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The car accelerated, throwing Angharad back against her seat and sending a jolt of pain shooting up her leg where she’d been shot. She gritted her teeth as a wave of lightheadedness swept over her.
“We have to find the others,” she said, managing to keep her voice even.
Furiosa, sitting in the driver’s seat, didn’t look in her direction, hand on the steering wheel and hard eyes trained on the single motorbike they were chasing, the War Boy on its back glancing over his shoulder at them.
“Not until we’ve dealt with him,” Furiosa said. “If he escapes, he’ll tell them our position, and we can’t outrun them in this.”
Their car was some type of pursuit vehicle, Angharad assumed, though she knew little of cars. She knew little about anything out here, and every moment that passed seemed to remind her of that more forcefully. She was helpless. Without Furiosa, she’d have no chance.
“If you could shoot, we could take him out from here,” Furiosa added.
Angharad had never held a gun until today. She held one now, a large one Furiosa had handed her when they’d gotten separated from the others. The gun felt alive in Angharad’s hands, like a mythical serpent that might writhe and bite. She didn’t want to be holding it. She didn’t want any of this violence and blood and death.
She shut her eyes and allowed herself one deep, slow breath. She was going to the Green Place. She was going to freedom. Her world before had been no safer than this. The safety had been an illusion, a flimsy lie torn away the second her body could no longer birth sons for the man who imprisoned her. The child growing inside her had been all that kept her alive. Even dying out here, afraid and alone, would be better than that.
No, not alone.
Angharad opened her eyes and glanced at Furiosa again. She was not like any woman Angharad had ever known. She was fierce and hard, her body like a beam of steel. But she was not like any man Angharad had ever known either. There was a gentleness behind her eyes that Angharad had caught glimpses of, especially when she spoke about her home and her people. Furiosa had been forged by this fiery, angry, violent world of metal and bullets, but at the very core of her was the love she’d been raised with, and the violence of this world had never destroyed it.
The motorbike was still far ahead. They weren’t gaining on it – not fast enough. Angharad wished desperately that they could turn around and follow the others – Capable and Toast and Cheedo and the Dag, her friends, the only people left in this world she understood. All she had now was Furiosa, a woman whose gaze was fire on her skin, a woman who frightened and excited and angered and amazed her.
“Stay in the car,” Furiosa said suddenly.
Angharad had no time to process the words before Furiosa slammed the brakes. Angharad jerked forward and almost fell from her seat. The big gun was snatched from her hands, and Furiosa was out the door of the car before Angharad could blink.
Angharad crouched trembling in her seat, heart pounding, staring grimly out the window as Furiosa aimed the gun at the fleeing motorbike.
There was a loud bang. The roar of the motorbike’s engine died into horrible silence.
Angharad opened her own door and stumbled around the front of the car to where Furiosa stood, eyes still focused on the fallen motorbike. Angharad followed her gaze. The War Boy was stirring, dragging himself to his feet.
“Only hit the tire,” Furiosa said, raising the gun again.
“Wait,” Angharad said, hating the desperation in her voice. “He doesn’t have a vehicle anymore. He won’t be able to make it back in time to tell them where we are.”
“Can’t risk it,” Furiosa said, not lowering the gun.
The War Boy was standing now. He glanced at them and his eyes widened. Then he turned and ran, stumbling away from his bike.
“He’s just a boy,” Angharad whispered.
He would have brought Angharad back to Immortan Joe without hesitation, but she still didn’t want him to die.
“Close your eyes,” Furiosa said.
But Angharad didn’t. She kept her eyes wide open as Furiosa fired. Angharad watched the War Boy’s head explode in a cloud of red, watched his lifeless body collapse to the dust, a lake of blood spilling where he lay.
The world was silent.
“Time to go.”
Furiosa’s words came from the end of a long tunnel. Her hand was on Angharad’s shoulder.
“Angharad,” Furiosa said, her face very close and her voice suddenly soft. “We need to go.”
Angharad blinked and pulled back into herself. She’d forgotten the pain in her leg for an instant, and now it came rushing back, overwhelming her. She would have collapsed, but Furiosa caught her, her prosthetic arm holding Angharad up.
“You’re bleeding again,” Furiosa said, glancing down at Angharad’s leg.
Not as much as the War Boy had bled. Angharad flinched from the thought. She wished she’d looked away.
Furiosa helped Angharad back around the car to the passenger’s seat, her arm around Angharad’s waist, their bodies pressed together. It was a comfort somehow, despite the fire of Furiosa’s gaze on Angharad’s skin. Or maybe because of it. Angharad didn’t know the difference anymore.
“Sorry,” Angharad murmured. “Sorry I’m so weak.”
She felt Furiosa’s body stiffen for a moment, but she said nothing in response.
Furiosa helped Angharad partially onto her seat, but turned sideways so she could check and retie the bandage on Angharad’s leg.
Angharad was glad to have Furiosa with her, she realized. Of course she was when it meant she might survive, but it was more than that. She’d just watched Furiosa shoot a boy in the head, and yet her presence was still a comfort. She wanted Furiosa’s arm to wrap around her again and never let go.
Her fingers still tangled in the ends of the bandage, Furiosa glanced up and met Angharad’s eyes. They both froze for a moment, looking at each other. Something passed between them then – some kind of understanding.
“I don’t think you’re weak,” Furiosa said, voice once again achingly soft.
And there was that gentleness in her eyes, but this time she was looking at Angharad – really looking at her. The love in Furiosa’s eyes was for her this time.
Furiosa reached out slowly and brushed her fingers against Angharad’s cheek. And for a moment, Angharad thought Furiosa might lean forward and kiss her, and she wanted it to happen.
But then Furiosa pulled away and stood, rounding the car to return to her own seat.
They were out in the wasteland, alone in a stolen car that wasn’t fast enough to outrun the ones who chased them, and there was no time for love, or whatever it was that ached inside Angharad’s chest.
Not yet.