The War Girl (Mad Max: Fury Road fanfiction)

12: Just Passing By

The war rig was like a black snake on the hunt. Its massive black body pelted across the desert with speed that I hadn't expected. People were stationed in and outside of the truck, weapons ready. Even the mothers clutched deadly guns in their wrinkled hands. A strange mixture of emotions was cascading through my chest, fear and excitement. This could very well be my last day on earth, or could be the day that changes my life forever. I had bullets stuffed into half of my pockets, and blades or jagged slices of metal in the other. I felt like a living machine, one that tears flesh and wins battles. Furiosa even let me use her supply to smear fresh warpaint around my eyes and on my nose. I wanted to remind Immortan of a war boy as I tore through his defenses. I wanted him to see Nux and I and feel fear, fear of our rebellion. We were no longer his drones, we were his downfall.

I was hanging outside of the rig's cabin, my arms looped through the steel handlebars at its side. I had on a pair if fingerless gloves on, courtesy of Bloodbag. He didn't say anything to me when he handed them to me hours ago. I also couldn't figure out why he possessed gloves that were obviously too small for him. Bloodbag was a mystery, and I guess he wanted to keep it that way.

The wives were all crowded into the backseat, along with Nux. Nux had his head out of the window opposite to me, obviously as anxious as I was. Capable was seated next to him, her hands wringing fistfuls of her long skirt. Next to her was The Dag, who was whispering to herself and making odd hand gestures. To me it looked as if she was performing a sort of ritual I wasn't familiar with.

"What are you doing?" Cheedo asked her, tipping her dark head to one side.

"Praying." The Dag answered curtly.

"To who?" Cheedo inquired, her young face scrunched up with confusion. She wouldn't be praying to Valhalla, would she?

"Anyone who's listening." The Dag replied in the same blank manner as before. Despite her calmness, chills raced up my spine.

A sprinkle of minature versions of Immortan's fleet peeked at the horizon. My muscles flexed at my fists with anticipation. If we could see them, they could see us. Although, at second glance I realized they were not moving. I suppose even the energetic war boys needed a rest once in a while. I could hear everyone mumbling and tensing up around me. We were diving headfirst into the lion's den.

Even as we approached, Immortan's armada didn't move an inch. It was almost as if they were dead. What we were doing was impossible to predict. Why in the world would we throw ourselves in their hands on purpose? They must really not be expecting it. That was something we had on our side, at least.

Then, we were so close that I could see the Doof Warrior was fast asleep, cradled in his own bungee cords. As our vehicle roared past them, they all perked up. The look of astonishment written all over their faces was almost comical. White figures of war boys rose to their feet with bewilderment. We made it no more than a quarter of a mile when I heard Immortan's mechanical voice shouting. War boys scrambled to get into their cars and gather their bearings. The Doof Warrior leaped to his feet and began to shred away at the two-necked guitar. The drummers began to pound against their gigantic drums, creating a sound that rattled my rib cage. My fingers tightened around the handle of my pistol, here we go.

Dust flew from spinning tires as the cars pursuing us struggled to catch up. The war rig was covering ground faster than they were catching up. Despite our head start, I knew they would get to us eventually. It was somewhat the plan. I mean, if we don't take down Immortan, there was no chance of gaining control of the Citadel. The battle ahead would be gruesome and hard, I just hoped some of my reckless bravery was still left in me. I was going to need it. The only person aboard the rig who wasn't shaking with nerves was Furiosa, who stared evenly ahead. Her steady hands gripped the steering wheel with little trouble or white knuckles.