Lonely Road to Utopia

Two years after the beginning, a campfire somewhere in Central Kansas

Clint looked at the flickering flames of the small fire. To his right and left sat a couple guys, not trustworthy by any means, but a good sort maybe some of the best left.

One man, a short bearded man with a squeaky voice. "Have y'all heard the story of Utopia?" He asked looking over them.

Another man, about 6' spoke up and kinda burly spoke. "Not the story of Utopia again!" It seems he'd told the story before.

Clint gave them a curious look. "What's Utopia?"

The short man smiled. "The story goes... that about a year ago, when the two armies clashed the first time, they clashed in a small town in Kentucky. The citizens were kinda Amish, not much technology. Well they didn't know about the end, never even heard about it. The armies clashed, razed the place to the ground. Well the peaceful town swore, that they would never be like them. They would bring in anyone regardless, never fight. They stayed calm and friendly. Stable jobs, good food, warm homes, you get it. Since then no one could find the place, Utopia disappeared."

"Now, only those with pure hearts can find the place. But no one in the F.U.S can find it." Said the tall man.

Clint laughed and laid back. "What a load of bull shit. Something tells me before you read a lot of conspiracy theories." The tall man laughed and punched his friend in the shoulder. "Now keep it down, some of us have to scavenge tomorrow."

Not three hours later he woke to the sounds of gunshots. Jumping to his feet he ran for where his things were stashed. Sprinting to the bushes he felt something hit his calf. Looking down he saw a the dirt unsettled by the bullet that had pierced earth behind him.

Jumping the bush he opened the bag and rummaged for his .45. Grabbing it he looked up to find the shooter; just as his left arm was penetrated by the bullet. Clint fell backward screaming in pain. He could see the man coming toward him. Angrily he pulled up the piece and unloaded into his chest.

The man clutched his chest and fell over, just as Clint began to stand. He stumbled over and dropped the pistol in his bag. Grabbing the bag and his rifle he clutched his bleeding arm and wandered off, best not to stay if those shots made someone curious.

Clint started thinking of everything, why did this happen? The answer was about as confusing as the world around him. One day the world was just normal, then the riots started. " aequalitate, aut mortem pro nobis" Equality for all, or death for us. Then the economy collapsed, sells for fuel and coal forcing inflation to a new high. Schools shut down, "Even if we had the money to continue running this school what are we gonna teach them? How civilization collapsed?"

Finally the U.N disbanded, followed by a message from each world leader stating their failure in leading and how they were sorry they didn't prevent this. Then the riots got more violent, murder and arson skyrocketing. Finally it happened, the civil war.

It wasn't North and South, oh no. East and West fought. The East declared it's self the "Former United States." The West became "Civilizations New Beginning." Kentucky was the border, you either believed the F.U.S or you joined C.N.B, either way you were asking for trouble.

Succeeded states were few, only Hawaii and Alaska. Alaska still had oil and coal to be mined and was self sustaining; the militia and whatever military forces there creating a good border. Hawaii could survive off the jungles and sea, few people able to get to the island paradise due to fuel shortages for planes and boats.

Stopping Clint looked at his bloodied arm. He was loosing blood fast and would need medical attention, if that were an option. Ahead he could see train tracks, for a train that never ran. It seemed his time had come, he could probably make it to the tracks before reaching critical condition.

Slowly he stumbled to the tracks, the sound of a train heard faintly from somewhere; a steam whistle blowing to the rhythm of the wheels. Turning he expected to see a ghastly train heading toward him with a bright light. Maybe when the thought entered his mind he was being childish, a train bound for hell here to collect him. In a history book he read confederate soldiers were strapped to the front of trains, maybe that was the metaphor that had clambered into his head.

What he saw was something different. A train of multiple light, girlish colors rode toward him. "Hey off the tracks!' Said a voice from the train. In his mind he was just hallucinating, he hefted a bloodied hand and waved at them with  a goofy smile. Shuffling off the tracks he walked a few meters away before collapsing.

Just as he was about to pass out he heard faulty train breaks squeal and a girl scream, feet hitting the ground and then silence.

Then he opened his eyes, he felt like time had passed but whatever happened had been ripped from his mind. He remembered getting shot and standing... but the details were fuzzy. Train tracks, definitely train tracks... a scream... a train... nothing else.

Then the bump of the train made him register he wasn't at camp, the feel of hands touching the area he had been shot making him register the fact he wasn't alone. In a situation like this he would usually throw a punch or try and jump away but he felt to weak to do so.

Looking over he saw a woman with pink hair tending to his wounds. "Wh-who are you?" He asked lifting up his right hand feebly.

She swatted down his hand and continued to stitch up his wound. "You lost a lot of blood back there ya know. Lucky I saw you when the train passed." Her soft voice sounded strange with such a stern tone to it. "Don't worry, you can be off this train and back to wherever soon."

Her voice was cold, almost menacing, he didn't even know her and it cut deep. "I-I'm sorry?" He asked, not quiet sure what he did.

She stopped stitching for a moment and sighed. "I'm sorry, I guess I-I... you were shot and we saw the guns you carried and... I just kinda figured you were an outlaw or something..." The cold tone in her voice was gone and now she seemed rather shy. It was strange, seeing a woman in her mid twenties with died hair, no matter how pretty and natural it looked.

