Carnage! Love & Lust in the Wasteland
Chapter I: The Crossroads (Part 2)
For those who missed it or need a refresher: The Crossroads (Part 1)
Otis watched Hawk, his body slack and slumped on the bench, the blooming cherry that occasionally lit up at the end of his smoke the only indication that he was still alive. It was hard to look at the pathetic wreck of a man, and all for the want of a lover lost. And a cheap lover at that. He had always been a tenderheart, young Sid Hawkins, and those sorts of men didn’t make it out in the wastes. Especially not as the son of the Scavenger Chief.
“He’ll snap out of it,” Mass said, the gargantuan man’s consoling pat on the back nearly knocking Otis over. “He’ll meet another girl that’ll drive Rosa right out of his stupid head.”
“No’un else like ‘er,” Hawk muttered, sliding half-way off the bench. Otis sighed and helped him back to his seat. “Fuckin’ Elvis.”
“I’d say his best man’s speech is shot to hell now,” Otis said. Elvis wouldn’t be happy about that; all the times in the past that Otis had known someone to disappoint Elvis Hawkins, they hadn’t lived out the week. In the old times, they used to say that pride was a sin and Elvis had enough for a trip to Hell ten times over before the devil would even factor in his other misdoings.
“No kidding,” Mass said.
“More wizkey,” Hawk grumbled.
“No more whiskey for you, kid,” Otis replied, then to Mass, “What he needs is an upper. You know anyone who would have something?”
Mass smirked, looking around and putting his fingers to his mouth, a shrill whistle following. “Oi! Freddy Four-Fingers!” A bandy-legged man detached himself from a gaggle of Scavs, twitching and jerking his way up the steps and spreading his unusually short arms to hug Mass at the waist.
“Ben Massimino as I live and—” Freddy paused as his neck cranked to the side with a sickening crack. “—breathe! How the fuck are you, big man?”
“Better than Hawk,” Mass said, thumbing toward the wretch. Hawk took that moment to burp, the scent of acidic whiskey filling the air. “You got anything that can perk a man up?”
Freddy grinned, a mouthful of pitted decaying teeth. He reached into his filthy overcoat and produced a bag of greyish powder, dangling it from a hand that was missing its middle finger. “The finest amphetamines, my friends. Six hundred credits for the bag.”
“Speed?” Otis said. “‘Spose that’ll do, if it isn’t too strong.”
“None stronger,” Four-Fingers assured them.
“Speeeeeeed,” Hawk wheezed, trying and failing to rise. “Neeeeed for speeeeeed…” He broke into a wet chuckle that sent the lit cigarette tumbling from his mouth.
“Because this isn’t going to end terribly,” Mass muttered, pressing his wrist to Freddy Four-Fingers’ to exchange the credits.
The dealer threw the bag to Otis, grinned, and ambled off to peddle out more of the dangerous fun. Otis weighed it in his hands. He wouldn’t have paid four hundred for it. He sighed, shaking a bump out onto his knuckle and holding it steady in front of the drunk, lovesick idiot’s nose.
“Big whiff, Hawk. There’s a lad.”
***
Mei clutched onto Izzy, laughing hysterically as they danced. Her head was spinning, the lights making her dizzy, she might vomit, but she felt alive. The music throbbed and she moved with the rhythm, shaking her ass and downing her drink. She let out a whoop and smashed the glass on the ground, rousing cheers from those around her.
“Easy, girl!” Izzy yelled in her ear.
“This is so much fun!” Mei raised her arms as a new song began and danced without abandon, letting her mind drift into the feel of the night, into the swell of sweat and sensation, into—
Someone hooked her about the waist and pulled her away from Izzy, grinding himself against her and reeking of cheap beer and vomit. Her hopeful suitor was three times her age at least and looked like he’d been hit too many times in his squashed tomato nose. Mei tried to pull herself free but he had her tight. She gasped as her skirt began to roll up over her hips. She grabbed his wrist.
“Fuck off!
“Let’s have a quick poke, eh love?”
“I said fuck off!” Mei spun, hooking her ankle behind his and toppling him. He fell onto the flat of his back and she drove her boot into his groin, laughing as she danced back toward Izzy, pulling her skirt back down.
“Let’s get another drink!” Izzy called. Mei nodded and they began to squeeze out of the throng.
Back near the bar, the girls caught their breath, ordering shots for themselves and those nearest them. Mei took a deep breath, savouring the sweetness of the evening. This is what life was about. These people didn’t have rules or regulations, their lives weren’t scheduled down to the minute, and the worst they had to fear was running out of booze. Truly, this was a slice of paradise that some would never understand. But Mei understood and there was nothing that could ruin the night now.
