Carnage! Love & Lust in the Wasteland
Chapter II: Hangover Cures (Part One)
The sharp bugle call yanked Mei from sleep in a flailing tangle of legs and blankets as she bolted upright. The trumpeting cutting off from the courtyard outside, the last note ringing in her ears and she swore, collapsing back into the thin beam of sunlight penetrating her blackout curtains, waiting for the inevitable wave of nausea to roll over her… But it never came. Exhaustion lay heavy in her limbs, her mind a bit fuzzy, but there were no other ailments despite the excess of drinks last night. She shifted, snuggling into the warm bed a little deeper, and something snagged on her arm. She followed it and found the IV that had been put in while she’d slept.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she muttered, wincing as she pulled the line out. The banana bag of whatever hangover cure they’d hooked into her was empty, ensuring she wasn’t a complete sack of shit today. She fell back in her pillows, smiling contentedly at the pleasant memories of the night before – not including the lecture she had received while returning to the compound – and felt a warm rush as she remembered Hawk’s exemplary tonguesmanship.
Sweet Hawk, she thought. Why are the good ones always so bad? A Scav, honestly… She moaned contentedly, eyes falling close at the thought of his stubble against her thighs, the danger of a tank outside and her father banging down the doors to get at her, and his first and only thought had been her pleasure. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to take another tumble with him, unlikely as it was. Her father had probably doubled her security since she snuck out. The sweet sorrows of being ripped away from—
“Move!” came an angry voice from outside her door. “Move, you useless lump! Mei!” She barely had time to groan and throw back the covers before her door burst open, Dan in a full rage filling the frame. He was not an imposing man, average height and build, head shaved and wearing a skin-tight Dynasty racing suit, lotus pink with a pair of black stripes down the side. His dark eyes swept the disarray of the room before settling on Mei, narrowing to slits while his wide nose flared with distaste.
“Good morning, dear brother,” Mei said sweetly.
“A Scav, Mei?” He stomped in and slammed the door behind him, right in the face of the guard she knew would be there. “A fucking Scav?!”
Fucking gossips, she thought. “Yes, Dan. A Scav. A whole fleet of them, in fact. Ran a train on me and boy howdy am I sore this morning. Don’t think I can ride this morning.”
“That is beyond unfunny,” her brother retorted.
“Oh my god, keep your panties on. It was my birthday, we crashed Izzy’s sister’s wedding, and I don’t really want to hear anymore about it.” She swung her feet over the side of the bed, striding past Dan and into the bathroom. She had caught the stink of the night on her and knew she would need a shower before anything else.
“It’s the principle of the thing, Mei,” Dan began from outside the cracked door as she turned the water on. She rolled her eyes. Bàba had begun his lecture the exact same way. She stepped into the water and let it drown out his words for a few moments before breaking out again. “... you are a driver for the Dynasty in this PTQ and you have an image to—”
“To uphold, blah, blah, blah. Appearances and propriety, blah, blah, blah.”
“Would you be serious for once?”
“Why?” Mei laughed. “Me having a little fun shouldn’t matter a lick to the Syndicate, the family, or anything else really. We went in disguise and wouldn’t have been found out if you all hadn’t sent a fucking tank after us. Talk about overreactions.” She lathered up, continuing. “Besides, if I’m dead in a few days, what does it matter which Scav got me off?”
“Where you got that vulgar tongue of yours…” Dan said.
“Just lucky, I guess.”
Her brother grunted in frustration outside the door.
“Mei,” Dan said, affecting a softer tone, “you are the favourite to be Dynasty’s next Champion. When I was training, when Jun was training, our hearts and souls went into the games.” Mei rolled her eyes, moving her mouth in mockery to the speech she had heard countless times. “You’re not just fighting for this family, for our empire, but for your own life. You need to stop with these foolish outings, and you need to remain sharp.”
She bit her tongue. If there was one thing she didn’t need to hear, it was all about the glory of her older brothers. Dan had recently returned from his dominating run on the Eurasian Minor Circuit, only to be charged with training Mei for her own debut. Jun, their eldest brother, was on the Hong Kong Circuit presently. Besides television appearances, Mei hadn’t seen him for years.
