Carnage! Love & Lust in the Wasteland
Chapter II: Hangover Cures (Part Two)
Chapter II: Part 1
Mei squealed at the sight of the new motorcycle, her birthday gift. The latest Kawasaki model was a sleek black, every inch of it looking like it was ready to gallop with the 300 horsepower it put out. She examined every rivet on the guards surrounding the engine, every smooth weld of the reinforced gas tank, every inch of chrome piping, walking around and running her hands over the barrels of dual machine guns that decorated the front, over the compressed packets on the back that would release caltrops behind her when activated. It was a true Carnage bike, built for competition, and she couldn’t wait to ride it. Someone cleared his throat, drawing her from her reverie.
“Mei,” Dan said, standing erect and frowning at her. He gestured to another driver with him, dressed in the same Dynasty racing garb but with a brown patch sewn onto the breast in the likeness of a Peacekeeper’s badge. “This is Rufus Teague.”
Teague wasn’t what she had expected. He was older, somewhere in his forties unless she missed her guess. He had a sort of dead-eyed stare that made her want to step away from him; small, compact, and skinny, a flop of salt-and-pepper hair laying flat on his round head. He fiddled with the nub of a still-black goatee, nodding to her as he fingers clenched the tuft of hair, and said nothing.
“Mei!” Izzy came out from the back room, weaving between the many cars stuffed into the garage, and ran up to Mei, throwing her arms around her. She had dark circles under her eyes, yawning behind her hand when they broke apart. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than you look,” she replied. “They didn’t give you an IV?”
“No such luck,” Izzy shrugged. Her father had been reluctant to allow Izzy on the team in the first place, it was no wonder that he wouldn’t see that she was in proper condition today. Any excuse to replace her, even this close to the PTQ. “It’s all good,” she added, guessing Mei’s thoughts. “This is the best cure for a hangover anyways.”
“Have your girl talk later,” Dan barked. “Let’s go!”
He turned on a heel and stomped toward the back of the garage, the exit there leading onto the compound’s private track. Teague stayed at his shoulder, the pair talking strategy quietly. Mei grabbed her new bike, Izzy taking the other side to help her roll it out and they strolled in the men’s wake.
“So?” Izzy said, giving Mei a sly grin once Teague and Dan out of earshot. “Why’d you take so long getting down last night?”
“And here I thought he was pretty swift,” Mei chuckled. She told the tale of Hawk whisking her away and his good work from the night before. Izzy chuckled.
“No such luck with Mass, unfortunately. God, that was a big man.”
“Maybe too big,” Mei teased.
“Oh honey, you know there’s no such thing.”
They moved into the sunlight and Mei drove all thoughts of the night before from her mind, face splitting in a smile as she took in her paradise: the track.
Their practice track was a simple loop, at the center a sprawling yard of hazards and obstacles that they used for practicing game variants. Seacans, tank stoppers, pitted terrain, oil slicks and barrels, and an automated paintball turret that sensed motion with the same efficiency as the live turrets in Carnage games. Waves of heat rolled off the tarmac, as well as off the team vehicles, which Mei approached with her new bike.
Izzy’s car had been polished the night before, the inky black paint speckled with lotus pink. It was a replica Audi hatchback fabbed together using a few different models that resulted in a lowrider that could whip around corners like no one’s business. Supercharged, armour plated, and outfitted with a .50 cal machine gun that sat in her passenger seat that could swivel to fire, the hatchback could also be opened to spew whatever hazardous material was loaded into the tank sitting in the back. It was a sleek, beautiful piece of machinery, complimenting Mei’s new bike wonderfully. Teague’s vehicle was less than impressive next to them.
Built around an original Ranger, the midsize pickup sat high on thick mud tires. The hood had a mess of hydraulic lines coming from it that fed into the spiked dozer blade on the front. There was no chance the motor for the truck was original, the huge diesel engine in the box was covered in slotted steel with tall exhaust pipes jutting out unevenly. As Teague climbed into the cab, Mei saw that he had an arsenal of small arms and hardware racked where his passenger seat should’ve been.
