Seven thousand days."

I calculated that in my head, that was almost two decades. Two decades ago I was but a child, probably with a mother and maybe even a father. Where was I two decades ago at age seven? I was unsure, it was too long ago to remember. My memories started at the Citadel. My life started the day I left, nearly eight years ago. I had been so young, not even seven thousand days old. I wouldn't have made it even a single day with Max, without Furiosa, without the help of the people around me now. The drive to survive stemmed from the hard work put in but Furiosa herself, and the thought of others suffering my previous fate of living the life of a Breeder.

I sighed, and then crawled into the back of the Rig again to get some much needed sleep. It consumed me quickly, and just as quickly as it took me in its warm arms, I was released from it as the Rig came to a slow. It had to be hours later when I woke, as the sun was blazing in the sky. Everyone around me was awake, looking up at a tall metal structure. Screams bled into the open windows of the rig, a woman's harsh cries and pleas.