3. Winter's Day

Chapter 3. Winter’s Day

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year

Winter’s Day (by the old Earth Pony Calendar), 193 ALD

A deep dreamless and untroubled sleep awaited me. It felt wonderful. Waking up… not so much. My eyes didn’t want to open (as usual). But, eventually they did. I was inside a massive building, half eaten by time and weather and apocalypse. The ceiling (what was left of it) must have been six stories above me and the walls were hundreds of feet away. Rubble lay strewn in many places across the floor and a few dilapidated train engines and cars sat rusting and abandoned in lines. But where I was there was some glass, wood, other materials, the debris based construction I felt I could expect from much of the Equestrian wastes. It was almost like … being in a building inside of that larger building I would guess. It was a sort of over large shack that provided more cover than the structure that surrounded it.

I knocked a hoof against my neck and felt the cold metal of the slave collar. Damn it. Still there. Really wished it wasn’t, but at least the thing hadn’t exploded… yet. I turned over and lifted my head slowly, quietly. Just about every other pony there was asleep. My wounded griffin was nearby though, still breathing. I sighed in relief. It looked like only two others beside myself were awake, bucks on guard duty, battle saddles with early war assault rifles on them aimed toward the greater expanse of the large building our little building was hidden in. It was time to write in my journal. I yawned and stretched, kicking the blankets on me off of my flanks. I stopped. No, it wasn’t time to write in my journal. It was time to go the little mare’s room. Ho, boy was it time for that. I stood, letting the blankets fall, and walked toward one of the guards and no I was not doing any sort of ‘I really have to pee’ dance… not at that moment anyway.

“Where’s the head?” I asked the nearest guard, who jumped straight into the air, spun around and almost shot me. I hesitated, throwing my wings out in a gesture of appeasement, then realized that bringing attention to me being a Pegasus was not a good idea.

“Shit on a stick, you scared me.” The guard hissed. He was a buck, as I think I may have mentioned, a young one, not too far past a colt. He was the color of what I could only describe as raspberries. Raspberry could be a color… right? He’d shorn his silver mane down so that it was just a little bit more than stubble and looked at me with eyes so dark I thought they were black. You know, he wasn’t half ba-

“The what?” He asked me, confused, but still managing to ooze dislike.

“The head.” I replied, cocking an eyebrow. “Where you go to the bathroom.” The clarification seemed necessary.

“Oh, uh, it’s,” he pointed with a hoof toward what looked like a tiny outhouse in a far corner of the building past many of the various rubbish heaps, “over there.” Huh, he’d forgotten to put any malice into his words this time.

“Thanks.” I answered and gave him a wink that made the poor buck all flustered, looking away from me. If dark purplish red raspberries could blush…

The walk seemed longer than it really was, possibly because as soon as I left the little shelter things grew very cold. Darn no heat icy snow place. Stepping carefully, trying not to get glass in my hooves or dislodge the massed piles of crap, I made it to the little… huh, it really was an outhouse… inside of a building. I almost wondered what had happened to the original bathrooms that must have been in here. This, what would this place be called? A train dock? Train garage? Train station? Train bay? I think that was it, train station.

The smell of the outhouse brought me back to reality. Gross. I mean, I know that I probably didn’t smell too great, though I had taken the world’s coldest bath a short time before, but this thing reeked. I held my breath and tried to think distant happy thoughts as I relieved myself. Happy thoughts, like finding my foals, and alcohol. Yes, happy thoughts.

On the way back, despite being very cold, I meandered a bit. Some of the refuse was debris from the building, pieces of trains, and random detritus that just built up over two centuries. But, buried within were other things. I saw luggage, clothing, smashed crates… bones. This place might have been for passenger lines but it looked like it also handled a lot of freight, shipping goods, what have you. Things that ponies had bought and sold almost two hundred years ago were now little more than crap, almost literally.