“Dynasty doesn’t usually do heavies,” Izzy muttered, then flinched as Teague fired up the truck. It chuffed black smoke, its engine chugging like a piece of construction equipment.
“Look alive!” Dan called to them, waving frantically from the track’s start line. Teague’s hydraulics hummed and the blade came up, the truck rumbling forward slowly. Izzy hurried into her vehicle, the engine sounding like an electric shaver next to Teague’s monstrosity. Mei took her position on the track between Teague and Izzy, ready to kick the bike into life. She stuffed her helmet on, checking her coms as she climbed astride.
“Three times around the track to start,” Dan said, crackling into her helmet’s earpiece. “No weapons. Start your engines.”
The Kawasaki fired on the first kick, the engine rumbling into life, a quiet vibration between her legs that didn’t seem like much but had the whisper of torque to it. She turned the throttle and the engine sang, a beast of beauty that wanted to run.
“Three… Two… One… Go!”
Mei kicked the bike into gear and it leapt off the line, front tire coming up as she ripped out in front of the others, accelerating almost too rapidly for her to keep up with the gear shifts. She was halfway through a lap before she knew it, howling with glee as the bike devoured the pavement. This was a breeze, this was going to be easy, this was—
Teague came out of nowhere, his truck spewing black exhaust as it overtook her and veered into her path. Mei squeezed her brake hard, cursing as her back tire lifted, greasy soot clouding her visor. Blinded, Mei swerved, then gasped as she nearly collided with Izzy’s hatchback, also lost in the haze.
“Get out from behind him, Mei!” Dan growled in her earpiece.
“Get to the outside track,” Izzy said. “I’ll block him and you can slingshot forward.”
Mei ground down a gear and fell back behind Izzy, the bike kicking as she swerved to her outer side. The hatchback crept forward in the spewing exhaust and Izzy hovered on its rear bumper, opening a path for Mei. She shot forward, out of the haze in time to see the dozer blade angling her way and tilting down until the corner caught on the asphalt. Sparks flew in an arc her way, hot shards of metal and tar peppering her. Her bike wobbled in her surprise and she fought to regain control over it, then the world tipped over.
The road tore against her pant leg as the bike went over, skidding to a halt with Mei still clinging to it. She swore as Teague tore off, completing his next lap. Izzy ground to a stop near her, scrambling out of the hatchback.
“Are you okay? Shit! Is the bike okay?”
“What the fuck!” Mei said, Dan and Teague both approaching, the latter having completed his run. “You said no fucking weapons, Dan!”
“Sparks and exhaust are not weapons,” Teague grunted.
“He’s right,” Dan replied. “You need to expect these kinds of tricks, Mei. In certain match types that restrict weapons, there are no rules against thick exhaust or throwing sparks off the roadway.” Mei ground her teeth, leering at each in turn.
“Also,” Teague went on. “You are all speed, speed, speed. No finesse. Carnage is a dance, kid. Especially for the motorcycle. I can show you what you did wrong, if you like.”
“What I’ve done wrong?” Mei asked, a numb feeling in her gut. Who the hell did this guy think he was? “Listen here, Rufus—”
“Let’s go again!” Dan shouted over her.
Mei grumbled as she lifted the bike, rolling it to the starting line and taking her place between Izzy and Teague. If he wanted to play dirty, she knew that game.
“And… Go!” Dan said in their earpieces. Teague revved up and Mei let him take the lead, trailing at a controlled pace and weaving to stay out of the black cloud his truck made. Izzy had caught onto her plans and was riding alongside her. Teague was a menace, taking up the entire road with the narrow truck and never letting them too close. Mei looked over and nodded to her, Izzy doing the same. They accelerated, spreading out to the edges of the track to force the Peacekeeper to widen his swerves.
Teague slammed his brakes on suddenly, dropping back behind them. As he fell back, he jerked his vehicle into Izzy. The dozer blade caught her rear fender and the hatchback lost control, careening across the track.
Right toward Mei.
Mei swerved to avoid the car, Izzy hammering the brakes, but the bike’s front tire crunched into Izzy’s door as both women shouted in sudden panic. Teague sped by again and Mei swore as they met him back at the start line, Dan red-faced and arms crossed.
“You ready to admit you don’t know everything about Carnage?” Dan said.
“Shut up. How did you know what we were going to do?” she demanded of Teague.
He shrugged. “Was obvious.”
“Teague was a mechanic on the circuits for thirteen years before joining the Peacekeepers,” Dan said. “He has seen every trick, every turn, every push that this game has to offer. I know we have limited time together, but learn from him.”
“Might save your life,” Teague put in.
Mei grit her teeth, sharing a look with Izzy, who shrugged. She looked back to Teague.
“Alright,” she said. “You have one day. Let’s get moving.”
Hawk snorted a second line, strength and clarity coursing through him. He stretched his numbing limbs, rubbing at his nose as he fell back into Mass’ squashy couch.
“Best cure for a hangover,” Mass said, pulling the tray over to him and cutting his own line of coke. He sniffed it, whiteknuckling the arms of his chair so hard Hawk worried they might break off.
The day before a PTQ, the car shops were the only thing in their shitty little town that wasn’t jammed and bustling despite the influx of tourists in town for the games. The dual-car ports in Massimino’s Auto were vacant, the air lines hissed where they leaked, the lifts stood empty, and the tools were in their respective boxes, and Mass was alright with all of it, sinking into a greasy old chair in the corner of the shop, sliding a beer across the table to Hawk who sat on a sagging couch, cracking his own.
“That’s a tough spot, Hawk,” Mass grunted, rubbing a wide hand on the back of his thick neck. “A mighty tough spot.”
It was. Hawk had been handed a death sentence, his life now worth more than he’d ever had to hand. Every Scav in the area – which happened to be most of them at present – would be searching for him. The only one he trusted not to shoot him on sight was Ben Massimino.
Who also had the best coke in the district.
“Fuck Elvis and Rosa both” Hawk spat, leaping up and beginning to pace. His eyes flickered occasionally to the bullet sitting on the low table between them. “What the hell am I gonna do, Mass?”
“Well,” the big man said, frowning at the bullet himself with round bloodshot eyes. “You could shoot yourself and let me collect the bounty. Lord knows I could use the money.”
“I should go back there and rip his fucking eyes out,” Hawk said. “Fucking feed them to Rosa and he can watch from the inside while I fuck her up the ass.”
“Holy hell, Hawk. No more coke for you, man.” Mass took the tray from the table, tucking it away. “What else can you do? Run or fight, those are your options. Either way, you’re going to be out of gas and credits before you hit the next settlement and every Scav on the continent is lurking around in the wastes right now, waiting to take your pretty head off. Hate to say it, Hawk, but… You’re fucked, bud. If there was anything I could do to help, I would, but…” He lifted his hands in a defeated gesture and Hawk sighed.
Gas and credits, he thought, mind reeling. That was all it boiled down to; he could run and gun, hide in these parts without anyone finding him, but once he was out of gas and credits… He supposed he could rob convoys and settlements, but he already had the Scavs on him and didn’t need the Peacekeepers gunning for him too. He sat down, pulling his hair back as though stretching his scalp might make his brain work better. There had to be a way to make enough for a few months, at least before he could set up a new life for himself.
“If only you could jump into Carnage, eh?” Mass chuckled. “The prize pool for the PTQ is over a million credits.” Hawk looked up at him. Occasionally, even if accidentally, Mass had a good idea.
“I would just need to scrounge up the entrance fees,” Hawk said, leaping back to his feet and resuming the pacing. “Fuck, Mass, you’re a fucking genius! Where’s the coke?”
“Dude, I was kidding.”
Hawk took a moment, considering the notion. Elvis’ word prohibited Scavengers from joining the Carnage Circuits, not that many wanted to. Anyone who rode under the Scav banner had their own reasons for doing so: hatred of NexGen and its Ministries, a criminal past, a lust for power, a lifetime of sex, drugs, booze, and raids that had left them with more scores than they could ever settle, or they just had the unfortunate circumstance of being born into it, like Hawk. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.
