Mad Max Villains

Mad Max Villains

You see! There is no escape! The Humungus Rules the Wasteland!

Chapter Eighteen

Jawbreaker

(Words & Music by: Tipton, Halford & Downing)

Deadly as the viper peering from its coil
The poison there is coming to the boil
Ticking like to time bomb
The fuse is running short
On the verge of snapping if it's caught
And all the pressure that's been building up
For all the years it bore the load
The cracks appear, the frame starts to distort
Ready to explode Jawbreaker
Crouching in the corner
Wound up as a spring
Piercing eyes that flash are shimmering
Muscles all contorted
Claws dug in the dirt
Every ounce of fiber on alert

~~~

Four sand runners and six motorcycles left the New City that morning. No longer did the howling wind blow the sand across the land. The sun shone and just a gentle breeze was present.

Iason sat in the first sand runner. His sunglasses were pushed up on his thick curls and the scarf was lowered, along with the big hood as he peered through his telescope to the southeast. Wez drove the vehicle, his dark eyes gazing ahead as he gave another grunt of disgust.

The guards commanded the other sand runners while Glory Rider, Biff, Two Chins, Mutt, Racer Boy and Leather Face guided the motorcycles.

"I told you I know nothing," Iason spat out. "Yes, he would be late coming back to our quarters but his excuse was always the same. He said he was busy training you. And as for the mornings, it was the same statement."

Wez again growled since Vashta always met him in the training hall once the big brunette ate breakfast and then they'd leave the building just before dinner. So where the hell was Vashta during those unaccounted hours? He had his goddamn answer. The towering brunette never left the fucking apartment. That bastard was sneaking into the Golden Youth's room for a tryst!

Iason cast Wez a sideways glance. He almost wanted to giggle. The seed was planted and he knew thoughts of doubt lingered in the big buffoon's mind. Yes, lose all faith in your Golden Youth. Keep making yourself angry. Think about him getting fucked good and hard by Vashta.

Oh yes, as for Vashta . . . Ramses wouldn't have the pleasure of executing that fucker. He would torture and kill the big brunette himself. Just what the hell was his husband thinking, running off with the Golden Youth? How dare Vashta betray him after all he did for that idiot! Men, not even a big ape like his life-mate could be trusted.

God, and he wanted to slit the Golden Youth's throat. First Alex turned him down because the big ogre didn't want to betray the meek whore. And then Vashta just upped and fucked off with that blond hussy. Two. Two goddamn men chose that stupid, idiotic youth over him!

Never was he so insulted. What did those buffoons see in that subservient bitch? Cripe, he gave the pathetic whore eighteen lashes for fuck sakes and the meek pussy bawled like a baby. Oh, so pathetic!

Shit, at the age of five he suffered rape and abuse. For three years he endured more torture than the Golden Youth would ever imagine, and did he cry like a helpless female? Fuck no! He took the rape and beatings like a man. At the age of eight he'd been on the streets fending for himself after he murdered his stepfather. Now he almost wanted to giggle since he rather enjoyed tying that pervert to the bed and then lashing the fool to near death. He recalled when he grabbed the container of vinegar and tossed the contents on that fat body. The pervert had squealed like a stuck pig when the stinging liquid seeped into those numerous open wounds.

"Tell me about your life-mate," Wez snarled. "Must understand how he operate."

Iason lit a cigarette and took a sip of his coffee. "He was a private in the army and he served in the Great War, hence his combat skills. He's thirty-five and his family all perished. He was born and raised in the southeast, Benthem City. The ocean, he always spoke about swimming in the ocean."

"Is all I need to know," Wez grunted. He stopped the sand runner and gazed down at Glory Rider who pulled up beside them. "Southeast we travel. To ocean. Must find ruins of Benthem City. That is direction they head."

Glory Rider nodded his head.

*****

Vashta was tired. All night and day he drove. Cripe, he hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. He craned his neck and gazed at the Golden Youth. The delicate blond was curled up in the furs, soundly sleeping. Maybe it was best to make camp for the night? He couldn't fathom Iason and Wez chasing them down. Why would they? Those two greedy bastards had what they wanted after all.

Still, he had to be careful. Many nomads still lurked in the wasteland. This would be the most dangerous part of their trip, crossing the vast desert to reach the deep south.

So he brought the sand runner to a halt. He rechecked his rifle and then stood, giving his muscular body a stretch. Just then the youth stirred.