She finished stitching and allowed him to sit up. Moving his arm a bit he made sure no nerve damage was done, sore but flexible. "Thank you miss..."

"Fluttershy..." He gave her a curious look. "Fluttershy..." Another look. "F-fluttershy."

He extended his right arm to her. "Clint Augustus." Slowly she extended her hand and shook a finger, was she afraid of him? "So you got a train working?"

Now it was her time to be curious. "Me: no, the train engineers in: Ponyville yes. Though we've had the train working for many years now."

Standing he looked for some clothes, only to find his bag empty besides his pistol and extra ammo. "Where are my clothes?" He asked her.

She noted the empty bag he held. "We stopped for the evening to give the conductors a break and refuel, Rarity took them to be washed at the stream not far from here." She said. "I'll take you to her." She stood from by the bed and walked over to a door on the cart.

She opened it and lead him through another cart filled with people. "I see our guest is awake?" A dark haired woman with a streak of pink asked.

He looked at the varying people, almost all girls besides the strange young man in the corner. One wore all pink, along with pink hair, and seemed about to explode from seeing him. One wore a cowboy hat over her long blonde hair, probably a country girl by the looks. Another seemed rather tomboyish, her hair being multiple colors of the spectrum. The boy was about his age, with... bright green hair, must be emo or something.

Then the last girl. She had long light red hair tied up in a yellow bow. Her eyes shined from lights upon the ceiling, so beautiful the way red and yellow mixed in her irises. She seemed rather fit, flat stomach and the same build as the farm girl. Around herself she wore a cape with a strange shield emblem on it.  She was talking to the emo kid when he first saw her, laughing and smiling at something. She turned and starred at him, the frown appearing like a round through a barrel.

He could feel them watching him, studying him, mentally dissecting him. Now he wasn't the most fit person in the world, no six pack or anything, but after a while of traveling you begin to work up a good build. His stomach, the most prominently visible part of his body was flat and had the outline of some muscle. Years of fighting, both before and after the end, made his arms muscular, this was also helped by toting around his bag and rifle for so long.

By gods graces he managed to stay mostly blemish free, his hair being pushed from extended use of his hat, kinda reminded him of the "The Outlaw Josey Wales." Played by the very man he was named after.

"Um... Howdy?" He said awkwardly.

The tomboyish girl spoke after him. "This punk give you any trouble Flutters?" What stick was shoved up her ass?

Fluttershy smiled and nodded. "He was actually very well mannered, I was about to show him to Rarity for his clothes." She told her.

He was about to make a comment when the red haired girl spoke. "Ah'll take him. Ah know where she hung the clothes to dry." The farmgirl kicked her slightly. They turned and started whispering loudly at each other.

After a minute they turned away and the girl stood up and motioned for him to follow her. After a second he followed. Being the teenage boy he was he couldn't help but notice the way her hips swayed as he followed; for as fit and slim as she was she was pretty curvy.

Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by her speaking to him. "So ya a soldier or something?" Her words were almost as cold as Fluttershy's, if not colder. Did she have something against him? Did she bring him out here to tell him off?

He nodded, then realized she couldn't see his head. "No, I'm just guy. 17 and scavenging. For the last two years just me, Betty, and Selena."

She turned and gave him a strange look. "Betty's my rifle and Selena my pistol. When you get left alone on the range for so long you make company." It was true, as mentally degrading as it sounded he spent nights just talking to the weapons.

She shrugged and kept walking. "Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. So what's ya name killer?" He couldn't tell if she was taking a stab at him, or if she was just using the term.

"Um, Clint. Clint Augustus."

"Mah names Applebloom. So how'd ya get all shot up?" Again, that cold tone. Was she toying with him? Perhaps she was bipolar.

Looking at the arm he tried to recall everything. "Most things are a bit fuzzy, kinda hard to remember. I was at camp, couple of scavengers who'd all pitched in to make a decent meal, I was asleep when some guy started shooting us up. Came out of the night with a revolver. Killed the other guys, almost got me."

He could see she frowned, was that a disappointment? "Ma'am did I do something wrong?"

She stopped abruptly and turned to look at him, the glare she gave him like a hot knife through his chest. "Ya damn right ya did! We've been working on clearing these railroads fer a year and almost got ta Appeloosa, until we had ta stop and save ya sorry ass! Now for all we know Breaburns dead!" She huffed. "If it had been up ta me, we would have left ya to bleed!"

Clint recoiled under her words. "We'll I'm sorry, it wasn't rightfully my choice to be picked up by y'all. Just show me where my clothes are and I swear you'll never see me again." She huffed and walked away, coming back a moment later and throwing his clothes at him.

He grabbed a shirt from the small pile and put it on, grabbing the rest and walking back to the train. Wasn't the first time someone had made him leave for things not his fault, probably not gonna be the last either. Storming into the train he walked to the back, threw his clothes in the bag, put on his poncho and hat, walked out and headed south.

A damn shame to, the people seemed to have stable jobs and were kind enough. The fact they got a train was pretty damn grand too. Maybe in another life or time, if circumstances were different. For now he went on, his soul bound to the road.