“I’m not a Scavenger anymore, Mass,” he said. “I don’t have to abide by Elvis and his Carnage boycott…Plus! I would get NexGen’s protection as a competitor. Armed Peacekeepers that could shoot anyone who even looked at me funny. Fuck, why didn’t I think of this before?”
“You’re not serious.”
“I am dead serious,” Hawk said, making up his mind. He fixed Mass with a hard, desperate look. “Would you drive with me?”
Mass snorted. “Your life is forfeit either way, why the hell would I risk mine on something as stupid as Carnage?”
“A portion of the prize pool and the chance to help a friend?”
“Rather not have a Scav bounty on my head. You know if I set foot in that registry, Elvis would have a bullet with my name on it before the sun went down.”
“And if we win—”
“We won’t,” Mass stated. “They’re trained drivers, Hawk. Lethal, ruthless.”
“So are we!” Hawk insisted. “Mass, you can drive anything with wheels, some things without, and you garble together the best of the best when it comes to the crazy ass death traps we ride around in. I need you, Mass.”
“Hawk,” Mass said, shaking his head. “We’re a couple of bums from the wastes who build mismatched cars out of anything we can find, stealing weapons that half of us shoot our toes off trying to figure out, all so the big dogs leave us alone. We don’t have engineers or munitions experts. We’re not the same as the jacked and juiced rides that the vicious drivers on the circuits run.”
“Come on, Mass,” Hawk pleaded. “Can you honestly say that you’ve never once, not even as a kid, fantasized about taking a run at the circuits? Never saw a car engulfed in a ball of flame and thought, ‘Man, I wish I was inside that car’ even for a moment?”
“Who hasn’t?”
“Then why not live it? Mass, please. You’re the only one I felt safe coming to and you haven’t shot me yet, so… I need you, man.” Mass’ face screwed up and he glanced away, sighed, and fixed Hawk with a pensive stare.
“I don’t know...”
“Why’d you become a Scav, Mass?”
Mass snorted. “Fuck off, Hawk.”
“Seriously, why?”
“Because I was tossed to the bounty hunters,” Mass shrugged. “NexGen sold about six years worth of debt to those jackals and I couldn’t take a piss without one of them putting my cock in their crosshairs. Was a better option to forgo it all and start fresh. Elvis gave me a chance to do that.”
“So you swapped one tyrant for another,” Hawk scoffed. “Don’t you want to be your own man, Mass? Or would you rather live in the shadow of Elvis? Think about all you could do for yourself, for your shop, with a piece of that prize pool.”
Mass looked over into his rundown shop again, sunlight trickling through the rusted tin roof, hydraulic fluid slowly oozing from the lift’s leaking lines.
“If you find a third,” Mass said, Hawk’s smile spreading wide. “That’s not a yes, Hawk! If you find a third for your team, and only if, then I might consider it. For seventy-five percent of your cut, that is.”
Hawk exhaled sharply, falling back into the squashy couch. “Thirty.”
“Sixty”
“Forty, and I need not remind you that these funds are to begin my new life? Maybe… our new life?”
“Let’s call it an even fifty then, eh?” Mass grinned, extending a hand. Hawk sighed, reaching over and grasping it. “And if all else fails, I can plug you and collect the bounty.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Maybe,” he agreed, “but you have to get going. Find us a third, get us registered.”
“If we hurry—”
“No, no,” Mass interrupted. “There’s no we. If you hurry. Register us, find a third and the entry fee, then come back and find me. I’m going out to the back nine, see if I can’t find you something Carnage-worthy. Unless you wanted to ride Sammy’s bike in the PTQ.”
“No,” Hawk said, resigned. “But I will need it to get to the Peacekeeping offices. Do what you can here, I’ll be back before you know it.”
He left, not knowing precisely what his plan was, but knowing he needed to think and act swiftly. He wished he wasn’t so fucking hungover as he mounted the bike again, but the coke kept him going, the dust blowing around in the hot morning breeze. He kicked the bike over and set off.
Where the hell was he going to find someone ballsy enough to join a ragtag ex-Scav team the day before a PTQ?