A NEW BEGINNING

All my thoughts seemed to be shrouded in a deep fog. Did I slip in an out of consciousness? I don’t know. Everything seemed but a dream. Strong, rough fingers clutched my hand each time the visitor arrived. And when he performed this task, the grains of soft sand would move.
 

        “He must be properly buried,” the gruff voice said. “If we don’t, the vultures will tear him apart and you won’t remember him as your golden youth.”
 

        “No,” came the sharp, deep, grief-stricken reply.
 

        “You must stop this,” the gruff voice warned him. “We need your full attention. Must not be for vengeance. You know what vengeance costs one.
 

        “Don’t think about what that man and the Humungus took from you. Focus your attention on the battle we must win.”
 

        “No!”
 

        “Dammit!” he growled. “Just like the Humungus say, we all lost someone we love. You not think I grieve too? You not think I feel loss? Ever since he die, is just not the same.”
 

        “We all lost someone we love,” came the bitter, sarcastic reply. Then I felt the fingers leave my hand. “He not love him! He not care! Did he stand here while I bury him?”
 

        “No, he didn’t,” the voice softly growled. “Just I was here, along with the others who faithfully followed you when we first set out into the wasteland.
 

        “And we need you now. You must put him from your thoughts. Yea, your time together was short. But you must go on. We have too much to lose.
 

        “This can’t be just your war. You must fight this for all of us, like we always have!”
 

        The voices faded as the blackness called to me again. Swirling, hazy visions swallowed me up.

        I ran across an open field where wild flowers bloomed, savoring the feel of the sun beating down on me. Huge fruit trees blossomed with ripe apples and plums, their sweet scent filling the air. The bushel of berries teased me, tempting me to reach down and pluck the juicy blueberries and lush raspberries that sprouted from the branches of green leaves. Utopia. Never did I imagine to be surrounded by such beauty as I gazed at blue jays, robins and humming birds, all chirping and singing. My eyes alighted, taking in the pure, deep-blue water of the pond.
 

        I hurried to the embankment, sitting on my haunches as I cupped my hands and drew the pure, virginal water to my mouth. A family of ducks drifted by, the mother leading her young as their quacks filled my ears.
 

        I couldn’t believe this enchanting place. This beautiful haven was so alive with life.
 

        The roar of a motorcycle caught my attention. On the other side of the pond, I could see the master racing across the wasteland. The dust spit up from underneath the spinning tires. The grey sky hindered the sun from beating down. The howling wind picked up speed as tumbleweeds rolled by, seeming to give way for the arrival of my master.
 

        “Master,” I called out. “Come and join me. Look what I found!”
 

        The master switched off the engine to his bike and intently gazed at me. He shook his head negatively and then motioned for me to sit on the pillion.
 

        I sighed, gazing back at the beauty of the land. The sweet haven seemed to urge me to stay. Why would I leave a place flourishing with life to enter a desolate wasteland? Yet, my master waited.
 

        So I rose up and hurried along the embankment, trying to get to the other side. Yet, the shoreline seemed infinite. As I continued to run, the pond ceased to give in to the dry land.
 

        “Golden Youth,” the master hollered. “Hurry up. We must leave.”
 

        Helplessly, I threw up my arms. Why couldn’t I get to the other side to be with my master? Fuck the dry land. I dove into the cool water and began swimming across the pond. Yet, the harder I swam, the further away the shore seemed to be.
 

        I tried to touch bottom, but only found water. Now I struggled, trying to summon more strength as I swam. But when I glanced up, the master seemed further away.
 

        “I can’t make it,” I hollered. “I have to go back.”
 

        When I turned, the shoreline was right in front of me. So I stepped on the dry land, taking the time to sit on my haunches so I could squeeze the water from my garments.
 

        Then I gasped. My leather was missing. I was squeezing water from white cotton pants and a white t-shirt. My hand went to my neck but instead of my collar and chain, a gold necklace was laced around my throat.
 

        What the hell was going on? Now I peculiarly gazed at the other side. No longer did the master seem miles away. The distance was the same when I first tried to cross the pond.
 

        The master got off the bike. He stood on the embankment. “Hurry up,” he hollered.
 

        When he sensed I couldn’t cross, he gave a snarl. When he tried to stalk to the pond, he stopped at full force, slamming into something that wasn’t visible. He gave a grunt and once again tried to step forward, meeting resistance from some unseen force that refused to allow him to reach the utopia.
 

        We gazed at each other from across the pond. This huge vat of water separated us, keeping us from being together. Neither of us could cross over to join as one.
 

        Then a swirling grey cloud came down. For a few moments I was lost in the mist, shouting the master’s name over and over. When the thick fog parted, the master had vanished. In his place, the black-on-black came roaring across the wasteland at top speed. I could see the man named Max inside of the car, along with a dog. The Feral Kid hung out the window.
 

        The car stopped and the man got out. He looked at me through hate-filled eyes. “You’ll give all this up to follow him? I had all this once,” he shouted over the pond, pointing at the beauty of my haven. “Now gone. People like the maniac you follow took it from me.”
 