The door of the bar slammed open with a crash, a man entering with his arms raised and screaming himself hoarse. Others joined the cheer and the wild man threw himself their way, slapping hands and faces, snatching drinks and sloshing them about with no regard as he toasted them. Mei cocked her head as she looked at him, realizing it was the drunk that had been strung between the Peacekeeper and giant earlier. He was unkempt and reedy, shirtless and tanned dark, his long mohawk unstyled and flopped over the side of his head. He turned in a circle, hooting and stomping his feet, and Mei caught a tattoo of a hawk on his muscled back, feeling a stirring in her lower guts.
I’m going to ride that hot rod into the fucking sunrise, she thought, watching as his energy reinvigorated the room.
“Ho-lay shit!” Izzy said next to her. She was looking over as well, but not at Mei’s punk rock prince. Izzy, in pure Izzy fashion, was eyeing up the giant who was ducking back into the bar.
“Feel like mountain climbing, do you?”
“Always. He didn’t look like much outside, but daaaaamn.” She looked down at Mei, grinning. “Shall we enchant these young savages with our wiles?”
“Let’s,” Mei chuckled, offering an arm. She and Izzy began fighting their way toward them.
“Just keep an eye on him, Mass,” the Peacekeeper was saying to the big man when they got nearer. “And for the love of fuck, don’t let him drink anymore.”
“I’m fucking bulletproof!” Mei’s suitor shouted, his every muscle taut. Upclose, he had a sweet face, even if it was fixed in a wide-eyed snarl that made him look unhinged, in the best way possible. Her knees quaked a bit and she bit her lip. The Peacekeeper moved off, watching Mei’s man and shaking his head.
“How’s it hanging, big man?” Izzy said to the giant, detaching from Mei.
“Uhh… Hey,” he grunted, frowning down at her. Mei shook her head. He was an ugly son-of-a-bitch, face looking like it’d been shaped by someone who almost knew what a man’s face should look like.
“My friend and I were wondering if you and—”
“Hey!” Mei’s suitor said, leaping forward and catching Izzy by her arms, pinning her fast. “Sweet fuck, Rosa! What are you doing bothering Mass now?”
“Not Rosa, Hawk,” Mass grumbled, flushing a bit and flicking an apologetic look at Izzy. The man called Hawk released Izzy, but maintained a hard squint at her Izzy.
“You sure?”
“He’s sure,” Mei said, only a tad annoyed that Izzy was getting his attention. She hooked her arm through Hawk’s, who tried to flinch away but stopped on seeing her. “Buy me a drink?” His face broke into a manic grin.
“Mass!” Hawk declared, locking Mei’s arm under his own. “To the bar!”
“But Otis said…” Mass began, then he trailed off and shrugged. “Whatever man, your funeral.”
“That was easy,” Izzy said as Mass cut through the crowd, Hawk veritably dragging Mei with his eagerness. He twitched occasionally and Mei wondered how he’d gone from the wreck she’d seen earlier to this manic punky dream boy. She giggled as he shoved another Scav out of the way on reaching the taps, actually barking at the man’s protests. He was adorable, like a scrappy junkyard dog.
“Drinks!” Hawk cried, releasing Mei at the bar. “A round, don’t care what. Cheap, strong, lots of it.” He looked to Mei. “And bring her a drink too! Fuck, this music is making my body feel… Do you wanna dance?”
“Let’s start with the drink,” Mei chuckled. “I’m Mei, by the way.”
“Mei by the way,” he chuckled. He surprised her by taking up her hand, pressing his cracked lips to the back of it. “Hawk. Sid Hawkins. Just Hawk though.”
“Yeah, I got that.” She smiled as the bartender set down an assortment of shot glasses with a thin amber liquid in them. Hawk downed two in quick succession and roared.
“And a shot of whiskey for everyone in the fucking place!” Hawk roared. The crowd kicked up, toasting him, some coming forward to slap him on the back. “Courtesy of the Hawkins family, boys! Drink up!” Another round of cheers accompanied leers from the already overworked bartenders as they began pouring countless shots. Hawk grabbed half a beer someone had abandoned, drinking it down despite the cigarette butt floating inside, and Mei sloshed her shot over her hand as he yanked her away, beelining for the dance floor.
Hawk threw himself into the music, Mei laughing as they clasped hands and he spun her through the crowd. And they danced, Hawk surging like the flashing lights themselves, crying gleefully. The beat thumped heavy and low, the pair of them getting close and grinding their bits into one another. His fingers bit into her hips and she swooned, the beat slowing to something a trifle more intimate. Hawk wrapped himself around her, his lips touching her neck just behind her ear while his hands explored enough to make her flush, heat filling her with every stroke of his rough fingers. She leaned back into him, pressing her hips to his and swaying with the music. He made a soft growling nose into the curve of her neck that raised goosebumps, her hands traipsing up and rubbing against his rough stubble.