Hundreds of copies of a book, mildewed, damaged and torn were in one of the piles. ‘The Art of Fun.’ I picked up a copy that sloughed in half when I touched it. What a weird title, even for me. Let's see, a relatively intact magazine called ‘Horns’ which seemed to be gay unicorn porn. It definitely did not get folded up under one of my wings to be thoroughly perused later. I dug a little deeper and found what appeared to be a story book for foals. Wedged into it was a magazine. More porn? I pulled it out of the book. Nope. 'Equestrian Army Today.' On the cover were blurbs about volunteering for service, actions taken against the zebra menace, how ponies who couldn’t enlist could still find ways of helping, a little bit on small unit tactics… and battle saddles. Interesting, no, wait, neat. There we go. I flipped through it a bit and decided it was worth keeping. I did not fold it over the other magazine tucked under my wing, which I did not have in my possession, let me remind you.

In the midst of turning away, I stopped and looked back at the book that the magazine had been in. It was bound in brown leather with a strange symbol on the front, an eight pointed star entwined with a circle or wheel and on it were six gems. It felt… familiar but I couldn’t place it. Beneath the symbol was a rather simple and vague title; 'Friendship is Magic.' Friendship is Magic. Why did it feel like I had heard that before? I opened the cover and ignored the faded and scribbled note written there to see that this was apparently the first volume in a series. This specific book was 'Mare in the Moon.' Hmm… sounded like porn but carefully flipping the pages yielded only an illustrated story book for colts and fillies, which, on consideration, I decided to take as well. When I found my children I would have something to read to them… other than filthy, filthy and way inappropriate smut... and my journal which I liked to think of as the ravings of a mad mare. Thinking of which, it was really cold and I wanted to get back to the fire and write in said journal. I left the pile behind and sauntered back toward warmth and alleged safety, trying not to show that I was shivering.

I sat on my blankets, feeding little morsels of two hundred year old food to the turtle’s heads (watching them squabble with each other) and occasionally checking Sir Hotness the Still Not Awake, Griffin… Esquire. I wondered if there was any griffin porn still around, or steamy hot Pegasus on griffin action type porn that… yeah, going to stop right there.

There were sixteen ponies here and I was the only pegasi. Situated at one end of the oversized shack were the pack animals, eleven Brahmin in total. The room’s center had been dug out into a fire pit with a stack of wood against the nearest wall to keep the thing going. Other than that, it was sparse. There were a few moldy old seats that probably came from trains or the station and bedding rolls where the others slept. I resisted the urge to find the mare that had threatened me and give her a good solid cunt punt while she slept. Why, because it would probably cause trouble for me and mine. And, after what Pendulum said, I was willing to follow his lead, for the time being. That tiny little buck had stood up for me… while lying down… you know what I mean. It felt… good. Also, made him more attractive in my personal estimation.

“Loyal to the contract.” The griffin muttered in his sleep, and not for the first time. He was a weird bird, but, a live one.

“Of course, of course. Contract, dragon’s teeth, you keep on living featherhead… rock that unconsciousness.” I said, only paying a little bit of attention. The young guard buck looked back at me from his post, probably wondering what I was saying or who I was talking to. A casual smile set him to coughing and trying not to…blush, flush, whatever. I still got it. Also, not sure if a pony his shade could blush effectively. Ah, good times.

I took out my journal, mercifully dry, stuck a pencil in my mouth, then switched it to my right wing so that I could light a cigarette (which was damp) and pondered on what to write. Horns slipped from under my wing and I hurriedly stashed it beneath my blankets, trying not to whistle nonchalantly as I did so. Later hooves and wings, later.

“Hey.” I whispered to the guard. He didn’t turn around. “Hey.” I tried a little louder, using what for some reason I wanted to call a stage whisper. A few grunts and snores and farts replied from the sleeping ponies around me, but the guard did turn.

“What time is it?” I asked, trying to mimic a clock and looking like an idiot. He gave me the oddest look.

“Just after midnight… turkey.” He added the last bit at the end no doubt just to try and not fall for my charms. His loss. So, after midnight, huh? I lit the cigarette and put pencil to paper.

