Mad Max

The roar of the engine soothed him. The long, desert road stretched for miles, seemingly never-ending as he drove along the Faustralian highway, kicking up dust and dirt. Looking over his left shoulder, he saw the Blue Hoofer nestled in the pile of blankets he had set out for him. An empty can of dog food sat next to it, a spoon long forgotten dropped carelessly inside the now dry canister. It was the duo's lunch, started by the stallion, and finished by his companion, just like always.

Keeping one hoof on the steering wheel, the stallion reached a leg back and patted the dog's head, its fur dry and greasy, a minor consequence of the lack of a proper washing in weeks. The stallion smiled, turning his attention back to the road ahead. The highway was easy on the stallion; it was straight, wide, and seemed to have been untouched in ages. The latter was a blessing; untouched meant no thugs. Grinning, the stallion glanced over at his fuel level, a constantly rehearsed practice of his since day one. His smile faltered, however, when he noticed the white arrow on he fuel gauge, pointing a little bit to the right of the large, white E on the far left side. His grip on the wheel tightened; he would have to find more petrol.

This usually difficult task proved easy once he spotted a large group of wrecked cars about three miles ahead in the road. Pushing the gas pedal a little harder, he sped toward it, praying in the back of his mind that he wouldn't run out before he reached the cars. He didn't, instead rolling toward the wreckage with four gallons to spare. Pushing the brake pedal with a loud grunt, the Pursuit Special screeched to a halt. The stallion sat idly, breathing calmly and surveying the wreck.

Five heartbeats later, he reached to his left and grabbed his gun, pulling the hammer back and opening up the middle of the shotgun. The back end of an unspent shell stared back at the stallion from the left barrel, the right remaining empty as he reconnected the two parts and opened the car door. The dog excused itself as well, jumping out the left window and joining the stallion as he trotted toward an overturned car. Looking it over, he turned to his left and gave the car a hard kick. If it was overturned, the gas would've leaked out ages ago. The clip clopping of his hooves made itself noticed as he tuned his ears to the road behind him; he thought he had heard something, but upon examination up the road, he spotted nothing. Turning back to the wreckage, the stallion went back to a dust-covered big rig, the tanker marked unusable by the large hole in its side.

Bringing a hoof up to the rig's cargo, he knocked on its side. An echo met him back, and the stallion could swear that he saw fuel inside. A large, tried frown on his face, he jumped up to the hole, grabbing it and hoisting himself up. Looking through the hole, he groaned. The tanker was empty; not a single speck of fuel was to be seen.

Dropping back onto the road, he saw a buggy to his left and quickly ran over to the fuel dripping out the engine. Looking around in a panic, he found two small bowls and a large plate, battered by the desert, but still usable. Sliding them underneath the still leaking engine, he breathed heavily. The day was usually always this hot out, but today's heat was a different story. It felt as if Celestia herself were bringing over a hundred suns and shining them directly on him. Wiping his brow with a free hoof, he turned back to his companion, who was face deep in a can of dog food. Trotting over to it, he patted its head. It barked its thanks and pointed its head toward the overturned car he had bucked not five minutes ago. "G'boy," the pony said, crawling underneath the car to scrounge for remaining supplies. The car was empty, save for a few cans of food and a shotgun shell, and the stallion suddenly pondered if his luck had changed.

Taking a seat next to the canine, he reached for the side of his left boot and pulled out his knife, swinging the blade out and planting it underneath the lip of the can. Slowly, he opened it, and with a defiant sigh, he pulled a spoon off his belt and began to dig into the food. The food was at least a few years old, but nevertheless it was food. Nodding his head, he dropped the spoon inside the can and found his gun. Opening it once again, he placed the shell he had found into the right barrel, closing it with a smile.

Picking up the can of food with a hoof, he holstered his shotgun and trotted back to his Pursuit Special, reaching through the window to put the canister into the passenger seat for later. Turning back to the leaking buggy, he walked toward the now full bowls and plate waiting for their insertion into his engine. Carefully biting the side of the first bowl, he wobbled to the side of the Pursuit, pouring the petrol into the receptor. He repeated this process twice more with the other two makeshift containers.

Closing the receptor with a makeshift plug, he reentered the car, closing the door. His canine companion vaulted through the left-rear window, crawling back under its blanket to take a well-deserved nap. The stallion, watching his dog, smiled again; he needed a rest as well, but he had to get to a safe place to hide the Pursuit first. Stamping on the gas pedal, the stallion rode off toward the setting sun, kicking up dirt all the way.

As the Pursuit traveled aimlessly along the highway, the stallion scratched the back of his black mane idly, eyelids growing heavy as he involuntarily yawned. Fighting to stay awake, the stallion yawned yet again. Celestia dammit, stay awake. Stay awake. he silently yelled to himself, every instinct in his mind joining in. The late night fought back with more effort than the stallion's mind, and he soon found himself driving off the right side of the road toward a large formation of rocks. Too tired to raise an eyebrow at his subconscious, he turned the key of the Pursuit, shutting off the idle engine and cutting the bright yellow headlights. As the stallion made himself comfortable, he looked back at the road with a hint of longing. He never liked camping out in a spottable position before, but his sudden tiredness drew him to the back of his seat and into slumber.