Yes, she thought, touch me, you filthy Scav. Take me, use me, ravage me—
Someone shoved their hand down her top, yanking her by the tits away from the adoring Hawk and she tumbled to the floor into a sea of legs. She rolled in time to see the old creep who had tried to pull up her skirt before, face a violent red and screaming at Hawk over the music. Hawk stood nonplussed, looking past him and seeing Mei, and then darkness consumed his sweet face, shifting it into something feral and dangerous. As if in slow motion, Mei watched his fist curl and slam into the older man’s head. He pitched over and Hawk flew onto him, punches raining down with the music. Hawk’s laughter was sickly gleeful and Mei stood with her mouth agape as he beat the man to a bloody pulp in seconds, breathing hard when he came up and looking at her from beneath a flop of blood-matted hair.
Fuck, she was wet.
She moved into Hawk’s arms, smelled the reek of metallic blood, the fresh sweat, the stale booze. He held her gently, gore splattered hands trembling as his mouth came down toward her, those soft lips inviting and enchanting…
The house lights went up before they connected, the bar’s atmosphere changing in an instant as the music cut off. People stopped and a fat old man with combed back hair got up onto a table, an assault rifle cradled in the crook of his meaty arm.
“Scavs!” he called. “Weapons! Dynasty rolling up!”
“Oh, fuck me,” Mei groaned.
“I’ll protect you,” Hawk said to her, pulling her close. “Let’s go.” He took her by the hand and dragged her against the crowd, all their jubilance turning to fervor at the idea of violence, and vaulted up the backstairs. They were in a seedy room on the second floor before Mei knew it. A lumpy queen bed lay in the middle, flea-bitten and stained, light filtering in through a thin curtain that covered the single window looking out to the parking lot. Hawk dropped her hand and went to it.
“Fucking hell,” he said. Mei moved to join him and grunted in annoyance.
A Dynasty tank had rolled up to the bar, a dozen armoured trucks with it, and a platoon of soldiers with weapons to hand facing down a wall of Scavs, with more still pouring from the bar.
“We’ll be fine up here,” Hawk said, twitching and agitated. He was still breathing hard.
“Suppose we’ll have to find something to distract ourselves,” Mei said, flopping onto the bed and crossing her legs, bouncing her foot toward him. She crooked her finger and he grinned, hurrying forward. Mei grabbed his belt and began undoing it, reached the button of his greasy jeans before he grabbed her wrists and stopped her. She blinked up at him. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he said, shoving her into her back and getting on his knees. His hands crawled up her thighs and pushed her skirt past her hips, spreading her legs and nestling between them. “But the Scavengers always take their share first.”
***
Otis pushed down the nervous flutters in his gut as he looked at the display of Dynasty force. Armoured cars and a fucking tank, for fuck’s sake. Overkill in his opinion, but damned if the Scavs were budging an inch. He had to give the scumbags this: they had balls.
Elvis strolled into no-man’s-land between the two factions, uncaring of the dozens of tactical weapons training on him, cradling his own rifle lovingly. He took position and waited. One of the armoured cars cracked open and a set of silver stairs whirred out, an elderly man descending. Oh, this just keeps getting better and better, Otis thought. Shit was real when Chairman Sung made an appearance.
Chairman Sung of the Dynasty Munitions Syndicate was in his eighties, patient and slow, yet still somehow the most imposing presence there. His dark suit was fitted and crisp, long mustaches stark white against the fabric, hard black eyes scanning the assembly without a flinch. His thin hair ruffled in the breeze, ruining the illusion that he was a well-carved statue. His gaze finally settled on Elvis and things got quiet.
“Hawkins,” the Chairman said.
“Sung,” Elvis replied. He took a look at the Dynasty artillery again and scoffed. “Bit overkill for a wedding. Or didya think we forgot just how little your dick is?”
“Amusing,” Sung said over the rabble of chuckles from the Scavs. “Where is my daughter, Hawkins?”
“How the fuck would I know?”
“My people trailed her here,” the Chairman retorted. He raised a withered finger and pointed. “If you need more proof, one of her teammates is just there.”
A young woman stared at her feet as she detached from Mass and shuffled forward, bowing to the Chairman before hurrying into the safety of the Dynasty convoy.
“Now,” Sung said. “We can settle this peacefully or we can settle this with lead. Where is my daughter?”
“Like I said, Sung.”
The Chairman sighed, turning his head a fraction and nodding. With much bumping and grinding, the tank gun swiveled and angled down toward Elvis Hawkins, who stood bold as brass staring into the barrel of the 125mm cannon. Guns cocked all around, Scavs arming themselves and things escalating faster than Otis had ever dared to think.
“I will not ask again,” Sung said. “Where is my daughter?”
