Chapters Chapter 1: The story of 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.
Clint felt the wind whip at his poncho and try and blow off his hat. He remembered how he got the items. It was about a year and a half after the end, he was somewhere in Wyoming, had been looking for work to feed himself. Sure he could hunt, but ammo was sparse and it was best not to waste it on small game for a night of food.
In northern Wyoming he found a group of gunslingers that were hired by the C.N.B government to try and bring law to the area. He sighed up and rode with the Regulators. They gave him ammo, food, a place to sleep.
The leader, Sheriff Johnny "Bull-Flinch" Finch, was a good man. Unless he saw a crime or had evidence he never acted, why endanger his men on a whim? They say he was a rancher before the end, mostly cattle and live stock. One day a ranch hand pissed off a bull and it was raising hell.
He walked out, the earth 'neath his feet burning from his anger. Walked right out, grabbed the bull by the horns, and as soon as it looked into his eyes it acted like a spanked puppy. Ran off tail between it's legs, afraid of the burly man who'd grabbed the bull by it's horns. 'Course that was just the rumor, he never told anyone why he was "Bull-Flinch".
On one of their last runs they were taking out a group of bandits that had been raising hell in the area. Clint was clipped by a bullet and went down for a second. Johnny picked him up, planted his .45 back in his hand and said. "The bounty on these sum bitches is a year of food, ammo, and a good pony for each of us. Unless you wanna starve for your days stop being a bitch."
Clint nodded and fought like he never had before, they became a duo like no one had heard of. Rounds upon rounds were used, more blood than could fit in a swimming pool was spilt, more swears than a sailor were said.
In the end, when they began to spread gasoline through the building John called him over. "Found this, figure a cowboy named Clint could use one." He said handing him the poncho. Clint smiled and took the over garment.
He put it on and threw the flap over his shoulder. "Thanks partner." He said before going back to his business.
Then the day he left the Regulators. One last mission before pay was distributed. Apparently a bunch of F.U.S soldiers were in the area, and the C.N.B was to lazy to dispatch troops to deal with them.
The rode in guns blazing, shooting anything that moved for a gun. At one point Johnny jumped off his horse and went on foot into the camp. Clint looked back to see a soldier behind him, shot Johnny just above his heart. Clint jumped off his horse, unloading his clip into the soldier.
Clint shuffled over to a tent and leaned against it. "Looks like this is the end o' me." Clint couldn't believe it. First his parents in Missouri, finding what other family he had dead in Arizona, now one of his best friends die before his eyes.
"Damnit Johnny, you can't die! Not like this!" He screamed.
Johnny broke an uneasy smile. "Hey, least I'm going out like a man." He put his packer hat on Clint's head. "See ya cowboy, someday, somewhere." He slowly closed his eyes and relaxed his body; drifting off into the eternal rest of sleep. A rest he damn well deserved.
His vision went red and his fist shook, he stood and clutched his .45. "Ya sum-bitches! I'll kill the damn lot of ya!" He screamed before running full force at the last soldiers. Like a the hand of god he went at them, determined to kill the men responsible for his friends death.
The next day they all awoke in the base; only to find Clint gone. Above his bunk was a mural of Johnny holding his smoking revolver with the words 'Remember to grab the bull by the horns, when he sees the Regulator stare in your eyes he'll do a Bull-Flinch.'
Clint had left in the night, quiet as the lonely prairie. He never collected his pay, what's the point of something good if your friends ain't there to celebrate it with you. Sure the other regulators were good guys; he just wasn't exactly friendly with them.
He hit the road after that, never stayed in a place more than a day at most. After six moths he ended up at the camp with the scavengers.
The regulators were a lot like them scavengers; besides the fact Regulators wouldn't just kill ya and steal your things if they could find them. They both cherished what they had and who they still had left.
He felt the warm, dry, wind of the southwest blow over him. It went through any gaps in cloth and skin, fabric and fabric. Rubbed him the wrong way. Kinda like the guy from California.