"Master?" came the soft whisper.

Vashta pressed his palm against the back of the seat, looking down at the youth. "He's not here. We fled the city. Remember?" Then again, the youth was so doped up on the herbal remedy, he doubted the gentle lad could summon a coherent thought.

The youth's long lashes fluttered. "No," he softly replied. "Where are we? What's going on?"

"I'll tell you once I make camp for the night. Already the sun is setting. Just get some more rest and I'll wake you and we'll talk," Vashta reassured him.

"Okay."

Already he could hear the deep breaths, knowing the youth was fast asleep again. So he stepped down off the sand runner and headed for the back to begin unloading all the supplies. He had to find some clothing for the youth. The desert nights were so chilly and he didn't want to risk the gentle lad catching a cold and suffering a fever. Nor could he light a fire since that would alert nomads to their location.

*****

"Stop here," Iason snapped. "We'll make camp for the night."

Wez gave a grunt. "Sand runners have lights. No need to stop."

"I said we are going to stop," Iason spat out. "I am in charge and you will listen to me."

Wez gave a hissy laugh. "You think I listen to you? Bah! I'm in charge now."

"Don't try me," Iason warned him as he withdrew his gun from the holster. "I said we are going to make camp. I want to rest and have something to eat. Stop this vehicle right now!"

So Wez slammed on the brakes and since the sand runner moved at such a fast pace, the tires skidded across the sand as the big vehicle spun on an angle. The quick movement threw Iason forward and he slammed his head against the dashboard.

Wez used that time to snatch the gun. Then he gave another hissy laugh.

Still slightly dazed, Iason pressed his palm against his forehead. Then his eyes narrowed when he realized the big buffoon had the .38 Special. "You just can't follow simple orders? Always, you have to be in charge!"

"You know I follow nobody," Wez growled. "I in charge now. And I say we not stop yet."

"Oh, I see," Iason taunted. "You want to track down their camp site so you can find your whore being mounted by my husband? Okay, let's get going. You know I do love watching, and I think it'll be a rather hot sight seeing my big lug banging your lover." He then lit a cigarette and placed his boots on the dash, crossing his legs nonchalantly at the ankles.

When he heard the growl and then the fist slammed on the dashboard, Iason wasn't surprised. Oh, how easy it was to goad this neanderthal.

"He dead," Wez roared as he again beat on the dash board. "Dead!"

"Oh please," Iason snorted. "Don't get so worked up. They're both extremely attractive and I think it'll be a hoot watching those two roll around butt naked in the sand. I think when we happen upon them I'm gonna dive right in. I mean . . . I do enjoy threesomes."

"Enough!" Wez roared as he gunned the engine.

Iason looked away, trying to contain his giggles. Oh, this was priceless. He knew damn well when they came upon the camp, the big guy would shoot first and ask questions later.

"Oh geez, just thinking about those two knocking boots is enough to make me hot," Iason cooed.

Wez glared ahead, the murder apparent in his eyes. God, never did he feel this way before. The Golden Youth was his prize, someone who finally unearthed such warm, tender feelings in him. And he was livid, ready to kill and torture from just thinking about his lover gladly spreading those thighs and begging Vashta to fuck that hot hole. Again he punched the steering wheel. Then he slammed the gas pedal straight to the floor.

*****

"Here," Vashta coaxed as he held the water skin against the youth's lips.

The delicate blond lifted his head, pressing his mouth against the opening as he sipped on the cold liquid. Then he groaned and lay back in the furs. "My master," he whimpered. Oh God, just knowing they were far from the New City, never to return . . . His heart was breaking in two. "We have to go back," he begged. "My master . . . I can't be without my master."

"Dammit, Golden Youth," Vashta said with frustration as he took a seat on the ground, gazing down into those sapphire blue eyes. "We can't go back. If we do, I'll be executed and you know damn well Iason will kill you. It's too late. I bet Iason has already manipulated Wez into his bed and your master thinks you betrayed him by running off with me. They've probably already killed Rames and they're no doubt running the city."

"No," the youth moaned. "My master knows I would never disobey him. He knows how much I love him. He would never think I ran away with another man. You must take me back. I need my master."

"Please try and understand I'm doing this for your own good," Vashta replied with sorrow and regret. "I don't like seeing you this way, but it's all for the best. You don't belong in that hellhole anymore than I do.

