Vistas of the Waste – Part 1: Pumps

It’s mighty hard to get anywhere with no fuel and if I learnt anything about travelling, having a full tank is always sweet when you start a journey. And this time isn’t going to be different as I’m planning to traverse this ruined continent from the populous east coast to the wildest backwaters of the virgin west.

“Where can I get fuel?” – you might ask. There’s no better and more dangerous place for it than Pumps, the biggest metropolis of the north east. Thanks to its notoriety, it lures all kinds of adventure-hungry daredevils, would-be settlers hoping to cross the Great Divide and all manner of scumbags ready to rob all them suckers before they get 50 miles away from the city. Especially that everyone is so thrilled after buying cheap gasoline.

What is rock-solid? That you’re pretty much safe in Pumps as long as you don’t rub anyone the wrong way. Who needs no rubbing whatsoever? The Oilers. They control both the drilling and the general flow of everything that can power up your ride while their bodyguards make sure that no brawls or thefts go unpunished within the city limits. To put it simply, calmly take your place in the queue to petrol pumps (that’s how the city got its name, by the way), wait 2-3 days and then leave with canisters full of cheap gasoline.

However, once you are a wheel’s diameter outside Pumps, expect to see an ominous cloud of dust coming your way. If you’re lucky, these are just some other drongos trying to flee from one of the many gangs roaming the area. That gives you a chance for a quick, tactical retreat. Otherwise, you’d better press the pedal to the metal… and then some, because no nice guys are coming your way.

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