He had been on the road a good year, hiking from his home in Missouri to see if he still had family alive in Arizona. He was 14 still, only 9 months on the road. He had to frequently stop and rest because of how inexperienced he was at walking these distances.
Arriving at their home in Western Arizona he knocked on the door, nothing. Another knock and nothing. Mustering all the strength he had in his lower body he kicked the door, it budged slightly.Another kick, one more inch to go. Boom! Creek!
He broke the wood from behind the lock just barely, allowing the door to slowly open. He entered to a putrid smell. Lying on the floor in puddles of dark black blood, flies swarming them, and god knows what else, was his family. All of them.
His family was pretty religious, always at church or praying. When all this started they probably gathered here to pray for salvation. Then some crazy son of a bitch broke in and killed them, stole any valuables, etc.
Recoiling out the door he fell over and started vomiting, between the sight, smell, and realization of the fact he was truly alone now it was sickening. Crawling over he sat against the wall and started weeping.
Sure he was never close with them, but they were family damn it! His family, his last family, the only thing he ha- would have had left.
After a while he stood up and wiped the tears from his eyes. You're parents wouldn't want you acting like this! The words of his friend rung in his ears. That hit home, the thought that subconsciously made it's self present in his head pushed him over board.
He pulled the pistol from his bag and pressed it firmly against his temple. Just as he was about to pull the trigger a man called out. "Hey fella!"
Opening his eyes he saw a man running up the road toward him. "Hey man! You find anything good in there?" The man tried going in the house, to be stopped by Clint.
"Stay the fuck out." Was all he said.
The man gave him a funny look before smiling. "Oh I see, you found some awesome loot and are trying to keep it for yourself! Well I think I'll go see myself! Maybe I can use some of it for that ferry in California."
Clint stopped him again. "Ferry to where?"
The guy scoffed. "Well to Hawaii! They got it made out there. The end was like nothing to them. Now if you excuse me, I have a house to plunder." He walked by Clint and tried entering the house again.
This guy was already on his nerves, and he'd be damned if he was gonna let someone try and plunder his family home. Turning he pulled up the pistol and shot the man through the head, just as he started to walk through the door. Walking toward the garage he found the door open.
Entering he saw his prize, the gas canister was there still. Grabbing it he popped the cap and started walking circles around the house, pouring the gas on the wooden sides of the home. He grabbed the dead mans bag and started looking for something to light the fuel with.
He found a box of usable ammo and some matches. Pocketing the ammo he struck a match and threw it at the home, Instantly it was engulfed in flames. He walked away from the house; his family's tomb.
As he walked away he felt cold, despite the heat of the fire he still felt. Cold in his heart and cold in his thoughts. He was completely alone; all of his family was dead.
It felt kinda like floating in space. He seemed weightless, all the weight of family responsibility and sense of protection to someone was gone. Though no matter how he looked at it, no matter how many people were left in the world, in the universe ; he had no one. No friends, no family, nothing. Like floating alone in space.
Maybe that was a feeling he was meant to feel. Maybe that's why this all happened. So that people would learn not to take things for granite. He always did take things for granite, yet he always cherished family and friends.
If his least favorite family member called him at 3 A.M he'd probably just sit and talk with them; get whatever was on their chest out of the way.
An event like this was a biblical, maybe it was of divine intention. God brought this down to punish sinners; his rapture was murder, his holy light shimmering blood. Was God really this cruel?
Chapter 3: Outbound and down
It had been a while since Clint had seen the train; maybe they got to wherever safely. Not like he cared; they probably would have told him to pay up for saving him.
He figured he was somewhere close to Houston by now; suspicions confirmed by the skyscrapers in the distance.
That's when he heard them, gunshots in the city. Now that wouldn't have been much cause for worry; besides the fact they came from his right, which was the same direction of the train tracks. Perhaps all debts had to be payed eventually.
Looking around he saw a trash can, best to leave his things somewhere. Pulling his pistol from it he shoved the bag in and the pistol in his belt.
Taking a good run for the tracks he saw the familiar colorful carts of the train. "Figures." Now the fly caught the spider. Sighting in his rifle he aimed at the first man shooting at the train. Sorry brother."
