Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Max Rockatansky

Custom User Avatar
More by this author

He shoots up, alone, in a wasteland.  Looks around, nothing but sand and vicious memories swirling around in the black matter that is his mind.  He scours the vastness that lay before him as he gazes into an abyss.
The man staggers up to scan a little bit more. As his senses return to him he hears a low growl getting louder and louder. The growl of eight cylinders, the model, impossible to make out.  All that he needs to know was that it was getting louder, rapidly, much faster than originally anticipated.
The man rips around to see a barebones muscle car barreling at him at an alarming rate. The driver with a crazed look on his face, a face that didn’t look like it was stopping. 
No more than 100 yards away, the man reaches for his leg, a nine millimeter on his thigh. He quickly pulls the gun up, connecting it with his line of sight. 
The sun beating down on him, the heat burning his neck, he wraps his finger around the trigger, slowly, not too fast.  A breath, a deep breath, exhale.
The vehicle is no more than seventy yards away.  Then, an ear splitting bang, instantly the bullet slams into the skull of the crazed looter, brain matter, bone, and blood, coat the back of the car.  As the body keeled over onto the wheel, the car begins to veer and slowly come to a halt. 
The man re-holsters and walks over and opens the door smoothly, the body slipping out of the car and coming to rest in the scorching sand.  The man slides into the car admiring the rugged yet functional interior.  Looking down, then up again, wraps his left around the wheel tight and his right around the shifter.  The smell of gas pours through his nostrils, the deep growl of a supercharged V8 roars in his ear, slight feeling of warm blood on his seat and the taste of redemption. 
The man had revenge coursing through his veins as he prepared himself for reconciliation.  His blood lust takes hold, he smashes his foot to the floor, engine roaring, and the man’s eyes, his eyes burning brighter and hotter than hell itself as he tears through the desert, his goal, survival. .
After seemingly an endless desert he crests a dune, just like any other before.  This dune however, beyond it, held much more potential.  Beyond it was a camp a massive camp with a presence in the bleak desert.  Concrete and corrugated metal walls that stood 15 feet high if not more, surrounded by massive rock walls on the sides.
Cresting the dune he quickly drove back down to avoid detection. Climbing out of the car and snatching the pair of binoculars off the floor behind his seat, he runs up the dune diving into the sand just before the peak. He carefully rests the binoculars on edge of the dune and stared at the camp, examining it. Never before had he ever seen anything like this. It was too well fortified, more of a fortress than a camp.
The extensive driving made the man weary and tired, supplies were running short, the vehicle seemed to be a scout vehicle and apart of something much larger and therefore didn’t have many supplies.  The man knew he’d would not be alive much longer if he didn’t get what he needed.  Examining it he knew the front was not a viable option, due to the reinforced gate and men with guns and stationary harpoon guns for ripping off armor.  The back couldn’t be an entrance either as it seemed to be a sheer cliff.  Then, yes that will work, right there, a hole in the rocks 20 feet tall but no more than 6 feet wide, a natural hole when the rock formed on the left side of the camp. That must lead to somewhere he thought.  An entrance on the other side maybe, yes, that would be where he made his entrance to the stronghold. 
The man waited until dark, only then could he strike undetected.






Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback