THE MAN NAMED MAX

I left the bonfire and started to the tent. In the distance, I could see the lights of the compound. The old generator that powered the massive fortress, rattled and hummed. The noise easily drifted through the wasteland and settled over where we erected camp.

        A stronghold of huge trenches and coiled, sharp fencing guarded the compound, keeping out all outsiders, even the Dogs of War. On top of the battlement, the guards refused to rest, carefully watching our every movement through binoculars. I could see the Warrior Woman standing next to the flamethrower. The man with the light blond hair, and a face deep with creases, most likely due to overexposure of sunlight, spoke with her. I figured this man led the defenders even though he didn’t look much older than my master.
 

        We’d been here for over a week now, attempting to break through the barricade. Inside the compound was a huge tanker full of gasoline and the ground was rich with oil. Never did I know so much gas could be possessed in one place.
 

        And ever since we arrived, Wez was very agitated. The occupants inside the compound were well equipped with flamethrowers and their weaponry surpassed ours. The Humungus had parked us here, eager to get his hands on the water, animals and most of all, the precious juice being drawn from the ground by the mechanical pump, then refined with a fractioning column.
 

        “We use too much of our fuel,” Wez snapped. “He knows this not working. He won’t listen to me.”
 

        I gazed at my master. I was eighteen now, having lived out three years of my life with him already. We were well deep into the wasteland and I’d been rather surprised when we came upon the compound.

Wez was most likely thirty, or a couple of years older, and he embodied all the dignity, handsomeness, confidence and masculinity of a full grown man.  To this day, with his aura of authority, he could still make me feel like the fifteen-year-old boy he captured. And my loyalty and love for this man grew more intense the longer I remained with him.

        Wez’s agitation was great since he spent all of his time leading the attacks on the compound under the Humungus’s order, yet we still continued to fail. Which meant the master always snapped at me now. The last time we had sex was before we encountered the compound.

        Each night Wez chose to bed down outside since he didn’t want to risk the defenders sneaking off under the cover of darkness with the gasoline. Actually, I realized it was more than just the gasoline. This was the first battle my master didn’t smoothly win and I wondered if he was beginning to doubt himself.

        “Why don’t you come to bed tonight?” I suggested, lovingly pressing myself against his strong body. “It’ll do you some good to just relax.”
 

        “Golden Youth, enough,” he snarled. “Get me my cover.”
 

        I sighed, nodding my head and I drew the tent flap aside. With my fingers, I snatched up the fur robe and handed Wez the blanket.
 

        He gazed at me intently, sensing my disappointment. Giving a gruff snarl, he drew me against him, sliding his mouth over mine as he hungrily squeezed my buttocks.
 

        Oh God, did he change his mind? Eagerly, I caressed his manhood and moaned. “Oh yes, it’s been too long, Master.”
 

        Wez broke the kiss. “Go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
 

        “Master, may I sleep outside with you tonight?” I asked. My eyes held a pleading look. “We don’t have to do anything. I just wanna be with you.”
 

        “No,” he snapped. “You know what will happen if we sleep together. I can’t have no distractions. Go to bed.” He turned on his heel and stalked away.
 

        So I headed into the tent. Glumly, I sat on the furs. The sexual tension was deep inside of me and I whacked the fur in frustration. Oh sure, I could have saw to my needs with my hand, but it just wasn’t the same. I wanted my master to make me feel good.
 

        Best not to think. Oh man, I sure hoped sooner instead of later we’d finally succeed and get inside that compound. I didn’t think I could take much more of my master’s coldness.

*****
 

        I waited patiently on the bike. Instead of watching Wez, I gazed at the dust blowing over the road. Not too far away was the farm we just raided and three men hung from the tree, their necks broken. Wez, Rebel, another Mohawker, along with three Gayboy Berserkers and Four Smegma Crazies continued to cannibalize the vehicle, siphoning the fuel tank and stealing the food.