        Just then the Feral Kid vacated the car. He clutched a boomerang in his hand. Then the boy lifted his arm and released the projectile weapon. The boomerang whirled through the air straight at me. I tried to duck and then the pain shot through every part of my body. I could feel the steel object embedded in my forehead, sucking the life from my body, crushing my mind as the blackness came over me.
 

*****
 

        My lids fluttered and then I quickly closed my eyes when sand stung my pupils. I blinked again, trying to get rid of the sand. My head ached with enormous pain. I struggled but knew I didn’t move.
 

        Then I could feel someone digging through the sand, moving the dirt off my body. More movement occurred and then a warm, strong body lay next to me. Flesh. Again, I tried to open my eyes.
 

        “Master,” I moaned.
 

        Our gazes locked. He bore many battle wounds. His chest plate and shoulder pads were missing. Blood streaked his war painted face.
 

        “What happened?” I whispered.
 

        “I cost you your life,” was all he said, closing his eyes. “And now I join you.”
 

        Again the blackness enveloped me. And when I fought to regain consciousness, it was to see my master sitting up.
 

        “Where are we?” I groaned. “Are we dead?”
 

        When I heard the howls of the wind, and eyed the overcast sky, I knew I was alive.
 

        Dried blood caked Wez’s face and streaked along his bare chest and arms.
 

        Then he began telling me about all that transpired as he fed water to my mouth, trying his best to nourish my dying body.
 

        During the confrontation with the defenders, the Feral Kid had released the boomerang, the death blow intended for my master. But Wez had ducked, his agile swiftness easily surfacing as he avoided the steel projectile object. Instead, the boomerang had struck me.
 

        Everyone thought me to be dead. And while I lay there supposedly deceased, the master had gone ballistic and wanted the negotiations with the defenders to cease. He wanted to head into the compound and kill them all. But the Humungus had put Wez into a sleeper hold, silencing his attack. With his loss of wind, Wez had been unable to protest any longer and Rebel had placed him in the side-car of a motorcycle. It had been the tattoo artist Mohawker who stood over my body, out of respect, while the Humungus continued on with his speech. After our leader finished his talk, under Rebel's order, another Mohawker picked me up and placed me into the battle car.
 

        They had driven back to our camp to bury me. Before they could dig a grave, Wez had appeared, telling them to leave me be. Instead, he dug a shallow grave where he could visit me each night and hold my hand since he had to lead our people into battle during the day.
 

        He went along with the whole charade but with a different agenda. He didn’t want the gasoline. All he longed for was the death of the defenders and Max. Then once he finished the battle, he planned on killing the Humungus.
 

        Still, everything did not go according to plan. The man named Max had snuck out of the compound under the cover of night. Come morning, he located a Mack truck. And with the assistance of a man who rode a gyroplane, they had headed back to the compound. Our people tried to stop the Mack truck from entering the defenders encampment but they failed.
 

        Come morning, Max tried to escape in his Interceptor but my master chased him down in the Humungus’s vehicle. Rebel, the Toadie and two Gayboy Berserkers had accompanied him. They had overtook the Interceptor on the highway and smashed the front window. Max lost control of the car and the black-on-black had rolled down a hill, crashing against a huge rock.
 

        The master wanted Max alive so he sent the Toadie and a Gayboy Berserker down the hill to get the gasoline and retrieve Max. But the former cop had booby-trapped the car. If one tried to empty the gas tanks, an explosive would be set off. Thus, the Toadie and Berserker perished when the car blew up.

        Wez had driven away, angered since he thought Max died. The man who drove the gyroplane had left the compound and set off to check out the wreck when he came back with a very-much alive Max.
 

        Come the next morning, Max drove the tanker full of juice with two men and the Warrior Woman riding on the back, armed for battle. Their leader had followed in his own vehicle. The Feral Kid had stowed away on the truck without anyone knowing.
 

        A great chase occurred on the highway with my master chained to the Humungus’s vehicle. He was released once our people had surrounded the big rig. A road battle broke out with the three defenders riding on the back of the truck being killed. Their leader had also died.
 

        And it all came to an end when Max turned the Mack truck around and began heading back in the direction he came from. Along the way, they met the Humungus who had fired up his super-charger. By then Wez had been clinging to the front grill of the Mack truck.
 

        He leapt off just in time when the two vehicles collided. And once he regained consciousness, he had crawled back to my grave to die.
 

        “Everyone is dead,” Wez muttered.
 

        “What are we going to do?” I asked.
 

        The master glanced away, staring off on the horizon. “You make me weak,” he gruffly whispered.
 

        I flinched.
 

        “No,” he quickly said. “Not meant that way. But can’t live out here when weak. All that happen, it prove so.”
 

