THE BEGINNING

     

Many ask how we came to be. I know such questions burn deeply in the minds of those whom I’m not aware of - our admirers and those who even oppose us. I guess now would be the time to set the record straight before I begin a new journey.

        After the two great-powers-that-be went to war and then jettisoned the last of their weapons, the only knowledge I possessed of a once civilized era came from stories my mother and uncle shared with me. They talked about the Main Force Patrol who were once the guardians of the highways, cruising along the white line, fighting off the savages who took to scavenging and wreaking havoc on the civilized people.

        The MFP were determined not to give into their animalistic urges, vowing to keep their dignity and humanity while doing battle with the gangs. But after the Great War, the MFP slowly faded into oblivion. And with their battle lost against the gangs, I guess my uncle took my mother and I out of the Great City and we went deep into the wasteland, standing a better chance of fighting off scavengers since the city was overrun with crime.

 
        As a child, I never knew the existence of other people. If the wanderers of the wasteland paid us a visit, I was immediately ushered to the cellar. The two doors leading to the underground shelter would then be hidden by the old armoire where my mother kept our supplies. Thus, I spent most of my time reading by candlelight about a magical world my mother was fortunate enough to have seen. I'd be in awe leafing through the books, absorbing information about the history of the earth. Or, I'd read about the movies that played out on a magical screen. Sometimes I'd glance over the tales which spoke of the great jets that would fly overhead, transporting people from one destination to another, all in a matter of hours.

Free from the cellar, I'd wander outside for my playtime of fresh air. I'd gaze up at the blue sky and wonder how people flew through the air. Or I'd glance at the sun and try and fathom how astronauts hovered in the space high above the earth at one time. I tolerated the heated scorched earth with its intense rays. And I'd gaze at miles of dirt, the color of orange with a blending of red, stretching across the land in rolling hills. The white line drawn down the center of the highway was the only remaining presence of a time long gone.

        With the cities pillaged by the gangs, a steady migration of people wandered out into the wasteland and a new breed of men were born. I'm not sure if they were the cast-offs from the MFP, or once civilized men, now forced to scavenge to survive. But they hunted for food, water, weapons and most of all, gasoline. My uncle kept his 12 gauge on hand. The gun was precious to him since bullets were scarce. Projectile weaponry now replaced the sacred firing arms of the past.

        He gifted me with my own means of protection. The weapon he handed me was an old baseball bat he fashioned into a protective defense that produced two uses in battle. The handle maintained a circular shape and with his blade, my uncle nicked soft gouges into the hard wood for a maximum grip. Instead of the baseball bat maintaining a rounded end, he smoothed down the wood to a flat shape with a sharp, squared off tip. Thus, with the bat’s durability, I could strike my attacker with a blow to the head and then finish off the enemy by driving the end of the bat deep into his heart.

        Since gasoline was so scare, making scavenging trips in my uncle’s rusted, old truck was minimal. I did not mind, though, since I would ride in the box hidden underneath a blanket. The thick, wool covering bothered my skin and I loathed the garment since the sun’s intense heat made traveling uncomfortable. Yet, my mother and uncle insisted I must remain hidden.

        I don’t know what I loathed more, the blistering, scorching rays of the sun or the cool, chilly air of the night. Both temperatures were extreme. Come the setting of the yellow sun, I would be led back downstairs into the cellar. Candles would be lighted so I could see and I would bed down beside the flickering flames for warmth.

 
        Each night was the same . . . until the scavengers came.

        I slept soundly and since the wood of the cellar was so thick, I never heard the battle. The loud creak of the cellar doors being drawn open roused me from my dream state. My lids flickered and I focused my gaze on the stairs. The candles had not burned down yet, so why was my uncle thinking to wake me?

        What I saw entering my place of protection frightened me beyond belief. I remained frozen in my spot, unable to move. My gaze was transfixed on the man who held up his left arm. Fastened around his thick wrist was a metal cross bow, aimed on my chest. I managed to gather my bearings and I tried to reach for my bat. Before I could lace my fingers around the handle, the hiss of the arrow being released echoed through the basement and I drew in my breath, fearing the weapon would pierce my heart.

        I finally managed to draw on air when I realized the arrow head was embedded in the cuff of my shirt.  I was pinned to the cellar floor. Helplessly, I struggled to free myself. When I couldn’t tear the shirt, I quickly drew my arm through the sleeve and scrambled out of the garment as I again attempted to reach for my bat.

        The man laughed. His hissy, taunting laughter sent shivers down my spin. Never did I hear such a sound epitomize evil. At that moment, two more men filled the cellar. Oh God, surely I would meet my death. I was no match for the fierce warriors surrounding me.