He took in a good breath and exhaled. CRACK!
He cycled the bolt, a few more to go. The next man tried being smart, heard the rifle crack and tried dropping to avoid getting shot. Clint had been aiming for his center mass, when he dropped he put the round through his throat.
Then he felt the dirt next to him spit up as a round hit it. Cycling the bolt he looked for the man, coming at him with a .22 revolver. Rolling his eyes he pulled his .45 from his belt and shot the man in the chest.
Putting the rifle around himself he began to move in wit the .45, time to show what American classics can do.
He saw a guy beating on the door of the train door with a rock. Walking up behind him he put the gun to the back of his head and pulled the trigger, both chunks of head and smoke coming from the guys mouth.
Turning he saw a guy coming at him with a ball bat. He swung high from the right side, allowing clint to drop to the left and the man to miss. From his spot on the ground he easily had a shot at the mans head. He pulled the trigger twice, one round hitting him in the upper chest and the next going through the bottom of his mouth and into his head.
Looking over he saw one more man smashing the locks on the train car with the butt of his gun. Clint stood and finished the clip in the mans back.
Grumbling he walked up and banged on the train door. "It's safe, open up."
"Password." Said a man sounding very southern from inside.
"What?"
"I need the password."
"What password?"
"They gave it out at the meeting 15 minutes ago!"
"Meeting? What meeting? I was out here!"
"Not supposed to let anyone in without it!"
Clint sighed and walked to the next door. "Does anyone remember Clint?" He yelled at a broken window.
"He was that cowpoke that Fluttershy bandaged up a while ago." Sounded like the tomboy.
"He just saved your asses. Look outside." Some of the women cautiously peaked through the windows down at him. After a second they disappeared and the train door opened. Out stepped the one with dark hair and the pink streak, and the cowgirl.
The one with dark hair walked up and extended her hand. "Thank you Clint. I don't think we ever officially were introduced. I'm Twilight Sparkle." He took her hand and shook it.
It was only know that he realized how tall he had become. The woman affront him was quiet tall and he still had to look down at her. "Yeah, well I hope this settles any score we had."
He began to walk away when the same voice from the door earlier called out. "Hold on just a daggon minute! Ya saved mah hide as well! So we got a score now too!" This guy already sounded annoying.
He turned to see a guy with a cowboy hat and a vest on coming toward him. "Mister that's fine, whatever score you think we had is settled." Clint really didn't wanna deal with this guy.
The man smiled and whistled at the train cart. Out came a tall, midnight black Appaloosa horse. "It will be if ya except ol' Midnight blossom here." The horse walked over to Clint and nuzzled him lightly.
Clint smiled and began to pet the horse. "Deal." Looking over he saw the cowboy and the cowgirl arguing, apparently this horse was important.
Putting one foot in the stirrups he hefted himself into the saddle. Motioning Midnight over he waited by the man. "Thank ya for this mister..."
The man smiled and extended his hand. "Call me Breaburn!" Clint took his hand and shook before turning back and heading toward his bag.
When he reached the bag he he heard the train whistle sound and the wheels begin to move. Grabbing his bag he secured it to the saddle and headed back to the platform; just see if them bandits had anything useful on them.
He stopped Midnight and began searching the first guy. While he was doing that Midnight trotted up and started digging a hoof at he next guy.
Clint stood and walked over to see what it was going for. Moving the guy revealed he had an IPod in his back pocket. Clint picked it up and hit the power button, half power. Seeing as power had been out since 2 months after the end, dams and solar panels being a select few's power supply, he decided to dig around and see what they had.
On the last guy, after finding a good supply of things to fix/ clean his weapons with, he found a small solar charger and a cord for the music device. Turning it on he saw it didn't have a password, just swipe to open. He put one of the ear-buds in and hit shuffle on the music screen.
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Jumping up he got on the horse and started of north east, it was finally time. With everyone gone he had no one to make him do things before he was ready; he was to decide when he was ready.
2 years, 5 months, 1 week, 3 days, 15 hours and 30.11111111111115 seconds had passed, and now it was time.