Dan sighed, taking her momentary silence as disagreement. “You don’t want to learn this game the hard way, like I did.”
“Oh shut up,” Mei snapped, rolling her eyes. Dan took absolutely every opportunity he could to bring up his time training for his own Pro Tour Qualifier. His rise to stardom, his daring victory in the final race during his own PTQ— He’d go on and on about how he’d crossed the finish line driving what was predominantly a ball of flame with the rough shape of a car at its core. Since that glorious debut his fans had started calling him the Phoenix, rising from the ashes of his wreck to win the race, and Mei had heard enough of it for a lifetime. “Have we gotten a third for our team yet?” She turned the water off after rinsing and reached out for a towel.
“NexGen has decided not to field a team in this PTQ, so they’re sticking us with a Peacekeeper,” Dan replied, a bit stiffly for her abrupt change of topic. “He’s arriving for practice today.”
Peacekeepers, she thought, shaking her head. The Peacekeeping Ministry was NexGen’s closest thing to the police of old but often did more damage containing the chaos of the wastes than if they had just let the gangs run free. The Peacekeepers also happened to be a popular haunt for both retired Carnage drivers and those who had failed to qualify for a circuit in the past. Whoever this Peacekeeper was, having never practiced with him, having never gotten his rhythm, she and Izzy could be at a steep disadvantage for the upcoming PTQ.
“What’s his name?”
“Teague. Rufus Teague. He’ll be our heavy.”
“Dynasty doesn’t do heavies,” Mei said, walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her. Dan leaned against the doorframe outside and gave her a flat look.
“What?”
“Just…” he paused, lips pursed. “Just no more Scavs, okay? It’s like rolling around in the kennels with the dogs. Who knows what you might’ve caught. God, you still stink”
“Awh, thank you,” Mei cooed, raising her middle finger toward him. She moved to the curtains and threw them open.
The day was already hot, the previous night’s moisture hanging thick in the air as the hazy sun fought to evaporate it. Mei’s room overlooked the front courtyard, which was abustle with attendants, but less so than usual. In preparation for the PTQ, most of their staff had been pulled onto tasks aside from their regular duties. Some worked the opening ceremonies, others were loaned to security to help push back the paparazzi trying to get scoops on the new drivers. Mei saw that there were a few people from the press at the gates even now, no doubt stirred up by the sighting of a Dynasty tank the night before in conjunction with the overwhelming number of Scavengers in the area. She resisted the urge to throw open her window and get a jump on her own Carnage press.
Mei had grown up watching Carnage, one of the many entertainment forms that NexGen hosted to distract people from the decaying state of the planet. Cyboxing, Terrorball, and the Snipe Hunt all had their places, but the vehicular wargames of Carnage that were the crown jewel of bloody amusement. Who didn’t love iron deathtraps hurtling toward one another at breakneck speeds in mutually assured destruction? Who didn’t appreciate the rattle of bullets and the crunch of tires over spent shells? Who didn’t roar for the explosions that blew apart steel, chrome, and flesh? It was a thrilling game, and not just for the credits and prestige awarded to Carnage Champions. To race on live television, broadcasted throughout the world, to the Moon bases, and even available to some Martian and Venutian colonies… She had always dreamt of her picture up on the jumbotrons, wanted to experience it for herself. With a final look at the courtyard, she turned back to Dan and crossed her arms.
“Unless you’re planning on staying for the show, a little privacy please?”
“You’re sick,” Dan said, shucking himself off the wall. “Practice is in thirty. Izzy is already down in the garage… With your birthday gift.” He grinned as Mei’s mouth fell open.
“What is it?”
“Something you don’t deserve,” he said, standing in the doorway now and smirking. “So pitter-patter, let’s get at ‘er.” He shut the door and Mei began her hunt for her own racing suit, catching sight of the bruises on her legs where Hawk had gripped them. She smiled, pulling the suit on and zipping it, moving to the window and staring out at the open wastes beyond the compound walls, dust devils dancing on the barren scape. She looked northeast, the direction of the Crossroads.