Elvis calmly aimed the rifle at Chairman Sung, staring down the sights.
“I will not say again,” Elvis ground out, Dynasty soldiers taking position for a firefight. Enough was enough and Otis pushed through to the two men, taking his badge off his belt and holding it high.
“I invoke NexGen Peace Ordinance Sixty-Nine,” he called out, drawing a fair few sights toward him. “I am Peacekeeper Otis Grange and declare this standoff to be a meeting of peace and—”
A bullet whizzed past Otis’ ear and he rolled to the ground, breath coming in short bursts. Pressure welled in his chest. Fuck, not now, he thought as the angina pressed. He grit his teeth, forcing himself to his feet and trying not to clutch for his aching chest. The Scavs raged, the Dynasty standing silent and domineering, but blood was in the air already. Otis swore through his teeth and unholstered his gun, badge held high.
“Hold on!” Otis wheezed over the growing fervor. “Just hold on now!”
“Stop!” someone called in the crowd. “Chairman, stop! I’m here!” Otis honed in on the voice. A young girl was hurrying forward, head down and hands clenched on the hem of the circle of fabric attempting to be a skirt. Otis beelined for her, snatching her by the arm and dragging her through the crowd, sweat pouring down his face and steps jerky as his chest threatened to implode.
“Chairman Sung!” he roared, the man turning as he retreated behind his lines for the impending brawl. His eyes widened a hair on seeing his daughter and Otis released her, shoving her forward. Sung glared down at her for a moment, then raised his hand. As one, the Dynasty soldiers put up their weapons, the tank grinding to take aim away from the Scavs. A few seemed put off or offended that the Dynasty had dismissed them, but none dared fire as Elvis let his own rifle drop.
“There, ya got her. Now fuck off, Sung.”
“Wait just one goddamn minute!” Hawk pushed through the crowd, ass naked and obviously lost in the throes of whatever toxic sludge raced through his veins. Otis gaped as the crowd parted for him. “Mei, where are you going? The night is young!” The young woman darted her gaze toward Hawk, then to her father, and then dashed red-faced into the Dynasty convoy.
“Sid,” Elvis growled, veins in his neck bulging at the sight of his son. “You brainless shit stain! What the fuck are you doing?” Hawk skittered away from his grabbing paws and raised his arms wide, oblivious to the gravity of the situation.
“Father, congratulations on your nuptials,” Hawk said. “I forgot my speech in my pants, but I can wing it. Ahem. I can think of no better match for a swine like you than that filthy mud pit that every other Scav hath wallowed in. Me included!”
Nervous laughter interspersed the angry buzzing of the Scavs, Chairman Sung frozen with a look of utter disgust on his face. Otis holstered his badge, lumbering toward Hawk as he fished for his pills.
“Hawk, come on.”
“Otis!” He whirled and embraced the Peacekeeper. “Otis, I fucked my stepmother. What’s NexGen’s policy on that?”
“Enough!” Elvis strode over, the butt of his rifle coming toward Hawk’s head. Otis managed to pull the boy out of the way at the last moment, throwing him to the ground as Mass skirted forward to intercept the Chief Scavenger.
“Easy there, Chief,” Mass said. “He’s drugged up, he’s drunk, and he—”
“Just ate the finest pussy in all the wastes!” Hawk cheered unhelpfully. From the corner of his eye, Otis saw Chairman Sung give a small shake of his head.
“You fucking disgrace,” Elvis sneered down at his son, who was lost in a warm fuzzy feeling by the look of it, hugging himself and rolling in the dirt. Elvis chewed his tongue and then looked over his shoulder. “Get the fuck out of here, Sung. Now.” The Chief Scav spat on his son, turned, and tramped back toward the bar as the Dynasty convoy packed up rapidly and began to roll out, the tank shaking the ground as it departed.
Mass was front and center, lifting Hawk into his arms as the lad’s eyes rolled in his head.
“Happy wedding, fuckers!” Hawk called, his laughter trailing off as Mass moved away from the bar. Otis sighed, shaking his head as he dry swallowed a handful of pills. The angina relented as they walked.
They retreated to Mass’ vehicle – the tallest monster truck Otis had ever laid eyes upon – and threw Hawk up against one of the tires, the young man still bubbling with fucked up laughter.
“Maybe the speed was a bad idea,” Otis said. He couldn’t begin to mention what Elvis was going to do to Hawk once he got ahold of him.
“At least he’s all better,” Mass shrugged.
“This is better?”
“Fuck, she’s beautiful,” Hawk managed. “No other girl like her, Otis. She tasted like sweet wine and sunshine!”
“Just… Just shut up, Hawk,” Otis said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on. Mass simply grinned.
“Told you he’d forget about Rosa if he met another girl.”
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