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He remembered sitting in boring lessons at school. He recalled being told there were eight billion people on the planet and how nature had its own way of culling excesses. In their case it was human nature that had seen to the destruction of everything he had once known. He had been a small town cop in the middle of nowhere in the Australian outback when every country on the planet dropped its nukes, reducing the population of the world by billions in just a few days of insanity. Years later many of those who had survived the nukes were now succumbing to the effects of the radioactive fallout. Again he had been lucky a second time as the prevailing winds had not sent the radiation clouds drifting in his direction.
Lucky. There were days when he wasn't certain if it was luck or misfortune guiding his path.
As far as he knew the cities on the coast were gone and half of what was left of the world had become a radioactive wasteland. It was now a world of sand and dust blowing up into fierce storms that raged across the deserts, with the survivors fighting for what little shelter, food, and water remained... and for gas.
He'd seen so many die for a gallon of gas or water; seen people who were probably bank tellers, accountants, and shop workers in a former life join the feral crews wandering the wastelands in search of the necessities for survival. He'd witnessed people selling themselves, their wives, and their kids into slavery and prostitution when the food and water ran out. And then there were the kids born into this hellish new world, abandoned and turning feral when no one stepped forward to show them some semblance of civilization, because no one wanted to spare what little they had left.
He hissed as the vehicle hit a ramp of hard ground, sailing through the air for a moment before landing with a jarring thump that reverberated along his spine. His leg still ached from where it was broken years earlier but it was the least of his pains right now.
Until he fell into the hands of Immortan Joe's War Boys he thought clean food, fresh water, and gas were the new currency, and Immortan Joe seemed to have stockpiled it, but it seemed blood was also a commodity, in particular his blood. O-Negative made him a universal donor, and a blood bag for all those needing constant transfusions to keep the radiation sickness in check - at least for a while. He wondered if they had wasted all the blood flowing from his back when they tattooed him with all the medical information one had read out while another imprinted it on his skin.
The others had held him down as he bucked against the indignity and the pain. He wasn't a blood bag, he was a human being.
All those thoughts brought him back to the present, to the wind rushing through his hair, and the sand whipping at his skin as the War Boys vehicle raced after a truck of stolen gas - and a missing harem of women. He had a ringside seat for the pursuit, literally; strapped to the front of the vehicle with a tube sucking the blood from his body into the man-boy driving. He caught a glimpse of a familiar Charger, and swore out loud. Not only had they taken his blood but his car as well, and he could do nothing about it. He was muzzled and chained like a dog, arms secured to the frame behind him, an unwilling participant within the circus of frantically beating drums and a wailing electric guitar. The vehicle raced ahead, gaining on the stolen tanker truck, and he yelled angrily as an explosive spear almost took his head off when one of the War Boys launched it from behind him.
Max wished the rest of it was a blur but his quick eyes noticed too much as a heavily spiked car came veering towards him. He turned as much of his vulnerable body away as possible as a dying War Boy leaped from the turret on the tanker to take out the spiked car, feeling the heat of the explosion along his side as well as the slicing pain of metal fragments, though fortunately they had pulled further ahead at the time or it would have been far worse than a few cuts. He cursed the lot of them angrily, even more determined to get away from all people as soon as he could figure out a way to escape.
Days later he watched from the among the excited crowd as Furiosa took control of Immortan Joe's empire, watching the water flow freely so all could take their fill. Perhaps it was foolish to give away so much water, to waste it even, but he had a strong feeling Furiosa knew what she was doing. The seeds provided by the old women would bring new crops - food to fill empty bellies - pushing back the encroaching desert. It would invariably attract other ferals similar to Immortan Joe but that wasn't his problem. From the look in her eyes Max knew he'd be welcome to stay but it would always come at a high personal cost. The urge to avoid attachments, to keep moving was stronger so he blended back into the crowds.
As he moved beyond the clamoring people he spotted a shape among the other returned vehicles. Max grinned broadly as he slid behind the wheel of his charger, letting his hands run over the familiar ring of leather and metal before he reached down to press a button hidden just to the side of the steering column. The engine gunned into life without a need to twist wires or jump start using another vehicle. His own secret ignition key built into the car as a thank you gift by a talented engineer. His smile widened further when the needle on the gas moved from empty to full.
Time to move on.
END