A man after my own heart, she thought, but from a pack of hated dogs. Tales of woe and woo abound. A man called Hawk. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime…
“Hnnnnnnng,” Hawk groaned, pounding fists on his trailer door forcing his bleary eyes open. He blinked the world into focus, peeling his face away from the gritty linoleum of his narrow hallway. Even that slight movement was enough to make his stomach turn over, its contents burning at the back of his dry throat. Whoever was assaulting his door pounded again, each strike rattling behind his eyes. He blinked hard, holding his head in case it cracked open any further. “Fucking hell, I’m coming—” The statement broke off in a belch the taste of sour mud and stale ashes. He’d broken out in a cold sweat by the time he dragged himself to his feet, kicking aside an empty beer bottle as he trudged to the front of the trailer.
To say he felt like shit would be an understatement. He felt more akin to a festering corpse a few days old in the desert and half picked apart by buzzards. The night before… He barely remembered anything besides a torrent of anger and torment stemming from Elvis and Rosa. But then… Then elation before everything turned to a manic blur. The memories were foggy, blended, confusing, but one thing stood out above all: a face like warm sand baked in the summer sun, a smile that blazed brighter than last night’s strobe lights, and animalistic sounds that rang in his memories while he’d gone down on her despite the tank threatening to blow Crossroads to hell.
And he had only a name: Mei.
Did my heart, my loins, know true lust until now? Never once have I met a goddess like the one last night…
The pounding on the door redoubled.
“For fuck sakes,” Hawk growled, stepping through a kitchen that looked like a grenade went off in it. His temper had woken up finally and he threw the bolt, wrenching the door open. “What?” he roared, then barely had time to blanch as Rosa launched herself at him like a rabid coyote.
The pair of them crashed back into the table, beer bottles toppling and smashing on the floor. The table overturned and they rolled, Rosa snarling in rapid Spanish while Hawk fought to keep her talon fingernails from ripping out his eyes. Her knee drove into his groin and the air burst from his lungs, hot acid crawling up his throat, but he held fast, wheezing.
“You crazy bitch, stop! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“You ruined my wedding, you fucking asshole!” Rosa spat, teeth gritted as she struggled against Hawk. “You and your Dynasty whore! I hate you! I hate you so fucking much!”
“I didn’t fucking— Rosa! Fuck! Stop it—”
“Piece of shit!” she screamed, ripping free and raking her claws across his cheek. Hawk growled and with a surge of strength, rolled her over and pinned her to the floor.
“You think I liked watching you being groped by that fucking pig?” he roared, her wrists held tight as she struggled. “How could you do this to me, Rosa? How!”
She spat in his face, wrenching a hand free and latching onto the back of his neck. With force, she brought his head down, her lips against his in a desperate tangle.
Hawk threw himself off her with difficulty, smashing into his fridge as he stood, the stack of cans atop it crashing down on him in a head-splitting rattling. Rosa was breathing hard as she spun to her feet, leering at him with furious hunger, gnashing her teeth and wiping bloody spittle off her full lips.
“Hawk,” she said, voice throaty and seductive. It made the hairs on his arms stand up. She swayed forward, the tassels on her halter swinging with her thick hips. “How can you be so cruel to me? And over what? A marriage? Honey, you know I burn for you and you alone. This affair with your father… It’s nothing. A grab for power. There’s no reason you and I—”
“Get out,” Hawk said. “Just… get the fuck out of here.”
The attempt at levity vanished and Rosa drew herself up, proud and indignant.
“Fine,” she ground out. “Your loss, you little cunt scab. You’ll be dead before the day is out anyways.” Hawk stiffened, narrowing his gaze. Rosa chuckled. “Oh yes,” she said. “It’s all the gossip. Hawk and the little Chinese girl who turned out to be the daughter of Chairman Sung.”
Hawk took a few deep, calming breaths. He hadn’t remembered much beyond planting his face between her legs, the tenderness of her flesh, the soft V of hair… He shook himself. Mei fucking Sung? Oh shit… Thinking with his dick had gotten him into trouble plenty of times, but this might be the biggest.
And yet, oddly, he had no regrets about it.
“Get out of here!” he repeated.
“Hawk,” Rosa said, taking another stride forward, voice sultry again.