        I nodded my head, recalling my dream and what the tattoo artist Mohawker once told me. Max survived because he possessed no vulnerabilities. In my dream, he said he lost all those who meant something to him. And now he scavenged in the wasteland, remaining alive because he only had his needs to see to. It took a cold, hardened, uncaring man to safely get the defenders out of the wasteland. The juice, the precious gasoline had been stored in the steel bus while the tanker had been filled with sand.
 

        Of course the Warrior Woman, their leader, and the two other men perished, because to love and protect others meant laying down your own life so those one cared about could live.
 

        This was no-man’s land, not fit for beauty or love. To possess those traits made one vulnerable, which would lead to death.
 

        We failed because my master could no longer be the man Max became. How ironic one would start out with such hope: a wife to love, a baby to care for, all taken by marauding bikers. Stripped of his soul, feelings and compassion, Max left a civilized place to join those who would help him remove his conscience so he could become just like my master.
 

        And Wez, he started out a cold, cruel killer, savagely ravaging all life in the wasteland, and three years ago he encountered what Max lost. He found a golden youth.
 

        “I don’t think he died when the tanker collided with the Humungus,” I whispered. “He’s still alive.”
 

        Wez nodded his head. “Can’t go back.”
 

        I understood what he meant since I came to the same conclusion when I started my descent into darkness.
 

        “If we can’t return to civilization and try to build a new life, what are we to do?” I asked.
 

        We were at a stand still. We couldn’t move backward or forward.
 

        “We share,” he gruffly said. “Tell me your name.”
 

        I was taken aback. From the very beginning he wanted me to forget my past life. “Darby.”
 

        He gazed at me. “Is a handsome name but to me, you will always be the Golden Youth.

"I will tell you why I not abduct you when I first see you playing out on the wasteland," he gruffly stated. "They had to die," he said, meaning my mother and uncle. "Had to make you forget your past life so you would accept new life with me. If they would have lived, you would have tried to go back. Or you would have not fully accepted a life with me, would have always wondered about them. There can only be one keeper of the golden youth."

I nodded my head in understanding. No guilt ate at my soul. Nor was I angry with his declaration. I loved this man who was responsible for the deaths of my mother and uncle.
 

        “What is your name, Master?”
 

        He paused for several moments and then turned and looked at me. “Alexander.”
 

        I recalled the books I read as a young boy, eagerly soaking up the knowledge of a great leader who conquered everything in his path, and then wept when there were no more worlds to conquer.
 

        Wez then took my hand in his. “We ride one more time.”
 

        I nodded my head, understanding what he meant.
 

        “You know how to write. Write it down,” he urged me.
 

        He carried me back to what was left of our former camp and laid me in the Humungus’s tent. He unearthed for me the quills and ink I’d need.
 

        So I wrote for most of the night. I would stop to rest since my wound still bothered me greatly and I’d slip into unconsciousness.
 

*****
 

        Come morning, I managed to read out loud what I wrote down. The master intently listened, pursing his lips and nodding his head.
 

        Then he drew me into his arms. Softly, he began exploring my lips and I returned the kiss.
 

        “You’re too weak,” he gruffly stated. His fingers cupped my face.
 

        His eyes held a worshiping, loving gaze as he gently touched my skin. He laced his fingers around my silken strands and pressed his cheek against mine.
 

        “I love you, Golden Youth,” he murmured.
 

        “I love you too, Master,” I whispered.
 

        The moment was now at hand. He picked me up in his strong arms and carried me to where he retired the big Kawasaki. It was time for a new beginning. I refused to view what we were about to do as an ending.
 

        The master set me on the pillion and drew his leg over the seat. The engine roared as he brought the bike to life. He turned in his seat and withdrew the key from his pocket. Gently, he reached forward and the lock that held the chain to me was drawn open. He removed my collar and tossed it on the ground. Then he laced my arms around his waist and wrapped the chain around my wrists. I heard the lock click shut as he fastened the bolt through the link.
 

        We started into the wasteland.
 

        I rested my head against his strong back.
 

        Many who heard the man named Max’s story always loathed us. They thought us to be savages who deserved what we got. They cheered after hearing the final words spoken by the Feral Kid as he told the listeners about his encounter with the Road Warrior.
 

        Yet, now that I look back on my three years with the Mighty Wez, who everyone feared, hated and despised, I didn’t see a savage killer.
 

        Many would argue the point with me, but nothing can change how I feel about this man. He may have killed and tortured, but underneath his hardened shell, I found a tender, loving man who possessed the morals, dignity, courage, compassion and sympathy of a great warrior.
 

        The wasteland never defeated him. Nor did this desolate place of no man’s land rob him of the one thing that separates us from the animals. Even out on the sands of the desert, he could let himself love and protect a golden youth.
 

        So when my master steered the big Kawasaki to the cliff, I had no regrets. Maybe we’d find that utopia I saw in my dream? Or maybe we’d find ourselves condemned to a place even worse than the wasteland? Yet, no fear was present. With the master, anything was possible.
 

        Wez gave his war cry as he ramped the rock and sent us sailing off the cliff. I clung to him tightly, satisfied it should end this way.

*****THE END*****