I live, I die, I live again (Mad Max: Fury Road fanfiction)

Chapter 4 - The kimbersnake

Her brown strips of cloth are on Volta's head, and only her goggles come out. Wrapped around and around. On her legs, on her arms. Under the poison dart at her belt. She's a Buzzard even if she's an Iskra. In his back, Nux can fell the copper coils, now in three bags stacked on top of each other. When she dropped him into the sidecar, the foot of his useless leg narrowly missed a case of grenades. Sharp-edged. If they don't explode, they spin and shread. The wind is already warm, burning the hull of her Ural sidecar motorcycle. Tumbled-engined, with a six hundred cylinder-capacity at least and thirty-six hp. So much modified, rebuilt, redesigned: you can only guess it if you know already. Chrome. He's sitting next to a Buzzard, he can barely believe it. Usually he's facing them.

— Stop being happy, glupyy.

He stops smiling and clears his throat. He knows this word means dumb, that's what Morsov used to call him.

— Nux.

— Whatever.

Maybe she hasn't even realized that this is his name. In her side-bags, she's organizing her tools. And her light bulbs. And the wineskin. She buckles the straps, she puts on her gloves. She doesn't want to talk any more, she just wants him to stay alive. She's given him water and those greasy butterflies. Not to be nice, just for the refill. She wants him to last until the finish line. He's just like the copper bag to her: material. But well. Before their departure, she let him pee so maybe she's caring a little. Unless she did it for her sidecar sit? That's okay. As long as she delivers him.

— Are you going to pass by the Storms?

The ones spinning around, always in the same place. Not the ones sweeping across the desert. The Iskras know them well. They use them. But she doesn't answer.

— Are you going along the mountains outer side?

The wind, on the dune, slides as if it were crawling on it.

— You're not going to get too close to Gastown, are you ?

— Shut the fuck up, Nux.

All of a sudden, she gives the Ural gas and its wheels spin, spin in the sand. Dust rises up as a cloud, pity his own goggles are lost somewhere under the War-rig. The Ural shows all it's capable of. It's a good bike, but it's at least 200 pounds, empty. They are two people and the copper weighs like a third one. The engine gives everything but they can't move. They just cough from Guzzolene and dust.

— Pizdetz.

She swears. A break, another try, but it's in vain. Pushing would work but his leg is useless. She stops. She's thinking. She looks at the sidecar. At him. At the copper coils. He's got it : she's considering throwing him away. Leaving him behind. She's...

— Right ahead!

At once, she turns the lenses of her goggles at what he just spotted. Through the falling dust. She forces her gaze, and he feels her tensing up. A shape stirs, blurred in the silica cloud. Then it becomes sharper and sharper. Lying down. Fluid. Armored. Reptilian. A shiver goes up the back of his neck.

That's the tail of a kimbersnake. Maybe drawn to the mass-grave of the vehicules pile-up.

After the radiation, the deadly vipers have crawled further south. A long, long time ago. They've gotten bigger and bigger, they fit to desert. They don't just eat the scarce birds anymore. The lizards. A man feeds them for several weeks. Four metres long. Ring-like muscles that can lift a Mack-R tow truck, Nux's seen that before. They hunt on the prowl. Smart, dangerous. Their tail is a decoy. Always. It dances, dances.