“He’s right, Rosa. Get.” The gruff voice took both by surprise, Hawk’s heart clenching to see Elvis standing in the doorway, leaning casually and turning a bullet over the backs of his fat fingers. He held Rosa’s eye and jerked his head. “Go on, sweetheart. I need a word with the boy.” A shiver ran up Hawk’s spine at his tone.
Rosa met Hawk’s eye for the space of a heartbeat and then she charged out, barely stopping for a glance at Elvis as she went, the Chief Scav squeezing his girth into Hawk’s trailer and shutting the door behind him. They stood regarding one another for a long, tense moment, until finally Elvis spoke.
“That’s my wife, boy. Mine. Whatever went on between you and her is dead, buried. Not that it matters much now.”
“Yeah, I know,” Hawk growled, turning and snapping up the beer bottle he’d abandoned, downing the rest. “I was there for your fucking wedding, Dad. There to watch you marry the woman I left in the garage—” Elvis held up a hand and Hawk fell silent, hating himself for the quake in his knees.
“You know, Sid,” Elvis said slowly, watching the bullet turn over the back of his knuckles. “We can’t fight what we are. I am a chief, a hard man, a driven man, a lord of the wastes, and a father. I’ve done well at most of those. Most.” He lifted his gaze and fixed Hawk. “But you can’t hold your liquor, can’t hold your women, can’t even hold a goddamn gun straight. You’re soft, boy. Don’t think I haven’t heard about how you wallow every time your flavour of the week comes to her senses.” Hawk stood frozen, acidic anger bubbling in his guts unable to cut through the fear of his father. He could handle mad and raving, but this quiet rage was something else entirely. Elvis sucked his teeth and tossed the bullet to Hawk, who caught it deftly. He stared down at it, all rage leaking away to be replaced by cold fear. “You have spent two decades embarrassing me, embarrassing the Scavengers, and embarrassing yourself. I’ve had my fill, boy. You’re done.”
“Dad, you can’t—”
Swift for a large old man, Elvis was across the kitchen in moments and his fist drove into Hawk’s gut, a trail of vomit dashing past Hawk’s teeth as he crumpled to his knees. No chance to catch himself, Elvis brought his elbow down on the back of Hawk’s head, his chin smashing into the floor that rose rapidly to greet him, head spinning and bullet rolling from his grip. Elvis crouched, speaking low.
“You are a fucking disgrace,” he said. “Drawing the Dynasty in because you couldn’t keep your little prick out of a Sung? A Sung, Sid! And at my fucking wedding, no less! That was more than enough to earn this, boy. But your little speech last night crossed a fucking line. No one does me dirty like that, Sid. No one.” He straightened, driving a quick kick into Hawk’s side. “You have an hour to put my junkyard in your rearview, to get as far away from my territory as possible. After that, I announce the bounty on your head. A hundred thousand credits for your life, boy. And good fuckin’ riddance to ya.” Elvis spat, the glob splattering on the back of Hawk’s head. Without another word, he strode from the trailer, slamming the door behind him.
Hawk was slow to regain control of himself, aching all over as he scooped up the bullet and ran a thumb over the name etched into it.
SID
Where would he go? What would he do? He wouldn’t put a lot past his father, the man was a fucking maniac after all, but exile… To be cast out from the Scavengers and a bounty put on him? Rage boiled up inside him again, burning away pain and fear. He hurled the bullet at the door and it smashed through the glass, tumbling outside.
He gathered anything he could carry, and fast. He had to get gone before someone jumped the gun, every Scavenger a potential enemy now. He threw his rucksack over his shoulder, stopping at the door to take a final look at his home. Poor as it was, it had been his. He shook his head and left.
Hawk paused outside his door, the sun already halfway into the sky and baking the maze of wrecks that made up the Scav junkyard, the air reeking of old engine oil, rusted metal, and hot soil. In the dirt outside he saw the bullet with his name on it. He considered it, scooped it back up, and pocketed it.
He ripped out the front gate on a stolen dirt bike and didn’t look back.
Hey Hey! It’s me, the author. This post was originally both parts of this chapter, but it was way too fuckin’ long so I broke it into two. Check out Part Two of Hangover Cures here.