Chapter 10 : The Canyon Passage — Part 1
The signal fires burned like warnings written in flame.
I counted six of them along the canyon rim—positioned at intervals that gave their spotters overlapping fields of view. Professional placement. Military thinking. Whoever controlled this passage had done it long enough to know exactly where to watch.
"We need to slow down." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Furiosa didn't turn from the wheel. "We stop, the pursuit catches us."
"We hit that chokepoint at speed, we die." I pointed at the canyon's narrowing throat, maybe two hundred meters ahead. "The walls close in there. One person with a rockslide trigger could bury the whole convoy."
Toast looked up from her rifle. The Dag paused in her endless examination of the sand-scraped windows. Even Nux, still recovering in Capable's care, shifted his attention toward the conversation.
Furiosa's jaw tightened. "You know this canyon?"
Careful. The warning came from somewhere deep in my brain—the part that remembered watching this exact sequence in a movie theater, eating popcorn, safe and ignorant of the fact that one day I'd be living it.
"I've scouted routes like this. Before." The lie felt thin on my tongue. "Someone always holds the chokepoint. Payment for passage, or they drop the walls on you."
Furiosa's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. Sharp. Calculating. Filing this moment away in whatever mental ledger she was keeping about me.
"Outriders," she called through the window. "Slow formation. Scouts forward."
The convoy shifted. Two lighter vehicles pulled ahead, their drivers scanning the canyon walls. The War Rig's engine dropped to a rumble instead of a roar.
We entered the narrows.
The walls rose on either side—fifty meters, then a hundred, red rock streaked with mineral deposits that caught the midday sun. The road became a trench, barely wide enough for the Rig to pass. Perfect kill zone.
The first rockslide came twenty seconds later.
It would have crushed the lead scout vehicle if they'd been at full speed. Instead, the driver saw the cascade beginning and swerved, losing his passenger to the impact but saving the vehicle itself. Rocks the size of car engines hammered the ground where the scout had been.
"Contact!" Toast was already aiming. "Canyon rim—"
The Rock Riders emerged.
They rappelled down the cliff faces on cables, their vehicles bursting from hidden alcoves carved into the stone. Bikes mostly, with a few armored trucks blocking the path ahead. At least thirty of them, all armed, their faces covered with dust masks that turned them anonymous.
"TOLL!" The lead rider's voice echoed off the canyon walls. "You pay, you pass!"
Furiosa stopped the Rig. Engines idled. Tension crystallized in the narrow space.
I scanned the walls while she negotiated.
The riders had positioned themselves well—cover on multiple levels, interlocking fields of fire, escape routes into the rocks if things went bad. But they'd made one mistake. A second group was circling behind us, trying to close the trap, and they weren't as careful about staying hidden.
Movement. High. Left side.
I grabbed Toast's arm and pointed.
She saw it. Her rifle came up. The shot cracked across the canyon before the flanking group could get into position.
Everything exploded.
The Rock Riders had expected to catch us flat. Instead, Toast's shot became a signal—convoy weapons opening up, the Vuvalini women we'd met adding their fire, even Nux scrambling for a gun with his half-healed arm.
I dropped from the Rig's platform and ran for one of the damaged scout vehicles.
The driver was dead—crushed by the rockslide he'd avoided too slowly. But the vehicle itself was still running, its engine coughing but functional. I slid behind the wheel and felt the Armor respond immediately.
Not just grip. Connection.
The vehicle's vibrations flowed through my hands like information. The engine's rhythm. The suspension's flex. The tires' contact with the road, gravel shifting beneath them in patterns I could read.
A Rock Rider bike angled toward me. I twisted the wheel—
—saw the gravel shift before the slide happened—
—felt the vehicle's weight distribution change as I cornered—
—and the world compressed into a tunnel of focus where nothing existed except the road and the machine beneath me.
The bike missed me by centimeters. My return arc caught its rider with the vehicle's reinforced bumper, sending him tumbling.
[Driving: Tier 1 — Road Sense]
The notification wasn't visible—nothing like a game interface. But I knew it anyway, the same way I knew the Armor was pleased when it fed or anxious when danger approached. A skill had locked into place, earned through the chaos of combat.
I cut through the Rock Rider formation like a blade. The stolen vehicle wasn't fast, but I was reading the road five seconds ahead of everyone else—seeing the ruts that would catch their tires, the patches of loose stone that would betray their balance.
Three more bikes went down. Then a truck, its driver overcommitting to a turn I'd anticipated.
The canyon opened ahead. Clear road. The Rig's engine roared back to full power.
"GET ON!" Toast's voice, shouting from the Rig's platform.
I pulled alongside the tanker, matched speed, and jumped. The Armor anchored me to the chassis as I climbed. Behind us, the Rock Riders were regrouping—but we were through the narrows, into open ground, leaving them cursing in our dust.
My hands were shaking.
Not from fear. From the rush. A skill clicking into place felt like a bone setting—painful and satisfying and irreversible. I hadn't just driven through that fight. I'd evolved through it.
Toast dropped down beside me, her rifle still hot from firing. "Where did you learn to drive like that?"
"Just did." Not entirely a lie. "First time behind a wheel in... a while."
She studied me with the same careful attention I'd seen when she examined the flattened bullet. More evidence for her collection.
"The canyon warning," Furiosa's voice came from the cab. "How did you know?"
"Told you. Scouted routes like—"
"You knew the exact formation. The flanking group's position. The timing of the rockslide trigger." Her voice was flat. "That wasn't scouting. That was knowing."
The Armor pressed against my ribs, responding to my elevated heart rate.
"Lucky guess?"
Furiosa didn't respond. But in the rearview mirror, I watched her add another item to the mental list she was building. The list of things about me that didn't add up.
Behind us, the canyon filled with dust. Joe's reformed convoy was closing the gap—the Bullet Farmer's vehicles, the People Eater's war trucks, an army of metal and fury chasing us toward whatever came next.
The Green Place was a day ahead.
I knew what we'd find there. Knew it would break Furiosa's heart. Knew the hope she'd carried across the wasteland would die in toxic mud.
But I couldn't warn her about that. Couldn't explain how I knew. All I could do was sit on the Rig's platform, feel my new driving skill settling into my bones, and watch the horizon swallow the miles between us and despair.
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