        I gazed over the hill, focusing on the overcast sky and listening to the wind howl. We set out on a raid this morning since we needed more gasoline. Our efforts seemed futile and the master was right. It was taking all of our resources to take over the compound.
 

        Why didn’t the Humungus listen to my master and use his plan of attack? It pissed me off since our leader was not giving Wez any leverage. Yes, the Humungus could be very controlling, but his desire to oversee every aspect of our attack was ridiculous. Never before did he think to poke his nose into battles Wez led with the assistance of Rebel.
 

        My thoughts were interrupted when I heard the faint roar of an engine in the distance. I sat up in the seat, wondering who it could be. I then looked over to my master.
 

        With his alert senses, Wez also heard the motor, even over the noise their scavenging made. His hazel eyes squinted as he stared over the ridge.
 

        The roar of the engine grew louder.
 

        Now Rebel and the others stopped their scavenging.
 

        Then the black-on-black Interceptor crested over the hill at top speed. All I heard was the squealing of tires as the occupant inside slammed on the brakes. Once a glorious looking car, the Interceptor now possessed the scars of many road battles.
 

        “MFP,” Wez hissed. Then his eyes brightened with an excited and murderous stare. “Quick,” he hollered, easily forgetting all about the gas.
 

        The Interceptor backed up and with tires squealing, quickly tore off down the road. Wez jumped on the bike, starting the engine as he raced after the black-on-black. Rebel and the other Mohawker were charging after us on their motorcycles. And the Gayboy Berserkers gunned their road racers while the Smegma Crazies quickly raced to the highway in their modified dune buggies.
 

        Wez led the chase down the hill as he pursued the Interceptor. The occupant must have had his supercharger on because the car moved at great speed.
 

        Not since my master did I see another driver possess such precise dexterity, easily controlling the car, demanding from the engine the speed he needed and commanding the steering wheel to hug each curve on the highway.
 

        The bike was at top speed as Wez chased after the Interceptor. His body was wound with tension and I could tell he was angered since a vehicle showed up that could give his powerful Kawasaki a run for the money.
 

        Used to such speed and confident in my master’s ability to control the bike, I just went along for the ride. Still, I worried. We were supposed to bring the gas back and my master was disobeying our leader’s orders.
 

        When I glanced back over my shoulder, I realized only one road racer followed, along with a dune buggy. It was apparent the rest couldn’t keep up, or they wiped out their vehicles, unable to control their cars at such a fast speed.
 

        The road was like a snake slithering on the ground. My body rhythmically moved with the bike since we came upon so many turns.
 

        Now we charged down a straightaway. I watched the Interceptor crest the hill and disappear from our site. Wez gunned the engine and we also sped over the hill. Suddenly, a wreck on the highway was upon us.

        The master ramped the first vehicle and we slammed down on the pavement as he corrected his steering and expertly swerved us around the other vehicles.
 

        The road racer also managed to get passed the wreckage but not without hitting the first vehicle. Still, he managed to keep control of his car. I could see the dune buggy in the distance, cresting along in the sand.
 

        Suddenly the Interceptor slowed. Was he out of fuel, maybe getting a little low?
 

        Wez pushed the bike for more speed and soon we were upon the black-on-black. The master lifted his powerful arm, ready to fire his crossbow at the man’s head. Just at that moment the driver hit the brakes. Inside the road cruiser, the Gayboy Berserker already fired his porta-pack. One of the stray arrows came straight at us. I gasped when the arrowhead embedded itself into my master’s arm.
 

        Wez fought for control of the bike and we left the road. I clutched him tightly since I almost lost my balance and fell off. The road race was now lost to me. My concern was for the master.
 

        He ignored the wound in his arm when we both heard the loud crashes from over the rise. Wez’s eyes narrowed and he gave the bike more gas and we cruised through the desert, heading for the highway. He steered us back on the road.  We headed over the rise to come upon the dune buggy laying on its side and the road racer flipped over. An old Mack truck was parked. Just the black-on-black remained intact. 

The man had vacated his car. He looked to the wreckage. I could tell he wanted to siphon the fuel tanks of the road racer and dune buggy. He then spared us another cautious glance and his greed for the precious juice outweighed his own safety. The man turned to the vehicles. He began placing left over containers he spotted on the road underneath the road racer as he sopped up the fuel that dripped from the tank with a rag.
 

        The master then gave his war cry. The man focused his attention from the gasoline and gazed at Wez. Slowly, the master began removing the arrow from his arm, still intently glaring at the man. The man lightly touched the sawed-off shotgun at his side.
 

        Wez held up the arrow and then set it in his quiver. He then gunned the engine. For a moment I thought he was going to confront the man with the gun. Shit, as quick and fast as Wez happened to be, he was no match for a speeding bullet. Instead, he turned the bike around and I clutched his waist when he popped the front tire and we sped off over the rise.
 

        The master gave a hissy laugh. His humor puzzled me. Why did he find the incident so amusing? We lost nine cars in this road race, and furthermore, we didn’t possess the gasoline from our earlier pillage.
 

        He continued down the highway until he came upon thick bushels. Now I became exasperated when he slowed the bike. For cripe sake, we should be going back to camp and seeing if Rebel and the others returned with the gas.
 

        “We’ll find more,” Wez muttered as he stopped the bike and switched off the engine.
 

        “The Humungus is going to wonder what happened,” I pointed out. “We were supposed to get more fuel, not chase some former cop down the highway. We might have lost nine cars in that battle.”

        His eyes narrowed. “You think to question me, Golden Youth? You think to obey the Humungus’s order instead of mine? You say I cost us our men?”
 

        I sensed his anger and shook my head. “I didn’t say that.”
 

        “Your mouth is getting too big,” he coolly snarled. “You speak out too much now.”
 

        Ignoring him, I got off the bike. I didn’t really feel like getting into a fight.
 

        “Don’t you dare walk away when I speak,” he roared.
 

        I stopped in my tracks. Slowly, I turned and faced him, folding my arms.
 

        “You defiant fuck,” he spat out. “You dare to look at me in such a way?”
 

        “I don’t wanna fight,” I spat back. “Let’s just go back to the camp and forget all this. Okay?”
 

        “You think that MFP beat me?” he hollered. “You think I led an attack that failed? You not think I can get into the compound?”
 

        “What the hell is the matter with you?” I cried out in defense. “I didn’t say any of that stuff.”
 

        “But you think it,” he hissed.
 

        “No, I don’t.”
 

        Wez rose off the bike. Now he gave a hissy laugh. “Get undressed.”
 

        My eyes narrowed. “No. I wanna go back to camp.”
 

        “I said get undressed,” he hollered as his eyes filled with hate. “You begged me to fuck you last night, so I’m gonna fuck you!”
 

        “Fuck yourself,” I spat back. “I wanna go back to camp.”
 

        I wasn’t surprised when I felt the back of his hand across my face. My head snapped from the impact. I turned and glared at him.
 

        “Get undressed,” he snarled.
 

        “No.”
 

        His eyes held the most crazed, insane look I ever saw. I hadn’t felt fear around him since he first held me captive. And now my body shook with fright. He came at me, winding up his huge fist and decked me in the gut. His punch was so immense, I fell over backwards and landed in the dirt. The air was sucked from my body. I gasped, clutching my stomach. Never did I have the wind knocked from me before.
 

        Wez bent over and yanked on my hair, pulling so hard on my strands that I winced in pain. He drew me on my knees.
 

        “You gonna still talk back?” he snarled.
 

        Oh God, at that moment I hated him. I loathed him. I couldn’t stand the sight of him. And I was sickened over the fact I was hurt last night when he didn’t sleep with me, and pissed with myself since I let myself love this maniac.
 

        “Leave me alone,” I muttered.
 

        I wasn’t surprised when he smacked me across the face. Then he hit me again.
 

        “I’ll teach you to disobey me,” he roared.
 