        All three were dressed in leather, from their boots, chaps, studded groin straps and thick wraps around their flat stomachs. Their upper-bodies were protected by metal chest plates and shoulders pads, which gave the impression of deeper and stronger muscles to their already muscular, tall forms. Feathers of various colors decorated their armor and it suited their hairstyles since each warrior possessed a mohawk.

        The man with the blue mohawk stepped forward. I scampered quickly to the wall, holding up my arms and shielding my face, fearing he would kill me.

        “Leave him.” The voice was deep, a low growl filled with authority.

        The blue-haired man gave a grunt. As I lowered my arms, I sensed the man wanted to protest, but he heeded the order and mounted the stairs, beckoning for the other man to join him. They left me alone with the original intruder, the burgundy haired scavenger who seemed to be the meanest and most menacing of the pack.

        “I found the golden youth,” the man softly uttered, yet his voice still held a trace of fierceness.

        I said nothing. Fear wouldn’t allow me to speak.

        “I found the golden youth,” he repeated in the same voice.

        He squatted then, his movement slow as he edged closer to me. I pressed myself deeper against the wall, knowing death was at hand. Quickly, I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the blow that would take my life.

 
        Several moments passed, and yet, nothing happened. I opened my eyes to meet his. Gone was his bold, scrutinizing stare. Instead, his hazel eyes were wide, gazing at me in awe. Then his eyes narrowed and he gave a half-amused smile. By now I was confused. Why didn’t he kill me? Was this just part of his torture?

"I found the golden youth." This time his voice held a trace of smug satisfaction.

My eyes widened in alarm then. The man was telling me he searched for me. Oh God, did he spot me outside today when I'd been digging in the dirt, trying to find a way to amuse myself in this desolate wasteland? Did he hide behind one of the rolling hills with his comrades, all planning to come to my home to kill me? I didn't know what to think at that moment.

 
        When the marauder reached into the saddlebag that was strewn over his shoulder, I looked away, wondering if he would unearth a knife or some other kind of weapon. I could feel his rough fingers on my face and he prodded me to look. Slowly, I obeyed and then my eyes widened in alarm. He held up a cracked mirror he most likely scavenged from another raid. It was the first time I saw my reflection.

        Golden youth? The man was right. My long hair was as blond and shimmering as the hue of the sun when at its peak, falling in layers around my face. Big, sapphire blue eyes stared back at me, and thick, black lashes blinked each time I did. I gazed at high cheekbones that complimented my narrow chin. Lips the color of rose protruded in a slight pout. I couldn’t believe this. For fifteen years I had only a slight idea of what I might look like and now I gazed upon myself for the first time.

        The man again reached into his saddlebag. This time I watched his movement. Instinct told me the warrior would have killed me by now, yet he hadn’t. I could only wonder what he wanted why he came here to search me out.

        He turned then, holding out a leather collar. A silver chain that looked to be about the length of his body was notched through a hole in the collar. A lock held the chain securely. He then held up a key.  Giving a grunt, which I thought might be his way of showing anticipation, he unlocked the bolt and opened the collar.

        When he drew forward to place the collar around my neck, I attempted to scamper around him. Oh God, he was going to choke me with that thing. I moved quickly on all fours and raced for the stairs. When I rose on both my feet, his strong hand clamped down on my ankle and I fell. I squirmed and tried to make another dash for the stairs but his deathlike grip was impossible to break. He rolled me over and sat deep on my chest. I panted and fought for air since his strong form was crushing me.

        He pinned my arms with his powerful thighs and held up the collar. I kicked out but was unable to buck him off. The collar was enclosing around my throat and I fought with all the strength I possessed, but I still couldn’t move him. He stopped then and I heard the lock click shut. I ceased my struggling since I didn’t know what to do. If he didn’t plan on choking me, why did he place the collar around my neck?

        He said nothing and rose off of my chest. I gazed up at his tall form. He gave a grunt and then shook the chain. When he began walking toward the stairs, I had no choice but to follow since he held the end of the chain. His long legs moved up the steps two at a time. I hurried along behind him because if I didn’t move fast enough the collar would choke off my air passage.

        What I came upon was a nightmare. Never did I imagine such horror, or smell the foul stench of death. My uncle lay slumped on the floor, a hatchet embedded in his back. His eyes stared vacantly off into nothing. My mother lay half in and half out the door, as if she tried to run from the intruders and was halted mid-step. An arrow cut deep into her back and she was pinned to the floor.

        I gazed at the warrior. He did this. He did this with the help of his two comrades. They murdered my family and pillaged our home. The entire place was ransacked. I couldn’t find my voice as I stared in horror at my mother.