"Can't you see it? Only the vermin and the one's who have given up congregate together. The evil and the weak who won't fight back, those are the people you'll find in the New City. You're stronger than that. I see it in you. You survived the deaths of your kin. You never lost your humanity even after living with marauders for three years. You're a survivor but sooner or later someone or something is going to break your spirit. And you will give in and become a degenerate just like the rest of them. Is this what you want?"

"I just want my master," the Golden Youth sobbed as his voice broke.

Vashta sighed as he drew the delicate blond into his arms and gently ran his fingers through the silken hair. Then his eyes widened when he could see the headlights glowing so faintly against the canvas of the tent. Oh shit, only sand runners possessed headlights. Oh God, so Ramses was alive. Why else would Iason chase them? The admiral most likely ordered up his head on a platter.

He grabbed his black wrap and quickly laced the garment around the Golden Youth. Then he stood and began running for the sand vehicle, abandoning the tent and supplies since there was no time. He laid the youth in the sand runner and raced back to retrieve his weapons. Already the lights were drawing closer.

Shit, he'd have to drive blindly into the dark. He couldn't use the lights or he'd give their location away. So he climbed up into the vehicle and started the engine, quickly giving the sand runner some gas as they began driving swiftly away.

"Take this!" he hollered as he dropped the rifle and handgun in the back. "The ammunition is on the floor. Load them both. Have you ever used a gun?"

"No," the youth cried out as the fear made him shake. He grabbed the bullets and he almost wanted to scream in frustration since he had no clue what to do.

"God dammit," Vashta growled. "Get up here. I need you to drive. I'll take care of the weapons. Have you ever driven?"

"No," the youth uttered in dismay as he climbed over the seat.

"Well, you're gonna learn now," Vashta replied as he moved over and let his foot off the gas.

Still dizzy from the remedy he drank, the youth slid behind the wheel, staring at all the gauges on the dashboard.

"Just keep it in fourth gear," Vashta said as he began readying the weapons. "You won't have to downshift since I just need you to drive as fast as you can."

"Wait, we can stop," the youth gasped as he turned to look at the brunette. "My master. I know it's my master in the sand runner. He came for me. He found a way to escape."

"What are you doing?" Vashta hollered as the vehicle came to a stop. "There is no way your master escaped. The people chasing us are the guards and Iason. And they are not coming after us because they miss seeing us around the city. They have come to kill us. Now get moving!"

"I know my master," the youth insisted. "He found a way out. He would never let anything come between us."

"For christ sake, your master doesn't have a clue we escaped," Vashta roared. "He believes you're locked up in the spare bedroom."

Now the youth's sapphire blue eyes widened in alarm. Shit, the big brunette was right. How would the master know they snuck off? As if Iason would tell Wez they escaped. Oh God, it was the evil Iason chasing them. And the general would no doubt finish them off because the bitch wanted the master.

"How do I get this moving?" the youth sputtered in a panicked voice.

"The clutch! Push in the clutch!"

The youth engaged the clutch.

"Now the gas!"

He pressed his bare foot on the gas pedal.

"Now go!" he barked. "I'll tell you when to engage the clutch and I'll shift."

So they began speeding away as the youth pressed the clutch when Vashta told him to. Soon, they were racing across the desert, driving blindly and praying they wouldn't hit anything.

Vashta's heart raced as his pulse rapidly fluttered. The lights had stopped moving. Shit, the guards were at the camp, no doubt realizing they abandoned the sight. Dammit, tracking. They would fucking track the sand runner's big tires.

"Stop!" he hollered.

The youth slammed on the brakes, quickly looking to the big brunette.

"Get out," Vashta ordered him as he grabbed a hand gun and rifle. "Keep away from the lights and go back to the camp. They'll believe you're with me. If I make it, I'll be back for you. If I don't . . ." He stared hard. "You have weapons, shelter and food. You'll find a way to survive and at least you'll be far from Iason."

"But . . ." the youth's jaw slackened.

Then he gasped when the big man gently lifted him and set him on the ground. He clutched the rifle, hand gun and two boxes of ammunition. Again he was handed another weapon: a crossbow with arrows.

"Please," the youth begged.

Vashta gazed down at the big, sapphire blue eyes that were filled with fear. "It'll be okay. I'll be back for you. I know Iason's with them. Most likely Ramses ordered him to find me.

"Remember, stay away from the lights, get back to camp, tear it down and hide. I'll find you."

