Distinct within the endless plains of desolation, the concrete road of the superhighway stretched from pole to pole in the heat waves, a creation of the old world and a testament of civilization before the collapse. Six parallel lanes cutting straight through the desert interior, split down the middle into three lanes a side with an avenue of sagging high mast lighting poles, and flanked on either side by the cracking remnants of the original two lane highway in the east and an industrial rail line to the west.
So this was the Gauntlet, the Nomad told himself as he raised his position to look through the mesh of the trailer cage. Until now he had only heard of the road as an abandoned project that was intended to link the north and southern ends of the continent, bisecting through the completed TransCon 1 that had spanned west to east so that the country could reduce transportation costs along the coasts to reach the major cities.
Somewhere in his memories, there had been a time when he was stationed at the eastern end of the TransCon 1, fighting a losing war of attrition for control of the roads on the side of the MFP. His fellow officers were long gone now, broken and buried in vehicular accidents, or by the bullets of the Armalite gangs.
Merging with the Gauntlet, the convoy shook off the dust from their tail as their rubber tyres met the road. Gliding along the flat top, the highway carried them as the undisputed lords of the hereafter, a procession of might on display to the world as the Skin Pirates stood erect on the carriage decks with their faces turned into the wind, the hideous adornments of their leather and rubber armour swept back across their shoulders in the onrush of the elements.
There were portents everywhere along the roads to demonstrate their territorial claims; the rusting carcasses of fallen challengers pushed aside to sink back into the earth, brittle bones staring out from tattered clothing, and the painted motif of the Skull with Lightning Eyes that marked the concrete and former road signs in totemic warning.
It all delivered the same message: they were the New World's Order, The Roadworthy, seated in their metal horses to ride over the barren landscapes of misery inherited from the sins of their mothers and fathers.
Moving in line formation to take advantage of the fuel hauler's slipstream, the pack drifted over lanes and under bypass bridges with deliberate precision, Pigface & The Nipplebiter in the Ford pickup leading them all northward.
* * *
Hours after the trade tankers had reached the highway, the haitch-two negotiators recognized their destination in the distance, lacing their fingers through the chain link wire of the cage to peer out at a pair of trucks sitting in the warping heat, waiting for them within the level ground of a weigh station on the side of the Gauntlet.
The high revolutions of the raider's engines eased into a gargling purr as they left the shoulder of the road to face the two exchange trucks in a temporary standoff, both sides observing the other until Nipplebiter waved his arm to silence the motors within his convoy.
"From Mount Olympus we ride the six lanes of the Gauntlet! Two by three, from the North to the South, we are the Roadworthy! Six triple Styx!" He cried aloud in his shrill, lipless voice.
"Six triple Styx!" The Skin Pirates echoed his words with fervent passion.
"Greetings Nipplebiter and the Children of Zeus! We are the Knights of the Virgin Road, from El Dorado!" A strong voice gave answer from the other side.
Witnessing the diplomacy from the heights of the cage, Carrion and the others could see figures in gasmasks guarding the two road carriers opposite them, armed with military grade rifles whose scopes were fixated on the Pirates.
"Fetch the Scabs..." Pigface turned his animal helmet in profile to his shoulder, ordering the closest raider to leave his position.
"Move!" A guard within the cage struck the mesh with a rifle stock.
Herded out of the gate at the rear of the trailer, the cloaked Scabeaters descended from the secure deck to the pavement, where they were marched forward toward the Ford war chariot.
"Go on then, go make nice-nice and kiss bumholes with your mates." Pigface growled at the six shaggy figures.
"Just the three of you... the rest can wait here, we don't need all of you to make the trade now, do we?" Nipplebiter's rhetorical question made them hesitate for a moment.
"Come on." Scratch raised both his arms to touch Shamrock and the Nomad on the shoulder. "Let's show you how we negotiate with El Dorado."
Carrion's lip's parted, almost calling out to ask Scratch if she could join them before her conscience stole the words, chiding her fear to remain standing beside Derro and Roach, and the loathsome pair seated in the Ford pickup truck.
"... you should have seen 'em Piggy, a big handful of tit and a rump you could bounce off for hours, mind you she didn't last for even one hour! Dead, before I even got to know her... or she me!" The Nipplebiter laughed with misogynist pride. "But that's didn't stop me."
"You're a real heart breaker." Pigface commented as he watched the figures in gasmasks gathering around the arrival of the three cloaked men on the other side of the exchange.
"Shame really, it's not like the old days when my little rabbits were running the Gauntlet almost every week! She's gone dry, the highway has. Only fun now is huntin' runaway slaves from the 'Wells, and they're already half dead... Ah, real shame it is."
"Maybe if you hadn't been so rough with 'em" -Pigface sniffed – "there'd be some rabbits left."
"Roughin' them up is where the fun is, Piggy! What would you know..."
The boar helmet turned to face the other with a slow menace.
"Hole's a hole... woman, man, dog... bullet holes in broken toys, all of 'em. You just keep your attention on those Scabs over there" –he motioned to the distant tankers- "before I play with you next."
"Riding co-pilot with you is always a bloody bore." Nipplebiter sulked.