        He tried to yank off my pants but the leather material wouldn’t give since it hugged my skin too tightly. Frustrated, he raised his hand and knocked me in the back of the head.
 

        I tried to crawl away. This was the first time he ever went ballistic on me and I wasn’t sure if he was going to rape me or kill me. My body shook with fear, hate and pain, all rolled into one emotion. I was sickened by the fact he thought nothing of treating me like one of the victims he tortured and killed.
 

        His arms were drawn around my waist and I couldn’t get away.

        “Let me go,” I hollered.
 

        Again his fist came down, this time on my back and I fell deep into the dirt. I couldn’t take much more of his fists. My body was filled with pain from his powerful blows.
 

        “I’ll cut those fucking pants off of you if I have to,” he roared.
 

        “Leave me alone,” I hollered.
 

        The pain was welling up deep inside. I don’t think it was the physical hurt that bothered me. It was the wounding in my heart. Not when I lost my mother and uncle, or when I was taken captive, or the tortures I performed, or even the killings had made me cry - but the tears came then, filling my eyes. I couldn’t stop the sobs in my throat as my body shook.
 

        Wez let go of me and I crawled away. I finally stopped, sitting on the ground as I drew my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs.
 

        “I wanna go home,” I screamed. At that moment I just longed to be with my uncle and mother, back at the house, a young boy playing in the field without a care in the world, not aware of any danger, confident an uncle and mother would see to my every need.
 

        Wez got on his knees behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I tried to shrug off his touch. He stiffened with anger.
 

        “Golden Youth,” he gruffly said.
 

        “Don’t hit me anymore,” I cried out.
 

        Now he looked angry again. “I hit you when you disobey me. You know this.”
 

        “Well, I have feelings,” I shouted. “It hurts me when you hit me!”
 

        “And it makes me angry when you don’t obey,” he fired back.
 

        He grabbed me then and clutched me against his chest. I kept crying, now pissed with myself since I let him hurt me.
 

        “I told you,” he coolly stated, “I am your protector and master.”
 

        “I know,” I whispered. “But my mother never hit me. Neither did my uncle. They let me speak and they didn’t get mad if I told them how I felt.”
 

        Now I shook my head in frustration. Why did I think to try and argue with Wez? The man didn’t possess an ounce of humanity or sympathy. As if he would care enough to let me voice my opinion or speak freely. I was a prize he thought to be in love with and nothing more. Fuck, he couldn’t even say it. Not once did he ever tell me he loved me.
 

        “I know what you want,” he stated in his gruff voice. “Can’t be done. Can’t give you what you want and stay alive out here, Golden Youth. You know this.”
 

        I gazed at him. His answer stunned me. My jaw slackened. He knew what I felt? He knew I longed to have him love me purely and sweetly like someone had when I was as a child?
 

        “I understand,” I whispered.
 

        Now I gazed at him, realizing if he could, he would give me what I truly needed. And just knowing he would lay it at my feet if we weren’t trapped in a living hell on earth warmed my heart like the rays of the sun.
 

        “We talk too much,” he said, shaking his head. “I fuck you now. Enough talking.”
 

        I nodded my head. He began hungrily exploring my lips, and I gladly returned his kisses, unaware of what lurked ahead for me now that the man named Max arrived, the same man we just chased in the Interceptor.
 

        Instead, laying under the sun naked, feeling Wez deep inside of me, knowing what he held back, but wished he could release from his soul for me, never was I happier. And my laughter filled the air.
 

        Wez grunted. “First time I hear you laugh, Golden Youth.”
 

        I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Cause you make me happy.”
 

        When he began thrusting, his movements were tender, so loving and I swear he fed me his soul.
 

*****
 

        We rode away from the compound. I hung on tightly to Wez since he moved the bike at breakneck speed. Yeah, we were making some progress on the defenders since their numbers were slowly dropping but it wasn’t enough.

 
        Wez steered the bike straight to the Humungus. I could feel the tension in my master’s body the closer we came to our leader.
 

        “Enough,” Wez hollered as he pulled the bike up to the big vehicle.
 

        The Humungus switched off the microphone and gazed down at us. He ceased giving orders to the marauders as he focused his attention on my master.
 

        “I lose more men,” Wez shouted.
 

        Just then Rebel rode up.
 

        “Some will be lost so we can have the gasoline,” the Humungus replied. “You know this.”
 

        “I lose too many,” Wez snarled. He then gestured with his arm. “I just lose two more. Look!”
 

“You didn’t mind losing six yesterday when you thought to defy my order and lead my dogs on a chase,” the Humungus coolly said in his deep, stern voice. “Enough. Get back to work.”
 

        Wez looked as if he would argue, but he gave the engine some gas and we sped off. Rebel followed us. We drove to the back of the compound. This is where the big trenches lay, covered by the barbed fencing.
 

        They both switched off their bikes and picked up their binoculars, intently gazing at the encampment.
 

        “If we do it his way, we will fail,” Wez spat out in disgust.
 

        Rebel nodded his head in agreement.
 

        I gazed at the defenders who watched us, readying their weapons since they spotted us out on the desert sand, deftly watching their compound.
 

        “Can’t lead a chase in,” Wez muttered, still peering through the binoculars. “And can’t attack from the front cause of flamethrowers.”
 

        “Can’t risk burning them out either,” Rebel said. “Will lose the gasoline.”
 

        I sat quietly, listening to them confer some more. In a way, I wished the Humungus would give up and just let us move on. I wished the master would too. But they wouldn’t. The Humungus wanted the stronghold for the power. And my master wanted to defeat the defenders since he needed to make war and receive his satisfaction from winning another battle.
 

        As for me, what did I want out of all this? I just wanted to find a place where I could be with my master, having him love me the way I wished he would. Instead, I followed him all over this wasteland like some groupie.
 

        All day we stayed out on the desert, the master and Rebel deftly gazing at the compound through their binoculars, trying to find a weakness in the structure where they could successfully attack from.
 

        When evening began to settle, we rode back to the camp. I performed my usual task of serving Wez his food. Then I headed to the tent. It had been an exhausting day and I just needed some sleep. I set Wez’s fur next to the opening of the tent so he could just retrieve the covering and then bed down outside.

        Off came my boots and I set them at the foot of my bedroll. Then I unfastened my vest and lay the garment to the right of me. My pants were always a great effort to get out of. Sometimes I wished Wez would let me wear chaps with just a groin and back covering like he did. But, he insisted I wear full pants and I knew why.
 

        Just like my mother and uncle always kept me hidden from outsiders, Wez also ensured I was well protected from sexual predators. Hell, even he couldn’t take advantage of me since he failed yesterday when he tried to rip off my pants in anger.
 

        Finally, I squirmed out of the pants and tossed them to the side. Next, I removed my leather wrist bands. All that remained was my collar and chain. But I was so used to having this garment around my neck, I could easily sleep with it on. So I pulled the thick fur over my naked flesh and nestled my head against the wool blanket that served as my pillow.
 

        The tent flap drew open but I was so tired, I didn’t spare my master a glance. He’d get his blanket and leave.
 

        “Golden Youth,” he gruffly said.
 

        Shit, so much for sleep. I rolled over and glanced at him. “Yes, Master.”
 

        He was silent for a moment. Then he came further into the tent. “There is talk,” he tried to softly murmur in his gruff voice. “Many want to join me and Rebel.”
 

        “What are you talking about?” I whispered.
 

        “We’re tired of his failures,” he said under his breath. “Tomorrow, we are going to lead an attack against him.”
 

        “You mean the Humungus?” I gasped, then quickly lowered my voice.
 

        Wez nodded his head. “The Gayboy Berserkers side with us. We not trust the Smegma Crazies. They too brainwashed by the Humungus. The Skinheads will also join us. And of course the Mohawkers are already on our side.”
 