The youth shuddered when he was drawn off his feet as those powerful arms lifted him gently off the cold sand. Now firm, soft lips pressed against his mouth, so deep was the kiss, enough to make him shiver.

Vashta then pulled back as he stared into the youth's eyes. "I never believed I'd find you. I thought you died during the war. I thought only the vermin and weak were left on this earth. I searched for you ever since civilization collapsed. And I'm not going to let you die. You are the only true human being left."

Again he molded his lips against the youth's soft, pliant mouth and he moaned when the nectar seeped into his soul, feeding him with such gentle emotions. So damn exquisite, a quiet strength buried under magnificent beauty. "I could so easily fall in love with you," Vashta softly declared.

Then he let go, setting the delicate blond on the ground. He took one long, last look, praying and hoping he'd survive the attack so he could spend heaven on earth with this genteel lad. His hands gripped the steering wheel and he readied himself to leave, refusing to look back.

The Golden Youth watched the big vehicle roll away. Oh God, again the lump built in his throat, but this time he wasn't crying for his master. He was amazed a man who barely knew him would risk safety and life all just for him. Vashta was willing to die so he could live.

*****

"The tracks lead southeast," Glory Rider hollered.

Wez once again looked around the tent, inhaling the delicate scene of his mate. They most likely saw the lights from the sand runners and fled. Which meant Vashta and his cheating bitch only had a twenty minute lead on them.

"Let's go," he barked, racing for the vehicle.

Iason's hands were on his hips as he glanced around. "Vashta knows were tracking him." Safety, yes, he knew the big stud too well. The brunette's first priority would be the Golden Youth's safety. He was betting the fair-haired lad was not in the sand runner. No doubt his Benedict Arnold husband had found a place to hide the youth. "I'm going to remain at the camp in case they try and double back. Buzzange, you're with me."

He uncoiled the whip, letting the snakeskin belly drag across the dirt. Oh, this was priceless. Once the marauders were gone he was going to find the youth who no doubt was somewhere within the vicinity. And when he did . . . Now he gave a wicked smile. This time the golden bitch would not survive a lashing.

*****

Wez again stopped the vehicle. All engines were switched off as they gazed at the tracks. Now his alert senses caught the faint sound of a motor. "We go," he hollered, raising his fist in the air. He restarted the vehicle and began driving in the direction where the sound came from.

Glory Rider was operating the big flood light, scanning the area back and forth. He flashed the light on a few big boulders, carefully watching.

The Golden Youth hid behind the big rock, his heart rapidly pounding as the sweat soaked his chest and armpits. Motorcycles and sand runners was all he could hear. He bit down on his lower lip, not daring to even peer around the rock as he gazed straight ahead. The illumination was dimming, along with the roar of the engines. Now he finally edged out behind the boulder.

So many vehicles and he bet Iason was in one. He picked up the rifle and handgun while slinging the crossbow over his shoulder as he hurried back to the camp. His body was weak, the lashes on his chest and arms still bothered him but he kept running. Now was not the time to rest. He had to pack up the camp and find somewhere to hide for the night.

The whip . . . Oh God, just thinking about Iason capturing him and uncoiling that whip sent shivers down his spine. Never did he want to feel the hard leather on his skin again.

All that could be heard was his heavy breathing as he continued to race across the desert. Not even the moon was present to guide him so he kept to the tracks the sand vehicles made. He was thankful he was barefoot since he could feel the impressions in the grains under his feet.

*****

Iason stopped, glancing around, his crossbow aimed and ready to fire. How he loathed being without his gun. He was ready to kick Alex's ass for taking his .38 Special. He leaned forward then, tugging on Buzzange's arm as he whispered, "The ground, look for foot or heel prints."

The big guard nodded his head as they continued to walk silently across the desert.

Then they could hear the noise.

His evergreen eyes widened in disbelief as he whipped around. "The camp," he said under his breath. "Someone is back at the camp."

They began running through the soft sand, heading back in the direction they came from. Well, the Golden Youth was slyer than he gave the docile bitch credit for. The silly slut came back following the tracks of the sand runners. And here he thought the submissive whore would be far from where the vehicles drove. Then again, the dumb blond probably had no choice but to follow the tracks back since the fair-haired idiot probably didn't have a clue about directions and would have gotten lost.

Cripe, what the hell did Alex see in the wimpy bitch? Hah, and while the neanderthal killed Vashta, he would have the honor of killing the mate of the Mighty Wez.

