Sinners of the Sand (A Mad Max Fury Road FanFic)

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When our lives are over, and all that remains,
are our skulls and bones, lets, take them to the grave.
Bastille vs Rag'n Bone Man

⚔️ ~ || ~ ⚔️

It's still there. I always expect it to blow with the wind, to vanish like everything else. But the camp has proven its stability through multiple sand storms, and stands tall still.

I rub the sleep from my eyes. There is the familiar burning sensation of the upcoming sun on my skin when I step out of the Jeep. My muscles ache from the uncomfortable position I tried to rest in, in the back of the car. I stretch, while Smirk and Vic start walking toward the camp. Rosa is waiting on them next to her sand coloured tent, her arms folded over one another and her well known concerned wrinkles deep across her forehead. No one has ever said it out loud, but Rosa is sort of the leader around the camp. She's the oldest, and with it, the wisest. She's lived in both the world of green and sand, and many respect her for her affection toward others.

I find her a woman to look up to.

Smirk spreads his arms and Rosa walks into them. I can even see her feet rise from the ground a second. Smirk and Rosa have some sort of history they don't speak of. Fine to me, frustrating to others.

Once they release each other, Vic interferes and his lips move quickly. He must be telling her what happened, why we have nothing with us, because the corners of her lips lower a little, before she takes Vic in her arms as well. Then, she looks in my direction. Her white curls tickling her wrinkled face. Her lips pursed but seemingly smiling a little. She nods as if to thank me for something, and I nod back.

Our camp was made from scratch. Pillars made from metal car parts, and cloths as roofs to hold back the sun. Later, when our scavenging routs turned out to be successful, we found a handful of tents. Big enough to keep three to four people from a sunburn during the hottest parts of day. My tent is brown, and I share it with Smirk and a mute we named Tony. He was soft from the beginning. Dark brown skin, dark brown eyes, black hair that did not seem to grow which made him look nearly bald. Tony fit him.

Slowly, more people start to wake from their tents.

People? Not so much. We might have been human before, now we are beasts transforming into something that can survive the conditions of a day on the Wasteland.

I leave Smirk and Vic with Rosa, and head to my tent to freshen up. As far as that goes. My hands are pure sand crusts over dead, raw skin. Soft hands belong to Breeders, or the lucky ones that get to live way up in the Citadel. The ones that don't have to spread their legs for water and "safety".

But mine are built for what I need them for. Toughened up by the handles of my knives and the sand in wounds. I zip open my tent, just a few meters away from the vehicles. A long row with a variety of colour, size and kind. Buzzard ones, with spikes still sharp and rusty, Canyon Riders bikes and some V8's. Behind me I hear someone start a motor, and the Jeep slowly drives aside the camp, parking in the middle of the row. It's Vic's baby. I swear, I would believe it if someone caught him making out with that thing. He gave her a name, but it's so idiotic I do not take it in my mouth.

The coolth inside my tent is pleasant, especially after this morning. The sun is barely up high, but sweat is already staining my forehead and filling up the fallen in ditches where my puffy baby cheeks used to be.