Mad Mac: Road Rage

“Mash, what do you see? Too dusty down here!” Rumble spat and started rolling up his windows, pinching the chain leading to his bloodbag. “My car is choking!”

Up on the top, his Lancer squinted into his goggles, “I see the Rig! She ain't hardly hauling!” he spat out sand, “How's fuel?”

“We're puffing. Need a stop!”

Mash let out a sound halfway between a choked laugh and a scream of glee, “The Jackal's driving! She'll let us do a straw-trick!”

Rumble grinned, “She'll kill you, you know!”

“You'll witness me right back, dodo!” The tone made it clear the dig against Rumbles featherless wings was only a joke, but his driver still made sure to cut up beside the refueling Rig harsher than necessary. Mash hopped onto the side of the tank and slid down, hooking his rear hooves into the side rail as he reached for the bundled hoses and pulled one across, cradling it in his arms as he swung back over to the coupe and dropped onto his perch with a grunt. The hose went easily through the sun-roof and into the socket behind the shifter.

“It's in! Feed me some juice!”

Mash leaned out and pulled the dusty lever on the side of the truck, smiling as the hose gained weight, and grinning at his driver as the tank filled. Another buggy pulled up behind, and Mash half-saluted, making the sign of the flaming wheel to the driver of the trailing vehicle. It was vital that they refueled, but, like most things, speed was bad for refueling. Speed over rough sand was worse. Fortunately, Rumble shouted up quickly that the main tank was full. The young stallion leaned in, “Don't forget the spare!”

It was a matter of moments for Rumble to pull the hose out and push it over to the second tank, filling it equally quickly. Not many buggies had a second tank, but for a front-line Lancer like Mash, it was a necessity to have a second tank for pursuits. All around, he could see Lancers bouncing between buggies and Claw cars, the monstrous wreckers that carried extra drums of Guzzoline so the Rig didn't have to refuel every buggy. He laughed. Any colt worth his run would be filling from the source, not from a Claw.

With a shout from below, he shut off the fuel flow and drew the hose out, tossing the metal end to a colt standing on the Rig itself. With a smirk that split his already torn wide face even wider, he granted the colt a salute and stood, stock still as the coupe accelerated away from the pack. The pursuit teams were moving about double the speed of Rage's Rig, even with the slowdown for refueling, and Mash knew that Rig well. It had about a full-day of fuel, and with only the one driver, it would have to stop for at least a half-night. They had started out only half a day behind, and were now maybe a third of a day behind. The canyon was probably a day away from Rage, and at triple speed, all out across the sand, they could overtake her before she ran out of fuel. In exchange, he would have to strap himself onto the perch so he didn't get thrown by the dunes. “Rumble, open the throttle. We can overtake.”

Rumble smiled, “The Rig can't keep up. Even the Claws...” He seemed to ponder it for a moment, then, “Valhalla, together?”

“And they will Witness us from the tops of the Citadel. Punch it, Rumble!” The gray Pegasus slammed his hoof to the floor, engine screaming in protest as the wheels threw up sand behind him. Other buggies seemed to have the same idea, pulling out the stops and screaming into the distance, but few of them could keep up with the custom engine work Rumble had done.

–
“Boss, they're gaining on us. Raced right past our leftovers,” he looked at his wing, then out to the sides, where the two armies from the Bullet-Farm and Gas-Town were approaching menacingly, “And I know how big your tank isn't.”

“I know,” volumes spoke from the look her blue eyes gave him. She ordered him around like he was that stupid stuffed rabbit she kept at her side, but, he was more capable.

He turned and scrambled onto the rails welded to the trailer, “I'll go see if we've got a long enough straw. If we don't, you'll have to stop.” This time her look very pointedly told him, 'Figure it out', else she might make him jump off. He checked the hoses on the sides of the tank. Originally meant for water, they could be used as straws for the Guzzoline, and he had a roll of ratty old fiber-tape in one of his pockets, “Get it done. Make it work. Even if I have to carry it in my mouth,” he hissed under his breath as his hoof caught on a protruding spike, “BITCH!”

In the cabin, Imperator Rage sighed, tattered wings fluffing in the seat behind her until the tips were stretched out into the wind, fine yellow tufts that were almost immediately folded back against the sides of the doors by the wind. Her organic hoof reached up and gently pressed on the head of a stuffed rabbit tied to the middle of the wheel by a mass of leather cording, “Be a good boy for mommy, Angel.”

–
Mac frowned at the sand ripping all around him, but otherwise made no motion to move around. He had given a lot of blood already, and was a little weak, but he also had a fair chance dying if he moved, both the possibility of being run over, and the possibility of the chain breaking his neck making him stand still. Behind him, he could hear the engine howling, and the angry sound of his tail burning as it flapped against the hot engine. That would take forever to grow back.