Mad Max 3] Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome by Joan D. Vinge

Author:Joan D. Vinge [Vinge, Joan D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Warner Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

THE RETURN OF WALKER

Max lay on a rush mattress on the floor of a sleeping platform high above the ground, jacketless, shirtless, and still unconscious. A canopy of parachute cloth draped the platform's walls and roof, billowing gently in the breeze, protecting him from staring eyes as the tribe kept its vigil below, chanting endlessly, "Walker . . . Walker . . . Walker. . . ."

"Savannah sat at Max's side with a bowl and a pair of ancient scissors. She had already shaved him, and carefully washed the sand and blood from his sun-blistered face. She began to clip his hair short, placing each handful of tangled, sand-filled hair in a bowl beside her."

Across the platform Eddie and a tiny girl named Gus were bathing the ecstatic monkey in a jar, giggling with delight, their own much-loved stuffed toys lying forgotten on the floor. They had already pried off one of Max's boots and painted his toes ocher. As Savannah glanced up with a smile, watching the two little 'uns and the monkey, a hand slipped silently under the edge of the canopy. It grabbed a handful of hair clippings and disappeared again.

Mr. Skyfish climbed down the laddered platform leg, proudly brandishing his prize to the others waiting below. The platform waded in the quiet pool, two legs in the water and two on land. Other children clung to the posts, trying to get a glimpse of Max.

As Mr. Skyfish reached the ground he began to pass out locks of hair. Nearly the entire Tribe was gathered below Walker's resting place now, gazing up; only Cusha, preoccupied these days with the life growing inside her, had waded on into the pond to pour water over her distended belly, singing softly to her unborn baby. Some of the others had gathered together bundles of their possessions, ready for a journey. At the water's edge Anna Goanna bathed Gekko's infected leg with gentle care.

The day passed on into darkness; the full moon rose, peeping down between the cliffs at the village below as midnight came and went. Torchlight flung the eerie shadows of the watchers high up the red stone walls as their chanting droned on. Some of the children had given up and gone to sleep by now, either creeping back to their own platforms or lying down in the open where they were.

Savannah still kept her weary vigil, sitting with Walker's head cradled in her lap. The little 'uns had painted his face ocher; she had let them, because red was the color of life. He still had not awakened or shown any sign of life beyond just breathing. Sipping water from a gourd, she leaned over him as she had done many times during the day, pried his jaw open, and let the water trickle with infinite care from her mouth into his own. His throat worked spasmodically, instinctively swallowing; this time he made a small sound, not even a whimper, as the water went down. That was a good sign.

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