The bleakness hit him without warning, there in the swamp as he waded disgustedly out of the mud. He was
filthy from head to foot, from hubcap to hubcap. His brothers were missing, Starscream was alive, and oh, yes, he was at least a day ovedue for proper maintenance. All this rushing around in the company of fools, and no point or purpose to it. They didn't even have enemies to fight here, just the rumor of Autobots. Not that there was much point in fighting Autobots, either.
He hit the open road, feeling it thrum under his tires--the metal still felt strange to him, more like Cybertron's bridges and alleys than Earth's asphalt and concrete. Fury and bleakness ate at Dead End in equal parts; without his brothers to balance him, he couldn't lapse into his usual apathetic pessimism--but he was not going to go into a funk in the swamp, either. That place was disgusting!
Starscream hated him, that was it. Probably remembered the time Menasor and Devastator beat up Bruticus and spoiled Screamer's take-over attempt. Why else would he inflict that idiot Wheelie on them, and then forbid them to do anything about it?
Dead End put the pedal down and hit cruising speed, leaving the other, slower members of the party far behind. Maybe that orange annoyance would try to keep up with him, and he could run him off the road. Preferably into a deep canyon.
Roaring down the road at Stunticon speeds hour after hour ate up the miles. The land rose out of the swampy lowlands into more grassy plains, that steadily became flatter and more arid. The grass became
clumps of a much shorter, silvery-green herb that carpeted the dark gravelly ground. Short, silver-green clumps of some kind of bush adorned the black rock hills. River beds turned into dry washes, more and more.
Alas, no deep canyons, though the metal road crossed some steep banks into dry washes that it would be most
unfortunate to skid off the road into. A person might end up upside down in need of repairs from his close friends and associates.
Dead End found another service station much like the one in the grassy plains. This time, he knew where to look and for what. He broke into the garage and charged himself up, then opened the vehicle doors for the others to find the rest of the still-charged vehicles when they caught up. Hook would know where to find the storage loop for still more power.
Finally, he took advantage of the still-working water supply and washed himself off thoroughly. After that, the Stunticon decided it was safe enough to open up and give himself a maintenance check.
Dead End was in better shape than he'd expected, though he could use some topping off in the lubricant department. He really ought to mention that to Hook. While he's giving himself his fourth coat of polish, he does so:
// Hook, I'm at another one of those service stations. You might want to re-supply with lubricants when you get here, since I have no idea which of these drums of stuff are up to spec and which aren't. I will need topping some time soon, if I survive the next day or so. //
It's actually the first communication he's bothered to make with his fellow Decepticons in a day or two. // There's more vehicles with charged batteries for the scavenging, too. Perhaps we'll meet up at our destination. // That his tone suggests 'our
final destination' goes without saying.
Cleaned, charged, checked and polished, Dead End hits the road without waiting for stragglers. The urge to drive is an irresistable compulsion; the road is as wide-open as in the American Southwest.
Just like in the Southwest, the aridity increases as the hours and miles roll by; the silver-green stuff that vaguely resembles sagebush becomes more and more spotty, exposing wide expanses of black gravel and sand. Here and there, the road cuts through
fields of eroded, clinkery lava; a brutal environment even for machines, were there no road. Tires would be cut to ribbons on the stuff, and even mighty tanks would throw treads in no time, or crash through
thin lava roofs into hidden pits. Only those who could fly would be exempt.
Mesas rise to either side of the road, high rock tables with side of nearly unclimbable scree and gravel. The road weaves gently through the flat valleys between them, save for one--one dead ahead, on the horizon. It's the biggest and tallest of the mesas, more mountain plateau than mesa--it reminds Dead End a little of the Mogollon Rim in Arizona, though it's not so high nor broad as that.
It's black. There are tall structures on top of it--not so small as the cell towers and wind farms decorating high ridges in the southwest; more like a mountaintop observatory. Something's moving out there.
Dead End sweeps with his radar, mapping and checking for 'fellow travellers'. The structures atop the mesa are definitely metallic, or something equally reflective; Dead End gets a very sharp return.
There's other things out there as well--vehicles, in motion.
// I'm in sight of our destination. Any of you forward scouts care to let me in on the secret of who and what I'm looking at? I recognize Fleetwind, Starscream and Skystrike, and see three vehicles at the turnoff at the foot of the mesa. //
// Oh, and uploading all the maps I've made on the way here to Hook and Starscream. Distribute accordingly--I probably won't have a chance to do this later,// Dead End adds dourly.
Dead End speeds on towards the mesa...