*****

"There! There!" Wez growled. "Drive! Drive!"

Glory Rider traded places with Wez as he scooted behind the steering wheel. The big guy readied his metal-wrist crossbow as he rechecked the bullets in the .38 Special. Yes, a silhouette. It was Vashta and his Golden Youth.

He hungrily licked his lips. Oh man, he was looking forward to killing this fucker. No mercy. It would be nothing but a pleasure to torture the big brunette. As for the Golden Youth? He intended on beating and raping that bitch. He was going to fuck the slut till there was nothing left to that delicate asshole.

God, so betrayed. He refused to let those feelings in his heart surface. Anger, he must draw on all of his hate and anger. Never would he allow those big, sapphire blue eyes to sway him.

They were drawing closer to the silhouette. All Wez could make out was the big brunette. There was no sign of the Golden Youth. So where was the conniving bitch? Hiding in the back maybe?

The other sand runners picked up speed, easily overtaking the vehicle Vashta drove.

"The tires!" Wez shouted. "Shoot the tires!"

One of the guard's stood, armed with a heavy machine gun and those thick, powerful tires were no match against heavy bullets simultaneously firing on the thick rubber. Yes, the sand runners were built to fend off arrows but they were not equipped to withstand an attack with firing artillery.

The tires popped and since the big vehicle was moving at such a fast pace, it flipped over, rolling at least three times across the desert sand before finally coming to a rest on the hood.

Wez gave a hissy laugh as he jumped to the ground. He deftly approached the runner, his senses alert, waiting for the big brunette to try and escape or fire on them.

The guards rushed forward. Vashta lay wounded in the vehicle, fumbling for his rifle and handgun. The blood was running down his face as he gazed at the many legs approaching the sand runner. So he looked down the scope of the rifle and fired.

Only a loud bang filled the night air. The one guard jerked and fell to the ground, a bullet wound in his chest.

"Golden Youth!" Wez roared. "Show yourself!"

"We're gonna have to fire on the vehicle," Glory Rider said. "Or he's gonna pick us off one by one."

"No," Wez growled. "Cannot risk injuring the Golden Youth."

"Where's Iason?" Vashta hollered as he reloaded his rifle.

"Back at camp," Leather Face shouted. "Now bring us the Golden Youth!"

"What?" Vashta exclaimed. Oh God, no. The youth was in terrible danger. A roar was filling his ears as his heart frantically pounded. "He remained at the camp?"

Wez frowned, glancing to Glory Rider. "Where's my Golden Youth?"

"He's not here," Vashta growled in exasperation. "I sent him back to camp. We must go back. Now! If we don't, Iason will kill him!"

"No!" Wez roared. "Is a trick. Give me the Golden Youth!"

"I said he's not with me," Vashta snarled. "Do you really think I'd endanger his life knowing I was going to face a road battle? I let him off about twenty minutes away from camp! And he's in no goddamn shape to defend himself since he's still wounded!"

"Wounded?" Wez snarled, baffled by the riddle. "What you say? You harm my mate?"

"No, for fuck sakes," Vashta cried out. "Iason whipped and raped him the morning you battled the three guards. And his wounds are still trying to heal. This is why I fled with him. If he would have remained at the city, I knew Iason would kill him and me!"

"Not truth you speak!" Wez roared. "I see the Golden Youth when I kill those three guards!"

"I don't know who you saw that morning but I can guarantee you it wasn't your lover," Vashta fired back. "Because when I got back from the Great City, I found your mate laying on the bed almost dead. I called for the goddamn doctor and spent three days nursing him back to life and that's when I planned our escape!"

Wez frowned. There was something so desperate in Vashta's voice. "We go! We go!"

He turned and hurried for the sand runner, not bothering to wait for anyone to accompany him. The Golden Youth . . . His lover never betrayed him. The minx had raped and whipped his mate! And if he didn't get back to camp fast enough, Iason would kill the Golden Youth.

Next Page - Chapter Nineteen

Note: "Mad Max" is a trademark and copyright of Kennedy-Miller Entertainment/Warner Bros. George Miller, Byron Kennedy and Terry Hayes (Kennedy Miller Entertainment/ Warner Bros.) hold copyright to the Mad Max Trilogy.
This story is created for fan fiction purposes only. Some dialogue was taken from the script to keep this tale true to the original movie.

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