        I nodded my head. Before my master hooked up with the Humungus, he had led the Mohawkers with Rebel as his right-hand. The Humungus had led the Smegma Crazies.
 

        After encountering each other on one too many raids that led into a few battles over territory, they finally banded together when the Humungus attempted to negotiate a treaty with the Mohawkers. Thus, they had joined forces to rule the wasteland. And before they chose a leader, they had brought in the Gayboy Berserkers, along with the Skinheads.
 

        I knew losing leadership to the Humungus was a sore point for my master. Since the Humungus possessed military training, along with the Smegmas, when the vote came for a leader, everyone assumed the Humungus should take the reigns of control since he’d been the leader of his platoon in the army.
 

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

        “Will be easy,” he smoothly replied. “Kill him. Smegma Crazies can either stay with us, or die.”
 

        “What do you wish of me, Master?” I asked.
 

        “Need to find somewhere to hide you away,” he murmured. “Can’t risk Humungus or Smegmas taking you hostage. Cannot have you at my side for this battle.”
 

        “I understand,” I replied, nodding my head.
 

        “This battle mean much to me,” he thought to explain.
 

        This took me by surprise. He always just tossed me orders and I obeyed. This was the first time he ever thought to include me in discussions I knew he only shared with Rebel.
 

        So I again nodded my head in understanding.
 

        “You will distract me. Humungus know what you mean to me,” he solemnly stated. “I need your obedience. No questioning. Just do what you’re told.”
 

        “I will,” I reassured him.
 

        “Golden Youth,” he gruffly said, yet his voice was tender. “You know what’s in here.” He pointed at his heart.
 

        “I do, Master. I love you too,” I softly said.
 

        “Go to sleep,” he ordered me.
 

        He turned then and left the tent.
 

        Now I couldn’t stop my thoughts from racing since I dreaded tomorrow. I had to have faith in my master. But if I lost him in battle against the Humungus, I’d kill myself. Wez was my one and only master, someone I’d gladly serve. And if he died a warrior’s death, I’d lay down beside my master and join him in his eternal sleep.
 

*****

        “Quick,” Wez roared. “Get up. Now! They’re leaving!”
 

        I sat up and automatically began working on my pants, trying to draw the tight, leather material over my legs and hips. The master helped me with my vest and boots. Just as I zipped the pants, he secured my wrists bands.
 

        “Already many vehicles leave,” he growled. “Come, you cost me time.”
 

        I grabbed my bat and hurried after Wez as he ran to the big Kawasaki. In the distance, I could see dune buggies, road racers, motorcycles and the Humungus’s six-wheeled vehicle chasing three cars that had left the compound.
 

        As I got on the bike, the steel-covered bus that served as the main door for the compound drew back. A small modified car roared out at top speed.
 

        “Away,” Wez called out, waving his arm.
 

        Rebel got on his bike, along with two other Mohawkers. Two Skinheads jumped into an old tow truck now modified for road battles.
 

        Wez began chasing down the car behind a big rocky hill.
 

        “The tires,” my master roared. “Shoot the tires!”
 

        Rebel and the Mohawker both fired their crossbows and the arrowheads pierced the tires on the left side of the car. Just then a skinhead in the tow truck leaned out the window and smashed the windshield with a heavy brick.
 

        The car lost control and left the road. I watched the vehicle roll over, losing two tires in the process. Just as Wez pulled up on the big Kawasaki, Rebel and a Mohawker yanked the man from his car.
 

        Wez crested around the wreck and he let the engine idle. I shifted to the front so I could hold up the bike. The master began barking orders, telling them to siphon the fuel first before having their fun.
 

        Just then a woman burst free from the car, dragging herself from the wreck. Rebel and another Mohawker grabbed her before she could make her escape.
 

        I looked back to my master. They had the man pinned up against the car. Wez walked in my direction, toying with his crossbow. I could tell he was pleased with the raid after so many failures we encountered the past week. He was relishing his victory.
 

        He glanced at me, his eyes smug with satisfaction.
 