        He began leading me through the archway and I tried to reach for my mother, but since the collar was fastened around my neck, I couldn’t stop. Instead, I was dragged along as he left the house. I looked back at the woman who gave me life.

        I struggled then, trying to yank the chain from his grip but he continued to drag me along. The scream left my throat. I wouldn’t stop screaming in horror. A black silence came over me when I felt his hand strike the back of my head.

*****

        When I awoke, a fire burned. The smell of cooking meat teased the gnawing hunger in my stomach, but eating was something I did not want to indulge in. Dead. My mother and uncle were dead.

        “If not us, it would be someone else,” the burgundy haired man gruffly said.

        I lay on a blanket and he sat beside me, almost in a protective manner. Or maybe he was guarding me, making sure I didn’t try and flee?

        Murderer! Killer! He had no remorse or regret over the lives he brutally took. Did he really expect me to just sit quietly after what he did to my family?

        Then he moved so quickly, I jumped in alarm. His rough fingers hovered under my chin.

“If not us, it would be someone else,” he repeated.

        “You didn’t have to kill them,” I managed to choke out.

        “Ah, the golden youth speaks,” he said with amusement. “I thought you to be mute.”

        “No, not mute,” I whispered. “Why?”

        “You are mine now,” he grunted. “Forget about them. They are dead.”

        “Why did you come to find me?” I asked. “And why did you kill them?”

        “No more talking,” he firmly replied. “You are mine now. I am the keeper of the golden youth. Go back to sleep.”

        Sleep was far from my thoughts. I trembled as the malicious murders of my family continued to spin through my mind. How could he just kill my family and then expect me to carry on as if nothing happened? Oh God, and the guilt ate at my soul. If it wasn't for me, would they have raided my home in the first place? Did I bring on the deaths of my mother and uncle?

        The blue-haired man gazed at me. Then he looked to the burgundy haired warrior. “Wez, I am trying him.”

        I gazed at the burgundy haired man, realizing this scavenger of the wasteland actually had a name. I wrapped the blanket tighter around myself. What did the other man mean? Try what?

        “He’s mine,” Wez snarled in a lethal, low voice.

“No,” the other man growled. “We share him. We have always shared.”

        The man then stood and so did Wez. The other marauder just sat tending the fire, poking a stick at the burning logs. He didn’t take any interest in the confrontation.

        Wez raised his left arm, aiming the crossbow. “Sit, Rebel.”

        Rebel chose not to listen. He took a step forehead, keenly eying Wez while also glancing at me. Suddenly, he leapt through the air, his one leg extended, ready to strike. Before he could finish his leap, Wez fired the crossbow and Rebel gave a hiss of pain and he crashed to the ground. His war cry filled the air and I gaped openmouthed at the arrow embedded in his thigh.

        “Next time it won’t be your leg,” Wez warned him. His right thigh held a quiver where he kept his arrows. He withdrew one and carefully reloaded the crossbow. Then he walked over to Rebel and he gave a grunt, roughly removing the arrow from his comrade’s leg. He placed the sharp, narrow weapon into the quiver.

        I shook with fear, watching two comrades think nothing of wounding each other. Many times my uncle told me about the scavengers, but this was the first time I encountered ruthless savages who could coldly harm others without a second thought, and harm one another no less.

        Wez sensed my discomfort and he turned to me. “Go back to sleep,” he growled.

        “No,” I replied, shaking my head.

        It took all of my courage, but I managed to quickly stand and bolt. I ran as fast as I could, fearing I’d feel an arrowhead in my back at any moment. His breath was the only sound he made as he chased me. His armor, boots, and weapons didn't make a sound. It was like he was able to deftly slither across the wasteland with the dexterity and speed of a snake.

        Wez then fired the crossbow. I could hear the whirling whistle and I screamed, fearing where it would land. I was pulled to the ground at brute speed since the arrowhead caught the edge of my blanket, tangling me in the wool covering.

        He was upon me in two strides. Then he raised the back of his hand and I cowered, fearing the force of the blow he’d administer across my cheek. Yet, his hand never touched my face. Instead, he yanked on the chain and began striding back to the camp fire. I tried to rise and hurry after him since I was being dragged across the sand.

        He held the blanket in his free hand and tossed the wool garment on the sand. Then he withdrew a sharp knife from his leather scabbard. My jaw slackened. Oh God, I never should have tried to run away. Surely he intended on killing me for my disobedience?