Winter’s Day, 193 ALD

Took a bath today... yesterday. Very unpleasant. Stupid rivers and their riveriness. Is that a word? Stop asking questions of the journal. Stop writing things that don’t need to be written… damn it.
Trying again. No dreams last night, only silence. No new memories but felt strange about a symbol on a book and the words; Friendship is Magic. Forded the Ponymac river, made eight miles in the journey yesterday. Rest day today. Pendulum is a good buck. Limerick… maybe not as bad as I thought, still an asshole though. Holed up in the ruins of the Fairy’s Harp train station at the Norfoal line junction. Thirteen other ponies here, not including my companions. They do not like me. I guess it’s because I’m a Pegasus. I intend to not like them either, because they’re assholes.

I took a puff off of my cigarette and kept writing.

Handsome young buck. I feel… tired and a little horny. Shouldn’t be coming into season, shouldn’t be, with it being winter and all. Have yet to ask these new ponies if they have seen my foals, will do so.

I put my hoof to my gear, where I knew the photograph and the picture to be. Doing so gave me some small comfort and could steel my resolve if I needed it.

We’ve now traveled eighty nine miles, give or take. Pendulum estimated about three hundred total to Manehattan, so we’re about a third of the way there. Blizzard yesterday, a great… grandmother of a storm. Cold, ice everywhere. Snow fell fast. Came close to dying, again. Did not find it overly enjoyable. Nasty mare here, part of the group that doesn’t like me. Needs a good hard kick in her stupid mule face. Not too bad looking though. Weather today…

I looked up and moved my head, peering outward from the refuge. It was still snowing but the blizzard had died, thank the sun and moon.

Snowing still. Dark outside. Dark in here too, but for the fire. Warmth is a good thing. Cold not so much. Very bad actually. Deadly. Heat good. Starting to get hungry. Still looking for foals. No more clues. And, I don’t know anymore about who I am either. Unfortunate. Sad. Enough for now. Time to read some of the stuff I found in the ruins.

Wild Skies, Caravan Guard Pony

Equestrian Army Today was an interesting if odd magazine. It seemed equal parts useful and practical tips mixed in with pro-war, anti-zebra propaganda. I wasn’t sure how many ponies that read it actually bought into it… or didn’t buy into it. It isn’t like it mattered anymore. Equestria and her rulers were dead (and one of these days I would have to figure out what made me certain of that last part). The Zebra Empire and its rulers were dead. How did I know on that one… cause Equestria, fuck yeah! Pretty sure that a large amount of megaspells, totaling somewhere in the high megaton range, collided with the stripes and took them out just as bad if not even worse than what they did to us.

The magazine’s cover listed a date of YotM 7, Volume 11, Issue # 3. I wasn’t sure what YotM meant, but it made me think of yogurt for some reason. And if I were to guess, I’d say it was the eleventh year the magazine was in print and, if it was based on calendar years (also it appeared to be a monthly publication) then that would make it released in the third month, so First Rain. It didn’t mean much of anything to me but I liked mysteries I guess… except my own, and figuring things out about the distant past was pretty neat. And, it made me want to get a battle saddle. Death from above and all that goodness.

I flexed my wings. The river can’t have done them any good but there didn’t seem to be any lasting damage to them either. Though, I still regretted not gliding over the Ponymac. But, of course, that would have left me with a couple dozen trips to try and bring our goods across, or having to leave Bessy, the wagon, the griffin, the turtle and the majority of the equipment with the two earthbound ponies trying to cross. I sighed. Why couldn’t all ponies have wings? It would solve a lot of problems, that.

Now, the children’s book was even more… I don’t want to say interesting, because I feel like I’ve been saying that a lot lately and I don’t want my lex… icon… lexicon to grow stale. So, instead, I would say that there was a little bit of an epiphany in reading it and it wasn’t a bad read either. I kind of liked the pictures. They were… they reminded me… they made me think of fairy tales, times long ago where the world was a better, brighter, happier place. Even with the dangers presented in the story, there was happiness and hope. Two things the wasteland did not have in any abundance.

The story was about a unicorn mare. She seemed kind of sexy in a bookish librarian sort of way and it told of her realization that the mare in the moon, Nightmare Moon, was returning from a thousand year banishment to try and bring about eternal night. Twilight Sparkle, Mare of the Ministry of Arcane Science… who helped destroy the world. I didn’t remember much of anything about her from the Great War but it seemed very odd that an introverted book keeper would lend a hoof to Armageddon. Predictions and Prophecies… the stars would aid in her escape… The Elements of Harmony. I looked back and forth between the page in the book and the cover. Six gems on a circled eight pointed star. So that’s what the cover was a representation of.