        I looked at him. Well, kill the guy.
 

        Wez seemed to read my thoughts and he swaggered back to the car. He released the arrow and the pin drove deeply into the man’s arm, locking him to the door. The master then grabbed another arrow from his quiver and reloaded the crossbow. He fired and pinned the man’s other arm to the car.
 

        Then he looked to where the two Mohawkers held the woman. He gave his signal and they began tearing off her clothes. Rebel gave a growl when the master motioned for him to leave with us. It was apparent he wanted to have his way with the woman too.
 

        I scooted back on the seat as Wez slid on the bike. He teased the engine, bringing a roar across the wasteland. With my bat drawn across my back, we sped away from the wreck.
 

        The master pushed the engine of the bike, wanting to make contact with the Humungus. Now was not the time to think of starting an in-battle. We had to find out what the defenders were up to.
 

        About eight kilometers down the road, we came upon the three other vehicles surrounded by the Humungus and the rest of our unit. Two defenders were strung to the front of the big six-wheeled rig. Another defender was lashed to a road racer.  Two more defenders were pinned to the front of another vehicle.
 

        The last defender was on his knees, pleading and begging for his life. Two Smegma Crazies stood guard while our leader interrogated the frightened man.
 

        “Yes,” the man sobbed. “We set out to find a vehicle.”
 

        “A vehicle to haul that big tanker of juice,” the Humungus growled. “Wez!” he hollered.
 

        The master got off the bike as he strode over to take in the situation. “What you find out?” he asked.
 

        “They’re trying to find a rig big enough to haul the tanker,” the Humungus coolly said.
 

        Wez’s eyes narrowed as he looked to the defender who still sobbed, slumped now on his haunches.
 

        The defiant victim who was lashed to the six-wheeled vehicle hollered, “Kill us! We’ll never give up the gasoline to you!”
 

        The broken victim who was lashed to the other bar on the vehicle cried out, “Wait! Don’t listen to him! Maybe we can negotiate something.”
 

        The man on the ground didn’t even see the death blow. Wez drew in his breath, his anger great over the news he just heard. He withdrew his knife from his leather scabbard, strode up behind the defender and ran his blade along the man’s neck.
 

        The broken victim screamed in horror, watching his comrade fight for his life as blood gushed from his neck. Tears sprang from his eyes.
 

        The defiant victim cursed us.
 

        I shook back my hair as the wind picked up.
 

        The defiant victim looked at me. “How did you end up with this vermin?” he screamed. “How do such monsters possess a beautiful youth? Is this what you wish for? Do you want to lose the last of your humanity?
 

        “Unlike you, I won’t give in! I’ll die before I sell my soul to live!”
 

        My eyes widened and I quickly looked to my master. Wez’s hazel eyes were filled with rage. He started to the defiant victim but the Humungus halted him.
 

        “Enough,” our leader spat out. “We must keep these five alive. No more killing! We can use the ones alive as our bargaining tool.”
 

        “He’s dead,” Wez snarled, pointing at the defiant victim.
 

        “No,” the Humungus said in a warning voice. “No more killing. I want them alive!
 

        “Get back on your bike. We are going back to the compound.”
 

        “Bargaining not the way of a warrior,” Wez hollered.
 

        “You will obey me,” the Humungus growled. “Me thinks you’re letting your other head think for you. Put your blond bitch from your thoughts. We are at war!”
 

        Wez growled and he looked as if he would attack the Humungus. Two Smegma Crazies quickly stepped forward to intervene. Rebel got off his bike, along with two Mohawkers and they also hurried forward.
 

        “You see,” the defiant victim hollered. “They are at odds even with each other.” He smugly looked at me. “These people you follow have no loyalty. They’d kill each other! You still have time to save yourself. Get off that bike and join us. You know you don’t belong with them!”
 

        “Shut him up or I will kill him,” Wez roared.
 

        The Toadie jumped off the front of the six-wheeled rig and strode over to the defiant victim, landing a punch in his gut. The defender gasped, unable to speak anymore since the wind was knocked from him.
 

