10/29/2021
Day 9903-
The Fuel Depot belonging to the Farlanders had grown into a major power in the region, kachunking out oil and gas and had even developed their own meagre ammunition production facility. This had brought people from all over to work and live near the Depot. They built their dwellings just outside, directly against the high walls, a jigsawed series of huts and shanties whose residents consisted of the hunched mechanics who maintained the fleet of Farlander vehicles, the scarred and burned techs who processed the oil and mixed the gas, and the handful of bullet farmers who scrapped out small batches of ammunition that fueled the guns. Each of them accompanied by their various partners and children.
The sun was just above the horizon and the sounds and smells of the depot waking up had begun to waft in. The food stalls outside the gate sizzled and smoked with spiced meats and other victuals as the lines of workers bought and bartered for their morning meals on their way into work. Armed guards carefully watched those that entered for the day as they filed in, supervised from the top of the wall by their Farlander overseers. The Depot had been subject to attacks and attempts at sabotage in the past, so all the entries were scanned carefully for new or unusual faces, or anything else that seemed out of sorts.
High atop his perch on the southern wall, a keen eyed lookout shouted down, “Incoming! Looks like a truck from the Citadel!”
“Clear the gate there!” Bridger called from his platform, sweeping his arm to one side as if he could move the incoming workers himself. He swore under his breath.
“All will be well,” said Adept by his side to reassure him, neither of them were looking forward to this particular visit, “We’ll give them the tell then send them on their way.”
The workers parted and the roar of an engine and a cloud of smoke and dust announced the arrival of the war-truck from the Citadel. It kicked up gravel and grit from the courtyard, peppering those nearby as it skid to a stop. They both recognized it, a long range vehicle, big and roomy with large tanks for guzzoline and aqua-cola for extended missions away from the Immortan’s territory. It was a rusty red, square body truck cab with the carcass of an old convertible Studebaker Lark welded up high on the rear. The crew aboard consisted of four war boys and one imperator, two in the truck cab, one manning a gas gun in the spot where the Lark’s engine would have been and one manning a big harpoon launcher in the trunk. In the middle of the Lark itself, surrounded by upright thundersticks, sat the Imperator.
Bridger nodded, “Good Morning Imperator. We welcome our neighbors and allies from the distant Citadel. What business brings you and your men so far south?”
The Imperator stood and gave a bow before he shouted up from the war truck, “I bring you greetings from the Immortan, Farlander. I am the Imperator Maximos. My crew and I are out on the hunt for a criminal what escaped from Gastown after the cruel disfigurement of the Immortan’s loyal brother, the People Eater.”
“Who would have done such a thing?” Bridger asked.
“One who was entrusted to use his instruments and knowledge to help relieve the suffering of the People Eater, but instead used his knives to do his host injury and flee in the night!” Maximos continued, “He goes by the name of Doctor Bones. Originally hailed from Bartertown before it fell.”
“You think such a lone man could make it this far from the Immortan’s territory?” Bridger asked.
“Doctor Bones has an unusual ability to keep his neck out of the noose.” the Imperator sneered.
“He's a crafty little sneak thief!” spat the truck driver in a fit of excitement.
“Quiet Axle!” the Imperator barked at his young warboy, “The Immortan has dispatched crews in every direction to search. He aims to capture this Doctor and make him pay for what he done.”
Maximos looked around him at the citizens of the depot, searching for some face that might betray the truth of it.
“There is a reward for them what captures him.” he said to no one in particular, his keen eyes still scanning the crowd for deceit.
“Well,” Bridger spoke up to take the Imperator’s focus off his people, “My agreement with your master still stands. Whatever guzzoline and water you and your men require to continue the search is yours.”
Maximos could sense that the Farlander warlord was trying to put him off. His eyes squinted hard as he examined Bridger and Adept on their pedestal. He reached over slowly and slapped the door of the old Lark making it ring like a drum. The four warboys instantly perked up, their backs straightening, hands more tightly gripping their weapons.
“We heard tell that Bones was here with you.” the Imperator called up. His words echoed in the courtyard. For a moment, it seemed as though no one could breathe.
“You heard tell wrong.” came Bridger’s solemn reply.
Maximos frowned, “We would look around while you refuel our vehicle, just to be sure.”
“You shall do no such thing.” Bridger boomed.
The courtyard fell silent and everyone seemed to freeze for an instant, even the Imperator and his warboys. Adept was suddenly aware of how hard her heart was pounding in her chest.
“What?” was all the response that Maximos could muster in his surprise.
“I told you your quarry isn’t here.” Bridger growled, “Now, we’re gonna gas up your truck and you’re going to continue your search elsewhere.”
“No! That ain’t the way of it!” Axle, the impetuous warboy driving the truck shouted back up.
“Rein in your pup Imperator! I’ll tolerate no disrespect in my own house.” Bridger jutted out his chin and both Adept by his side and Crybaby on the far wall made note of it, “You would do well to remember that my word is law here.”
“Axle’s right,” Maximos reached over and took hold of the handle of a thunderstick, “our Immortan demands we search, and we obey.”
“Hey!” came a sudden cry from the top of the wall behind the truck, “Look over here you dummies! Lookit me!”
Crybaby, hellrider of the Farlanders jumped up and down waving his arms at them. All eyes in the compound turned to see the commotion.
Five crisp shots rang out and in a moment, the distracted warboy crew and their Imperator all slumped dead where they sat in their vehicle.
Adept stood next to Bridger, feet firmly planted in a shooting stance, her rifle lowering slowly back to her side.
All the subjects in the fuel depot now looked up to the warlord for guidance.
“These men stopped here this morning,” he pointed down to the dead men in the truck, “and when they learned their prey was not here, they went on their way and were never seen again. THIS is the truth of it.”
Those assembled nodded or offered up the Farlander salute in way of agreement before returning to their business.
“Ya girl’s a real crack shot chief!” came a squeaky voice from behind them. Shambling out from the shadows came the hunched form of Doctor Bones.
Bridger swung around and grabbed him by the arm, his eyes ablaze, shaking him as he spoke for emphasis, “You didn’t tell me you were wanted by the Immortan!”
“I’m sorry boss!” Bones cried out clutching at the warlord, “I knew you’d turn me away, or worse yet, turn me in for the reward! Please...”
“I should have you thrown down the ravine, you little snake.”
“Please my lord! If it weren’t for me, you’d never have known… not for sure anyway…” Bones said in a more hushed and sinister tone, his hand reached out, clawlike toward Adept.
“You’ll not touch me again you worm!” she spat.
Bridger fell silent. After a moment’s contemplation he motioned for several of his Farlanders to approach.
“Windsor, Crybaby, take that truck and the bodies and dump them in the ravine. By this time tomorrow, the Red Eyes’ll have it stripped down to the frame and there will be no evidence. Take anyone with you that you think you need.”
“And what about the doctor?” Crybaby asked, his hands grasped Bone’s shoulders, restraining him.
Bridger pondered his dilemma for a moment before he turned to Crybaby with a frown, “Take Doctor Bones with you and drop him at the southern edge of the territory. Don’t let anyone see you do it.”
“Praise be your Silver Man! Praise be!” Doctor Bones cried out when he realized he was being spared, but mixed his religious symbolism by making the sign of the V-8 above his head.
The warlord swatted down the Doctor’s gesture before grabbing him by the arm again, “This mercy is in return for services rendered Doctor, but let us be clear, you are never to return to Farlander territory.”
