The dust storm was going to bear upon them at any second now. It was only a matter of time and whether the Great Hippo was feeling merciful today or not. Sawbones eyes looked around in a mad manner, eyeing each corpse of a vehicle and figuring out which one would be best to weather the storm out. Especially with the presence of the convoy. Raiders. Pilgrims. War-Parties. It didn’t matter to him. If they would stand in the way of his precious quest for the completion of the Panacea, then, they were all flesh and bone in his eyes. His to carve and his to mould. 

Sawbones heard a wet and terrible ripping noise as Kalahan messily disembowelled and removed the young female full-lives person of her organs. He narrowed his eyes at the grievous act of shame that the Road Warrior was displaying so wantonly. Wasting all of that fertile blood and flesh just as a gambit to disguise himself. It was simply despicable. Good blood. Good blood to spread and breed blood in others. Then again, the Great Hippo had not let him survived the storm for nothing. From the looks of it, despite its simplicity, the disguise looked convincing. Maybe, he had a good idea after all.  

He wouldn’t waste a good corpse like that, however.  They would need a distraction if they were going to survive the storm. 

Sawbones searched through the wrecks for an appropriate corpse hurriedly before spotting an half-life war-boy with sliver in his smiling teeth, his eyes closed in peace. The War-Boy was growing soft even before he died in the convoy. His skin was pallid and pale as chalk. There was a horrid tumorous growth on his chest, constricting his rib-cage and his eyes were sunken so far back into his skull that they looked almost gaunt. He looked almost recognizable to him as Sawbones popped open a scalpel and flipped him over, doing a hasty incision at his back. Wasn’t his name Slag? It didn’t matter anyway. He took a lengthy jagged piece of ripped bumper from an old buggy and rammed it in the bottom of the corpse, a foul smell emanating from the open cut. He eventually raised him upwards and propped him on the hood of a car to make it look as if he was standing in the storm. There was only the need for a little bit of clothing to complete the illusion before Sawbones examined his work. 
Hopefully, the Great Hippo would bless him this time again. 

The storm quickly approaching at a field’s distance now,  Sawbones quickly ducked under the uprooted vessel of a burst-open buggy, digging himself firmly in the sand, underneath the rusty belly. His chin was buried in the golden sand as he closed his mouth, careful not to breath in the blistering sand. There was a small gap of light where he could see what was outside, his breathing quickening as the light was dying by the fraction…….