        Wez gave a yank on the chain and I followed the swift movement of the linked irons, falling on the blanket. He stuck the knife between his teeth and then curled the chain around his wrist until we were only inches apart. The movement of the knife was quick. Before I could protest or scream, he swiftly ran the blade along the front of my pants, down my legs, until he sliced through the hem of the garment.

        I shuddered and tried to grasp at my pants. Then my eyes widened in horror when he removed his groin strap, exposing his manly flesh. The shriek was lodged deep in my throat. Then I heard laughter coming from the other marauders.

        “Away,” Wez growled as he looked to his comrades.

        His request seemed to anger the men, but they obeyed, rising from the ground as they stalked off from the camp fire.

        Oh God, they were leaving me. They just left me alone to be raped by this monster.

        I tried to think of my mother, my uncle, any sweet moment in my life that would numb my mind from the attack on my body. Then I squirmed when his hands moved softly along my skin. What was he doing? Why didn’t he beat on me? Why didn’t he just smack me around and have his way?

        Yet, when my lids flickered and I finally gazed at Wez, he looked at me with a tender warmth in his eyes. I never expected someone as fierce, cunning, evil and sadistic as Wez to possess an ounce of warmth, yet his hazel eyes melted like chocolate heated over a flame.

        “Why?” I moaned more to myself and I fought back the tears. I refused to cry. Never would I give this savage the pleasure of knowing he could wound me.

        “Golden Youth,” was all he said.

        Again, I thought about my mother and uncle while Wez had his way with my body. I fought the feelings he tried to coax from me as he ran his fingers along my buttocks and thighs. Instead, I bit my lower lip to keep the sob lodged in my throat.

        I couldn’t say I was raped. Nor could I say I’d been used. When he finished, he gathered me tightly against him and wrapped the blanket around us. Then he curled the end of my chain around his fist, ensuring he'd sense or hear my movement if I tried to escape while he slept. So my gaze was locked on the nighttime sky. It was the first time I’d seen the stars twinkling overhead. Yet, what had transpired this night robbed me of appreciating such beauty above. Instead, I let the crackling sound of the fire lull me to sleep.

*****
 

        Wez awoke first. When he sat up and moved his body closer to the now burned-out fire, feeling the warmth of heated flesh leaving my side made me shiver as the cool air nipped at my skin. I tried to cuddle closer to the warm body and then I realized I was outside.

        All that happened the night before raced through my mind. Before I could think, or dwell on the memories, Wez yanked me up, ensuring to secure the blanket around me. He motioned to his comrades it was time to leave. As he led me to his bike, I gazed at the familiar belongings lashed to the huge Kawasaki motorcycle. The food, water, and gas jug belonged to my mother and uncle.

        Wez gruffly pointed to the pillion seat and then walked over to confer with Rebel and the other marauder. I slid on the pillion and placed my cloth shoes on the two foot rests. Then Wez strode back over and seated himself on the bike. He grabbed my chain and flipped open the clasp, securing the buckle around the one loop in his leather chaps.

        My fate was sealed. My family was dead. I was robbed of my innocence and stripped of my clothing. Like a slave, I was chained to the master. At that moment, I wished I had perished with my mother and uncle. But yet, such a thought was moot since this warrior came for me. The booty was his bonus. God, why did he have to kill them? If he saw me while I was outside playing, why didn't he just abduct me?  Why wait for nightfall and savagely kill two people whom I loved?

        Wez kickstarted the bike and the roar of the powerful engine echoed through the wasteland. He never took the time to warm the engine. Instead, he quickly shifted gears until we roared down the highway at top speed. The motorcycle moved so fast, I could barely catch my breath. I scrunched down behind Wez, lacing my arms tightly around his waist since I feared we’d crash. We moved so quickly, I could barely take in the scenery of cactus, tumbleweeds and the skeletal trees.

        He reached back and nudged my knee, indicating I should sit up straight on the bike. I didn’t want to, but yet, I obeyed his command. The wind whipped at my hair and my silken strands felt like straw pelting my face. I gave my head a shake so my hair would blow behind me.

        Slowly, my fear subsided as Wez agilely steered the bike in movement with the shape of the road. The powerful motorcycle seemed an extension of him, just like his metal wrist cross bow. His powerful thighs hugged the bike while his fingers lightly gripped the handle bars.

        As we came upon a turn, he nudged me again. So I let my body sway in rhythm with the bike. The longer we remained on the motorcycle, the more comfortable I became. My fingers only lightly clutched his waist now and I peered over his shoulder at the never-ending white line of the highway. He then coaxed me to clutch the pillion by lightly shaking my fingers off his waist. I realized then why he wanted me to ride in this manner. If we came upon a road battle, I had to learn how to hang onto the motorcycle without distracting him when he needed to have quick access to the weaponry we carried.