Elements of Harmony? Big use they ended up being. World blows up and where were these super awesome power things that had the strength to banish a living goddess. I shook my head and read on. There were other characters as well, a little dragonling who might have been a slave or servant, a radical flyer with a rainbow mane, a farm mare that needed a good roll in the hay, a strange pink earth pony… yellow critter liking Pegasus… fashion obsessed unicorn…

Twilight Sparkle. Pinkie Pie. Applejack. Rainbow Dash. Rarity. Fluttershy. I knew this story. Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, Ministry Mares, paragons of the virtues of friendship in Equestria, harbingers of doom, bringers of the apocalypse. Any further thoughts fell under a cloud of pain and emptiness that let me know additional memories I may have had of them were gone, along with my identity. The first volume of the book only seemed to reach a cliff hanger where Nightmare Moon showed up and made a villain spiel about night lasting forever. I guess I would have to find the second volume somewhere… if there were any surviving copies.

What happens when a librarian and student of magic, a party planning pastry chef, a burgeoning fashionista desirous of high society, a competitive but lazy athlete, an introverted animal caregiver and a farm running family pony become friends?

These were the ponies in the Mysterious Stallion’s riddle. So, what happened when they became friends? Nightmare Moon was defeated. They became element bearers. Magic? That was the title after all, but it didn’t seem like it would be the answer the dumb buck wanted.

Dawn was approaching as I thought on the answer. The eastern sky lit dimly in orange and yellow behind the gray of clouds. It looked like it would keep snowing, which couldn’t be a good thing for our ability to travel. Though, it would make for excellent snowball fights. I scanned the sleeping ponies around me. Yeah, don’t think they’d be likely to join in any kind of fight with a Pegasus that didn’t involve copious amounts of bullets. What to do now then? Hehe… I know.

Surreptitiously (now there’s a word), I pulled out the copy of Horns, using my peripheral vision to make sure nopony was watching me. I flipped through the first couple of pages. It was exactly what I thought it was. Jackpot. The magazine rested on the book so that I could close it and hide it if need be. Oh yes, this was quite a magazine indeed.

A groggy, phlegm riddled yawn sounded behind me and I slammed the book shut as though my life depended on it.

“What’s that?” Limerick’s voice. The buck appeared over my shoulder. “Friendship is Magic. Isn’t that a foal’s book?” He asked pointedly.

“So?” I asked back, shifting my position so that he wasn’t creepily behind me.

“Just glad to see you found something at your reading level.” He replied scathingly. “Pretty pictures, nice and simple, short words, easy to spell.”

“Hey Limerick, how do you spell douchebag?” I retorted.

“W…i…l…-”

“Yeah, yeah. Stop there. You’re a funny bastard.”

“How are you doing, bitch?” He asked, taking a seat next to me, rubbing his forehooves together and holding them up before the fire.

“Better than you, from the look of things.” I answered, picking up a can of peas (now with 'perfect preservation' according to the label) from my pack and passing it to him. Limerick used a knife to open the top of the can and guzzled down some of the vegetables. He wiped his muzzle and offered the can back. I took it and finished it off. “How’s Pendulum?”

“Seems to be doing better.” The buck answered, glancing back to our employer, who was lightly snoring with a gentle whistling sound a few feet back from us. “Bird?” I shrugged and set the can down, figuring I would keep the thing because I could use it for something else later. Limerick pulled the turtle back toward us before it could blithely walk into the fire.

“No real improvement.” I gave a slightly more verbal answer. “But no decline either. I guess we’ll have to wait and see… or find a wasteland doctor on our trip.” We watched the turtle leave its blanket by my side and investigate the empty can, giving it a few cursory attacks with its beaks. “So, what do we do today?” I didn’t really know what this trade was about.