        “Enough,” the Humungus spat out. “Everyone, to your rigs. We ride out!”
 

        Wez turned on his heel and stormed over to the bike. He started the big Kawasaki and revved the engine hard. “You ignore what that stupid man say,” he hissed.
 

        “I never heard one word he said,” I replied.
 

        Wez nodded his head, pleased with my answer. “Tonight,” he muttered under his breath. “Tonight we finish him off. I had enough. He letting these weak people beat us. He grow soft.”
 

        I also thought holding hostages was futile. The defenders knew the risks when they sent their people out to find the rig. There was no way they would buckle and let us have the gas just to save five lives.

        The defiant victim showed true courage, willing to lay down his life for his own. As for that broken victim, he deserved to die with all the whining and crying he was doing. And I think the other men on the road racers were either passed out or in shock why they didn’t utter a word.
 

        We rode beside the Humungus’s big rig as part of his guard, along with the tow truck containing two Skinheads, a road racer with three Gayboy Berserkers and the dune buggy that held two Smegma Crazies. The rest of the vehicles followed us.
 

        As we approached the compound, I could see the Warrior Woman on the battlement, along with the blond leader.
 

        Dust blew up, the air filled with the roar of our engines and the sirens whooped from the modified MFP cruisers. For a second I thought the defenders would fire on us.
 

        Then the broken victim hollered, “Hold your fire! He wants to talk! He comes in peace! For god sake hold your fire!”
 

        Wez eased the bike to a stop just on the causeway, well out of the defenders’ firing range. He cut the engine and got off the bike, glaring at the compound, his gaze intense.
 

        I followed the movement of his eyes and recognized the man inside. He was the former cop, the man we chased two days ago on the highway. I didn’t see the Interceptor he drove anywhere outside, so I assumed his black-on-black was safely inside the compound.
 

        The Toadie then jumped off the back of the Humungus’s vehicle and waved his arms about in a circle, indicating for the rest of our unit to cut the engines. I followed Wez, carefully keeping two feet behind him.
 

        “Greetings from the Humungus,” the Toadie called out. “The Lord Humungus. The warrior of the wasteland. The ayatollah of rock and rolla!”
 

        “Shoot! Shoot him while you got the chance,” the defiant victim hollered.

        The Toadie hurried forward and again knocked the defiant victim in the stomach with a sharp jab, silencing him.
 

        The Humungus stood and switched on his microphone. His amplified voice carried over the wasteland. “I am gravely disappointed. Again you have made me unleash my Dogs of War. Look at what remains. You hoard your gasoline. You will not listen to reason. You plan to take the gasoline out of the wasteland. You sent them out this morning to find a vehicle, a rig big enough to haul that fat tank of gas.

"What a puny plan. Look around you.  This is the valley of death.”

        As if to make our leader's point clear, Wez suddenly turned and fired his crossbow on a rabbit that escaped from a hole.
 

        “You see,” the Toadie cried out, pointing at the dead animal. “Nothing can escape. The Humungus rules the wasteland!”
 

        “Don’t give them the gas,” the defiant victim cried out. “Blow it up.”
 

        By now, I think my master had enough of this man’s mouth. I watched Wez turn and stride to the defiant victim. It was lights out for the fella when my master head-butted him.
 

        Suddenly, a ragged boy covered in fur, looking like a wreck of the desert appeared from a rabbit hole, grunting at us. He was a feral kid, no doubt mute and possessed no concept of language, just animalistic instinct. The boy lifted his arm and sent a boomerang swirling through the air. I watched the steel object fly over us and then it whirled back to the boy. He quickly backed up and caught the boomerang with his steel glove.
 

        I glanced away. This talk was not going over very well. Hell, even an eight-year-old feral kid wanted a piece of us. How futile of the Humungus to try and bargain.
 

        I was just going to turn and look at the master when all of a sudden there was blackness. I ceased to think.
 

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