        My lesson continued the longer we road. When Wez came across a steep incline in the road, he pushed the bike at a faster speed. The big Kawasaki crested over the peak, leaving us airborne, so I automatically let go of the seat and lightly clutched his hips. Once we hit the pavement, I moved my fingers back to the pillion. He nodded his head then, pleased I did what he expected of me.

        The more I relaxed and the tension left my body, the easier it was to ride the motorcycle. Just like Wez did, I had to let the bike become an extension of me.

        Soon, Wez slowed his speed slightly and he shifted the bike off the road. The fast-moving wheels easily blazed through the dirt. I now knew why he chose the big Kawasaki. The motorcycle was built for speed, easily averaging 200 kilometres an hour on the hot pavement. Yet, the bike was durable and agile enough to plow through the sands of the wasteland without losing momentum.

        As we crested a hill, below in the valley was a camp site. Dirty, grey canvases served as tents. Motorcycles, dune buggies and other strange looking vehicles encircled the camp. Some cars were heavily modified for battle. A former Ford truck now held a boat windshield and a dart gun was situated in the box. Men sporting mohawks like Wez milled about the site. Besides the Mohawkers, men adorned in former MFP uniforms swaggered about. It seemed as if they mocked the protective guardians of the highways by wearing their uniforms and also modifying the chase cruisers to suit their scavenging purposes. Other men with their faces covered in rags and masks ambled about. Women mingled with the men and they were dressed in the manner of the males they followed. Yet, I sensed the majority of the females belonged to the Mohawkers.

        A man then broke free from the crowd when we rode up. He wore the scavenging uniform of the Mohawkers but he didn’t sport the hairstyle. Instead, a cloth cap with a high peak and narrow brim adorned his head. He wore sunglasses. With a wide grin, he moved about in a circle, raising his arms in the air, calling attention to everyone. But nobody seemed to be paying him any mind. “The Mighty Wez returns,” the man proclaimed in a jesting, yet worshiping voice.

   
        Wez ignored the crowd and the man. He continued to steer the big Kawasaki through the throngs of scavengers until he came upon a truck that was so heavily modified, it only possessed the under frame. Six, thick, sturdy tires meant to plough through the sands of the wasteland replaced former highway tires. The seat was the focal point of the vehicle, situated to the back, covered by a steel roll cage. The engine was huge, at least the length of a full-grown man. To the front, two steel bars projected outwards at a slight angle. The bars seemed sturdy and strong enough to lash a man to. Now I shuddered since I sensed this was the purpose for those bars.

        My first glimpse of the man who owned the vehicle was his backside. Thick, heavy, powerful muscles graced his arms, back and legs. Wisps of hair edged out from the iron mask strapped around his face. Leather spiked bands decorated his huge wrists. A sturdy, wide leather collar adorned his strong neck. Leather straps criss-crossed his back, fastened together by a circular silver link from a chain.

        When he turned, all I could do was stare at his muscular chest. The man stood taller than Wez and most likely outweighed him by a good fifty pounds.

        Wez got off the bike and he unlocked my chain from the loop on his pants. He motioned for me to stay put. Almost seeming to swagger proudly, he approached the big man, motioning for Rebel and the other marauder to gather the gasoline, food, weapons, water and other items they acquired through their pillaging trip.

        Rebel and the other marauder followed Wez’s order. They retrieved the booty and set the contents down next to the big vehicle.

        I assumed the huge warrior was the leader of this motley group of sadistic scavengers. The big man just nodded his head and looked over the scavenged goods. Then he looked to where I sat on the bike.

        “Is my golden youth,” Wez proclaimed and then he gave a hissy laugh. “Golden Youth,” he shouted. “Stand and meet the Humungus.”

        It took all of my courage to cast aside my hesitant meekness and I wrapped the blanket tighter around my slim form as I slowly got off the bike. My head was held high and I stared at the huge man, trying my best not to show any fear.

        The Humungus said nothing and then turned back to Wez.

        I breathed a deep sigh of relief, feeling as if I just passed some sort of test. Courage, fierceness, and loyalty, along with speed, agility, combat skills and pride seemed prized amongst these evil marauders. To survive, I knew I could never again show my fear or submissive nature. Wez was my master and to ensure I would never look death in the eye again, and survive amongst these warriors, I would have to give all my loyalty to Wez.

        To lose his protection meant I’d be cast aside to the scavengers who would no doubt rape me and then think nothing of killing me. No more tears. No more memories.

        I was fifteen, yet a man before my time. I would now have to conduct myself as the prized golden youth Wez demanded from me.

Next  Page - The Initiation