“Agree on price ranges, transfer goods, tell stories, make trades, plan routes, celebrate the holiday, exchange information, get drunk.” The earther replied, absently kicking the turtle away from the chewing tobacco he retrieved and then put in his lip. “Might join up with another caravan or two.” He added through the tobacco. Limerick stood up, spit into the fire and headed toward the exit to the greater building. “Taking a shit, back in a while. Watch my stuff.”

“When do we start the meet?” I asked, stretching my wings and swishing my tail.

“Soon as everypony wakes up, idiot.” He replied as he reached the door, smacking the guard on the back of the head and walking toward the outhouse. The guard glared after him.

“Want me to kiss it and make it better?” I asked with a grin. The raspberry buck looked back at me, conflicted, then shook his head and went back to his duties. “Your loss.” I said with mild disappointment. Cracking my neck with my wings I settled down and went back to thinking about the riddle… and looking at Horns, while I waited for the others to stir and awaken.

The little camp in the building… inside of another building, was, I don’t think hectic came anywhere close to describing it. Ponies starting waking up soon after Limerick returned. I posited the theory that they woke up because the smell of his shit reached them all the way from the outhouse (though it hadn’t). He’d laughed… and farted next to me… then I had to move far away to find any respite from the stench. But, regardless, and back on topic, the place was a whirlwind. Ponies feeding Brahmin, ponies feeding themselves, yelling, name calling, jokes. Questions and answers flew back and forth across the width and length of the shack. Blankets were rolled up, ledgers and books and papers were taken out. Merchants conferred with each other, discussing anything and everything. Guards played games or made bets. Limerick reluctantly paid up for the caps he lost to me on the road, vowing to get them back from my grubby 'bitch whore' hooves. Chaos, that’s what it was, and it was wonderful. Alive, moving, flowing, changing. Even though most of the ponies here tried to avoid me, or give me nasty looks, make mean comments, et cetera... but, fuck ‘em.

Pendulum awoke during the initial hustle and bustle. And, while he still couldn’t walk he did have Limerick and I signed up for guard duty rotations before using his magic to great effect in getting himself ready for the goings on. Speaking of which, the guard duty part, that was how I ended up in full armor, weapons at the ready, covered in falling snow and walking perimeter with a unicorn mare old enough to be my mother… no, wait, grandmother. That makes me feel better, younger. Shut up! I’m still a young mare in her prime.

“Yup, raped by raiders on the road twixt here and Appleloosa, course that was nigh on four decades ago.” Corn Husk said as though it were an everyday occurrence. The fact that she had lived four decades afterward, with how boring and complacent she seemed, was a source of frustrating astonishment to me. “Course, that weren’t the first time neither. Two brothers took a shot at me back on the homestead, got all the neighborhood colts together and started charging for me.” The old biddy paused to breathe and spit into the snow. We rounded the southwest corner of the building for, what was, if my count hadn’t been screwed up, the twenty-ninth time.

“That’s what caused me to run in the first place. Didn’t sit with me, what they did. Told my ma but she took no action. Couldn’t tell my pa, he’d died on the farm during a famine year. Bad times that.” She continued with her horrible story, and I mean horrible on like, so many damn levels. Corn Husk was old, really old. I wasn’t sure why she was a caravan guard and she didn’t seem to remember, not that it mattered. The mare was faded in her coat, what had once been a lime green was now somewhere between pastel vomit and pale snot. Her hair was tied in a gray burn with no indication of what color it had once been and she had more wrinkles than Limerick had fleas. “You ever been through a famine year child?”

“Not that I can recall.” I answered dully, lighting up a cigarette and wishing that I still had some kind of drug or alcohol on me. I gazed around us. Most of the landscape was covered in snow, uninteresting. A few scattered ruins stuck up from the white around us but they didn’t appear to be worth our time to look at. No doubt they’d been properly scavenged decades beforehand.

“Not that you can recall?” Corn Husk repeated my words incredulously. “Listen honey, you’d recall if you’d been through a famine year.”

“No, I don’t think I would.” I replied evenly. The elderly mare gave me a weird look with crimson eyes that were clouding over, starting to look milky. I didn’t need to ask why she was solely armed for close quarters combat. Anything more than twenty feet past her nose was probably a mystery to her. “I lost my memories.” I explained. “Shot in the head.” Our breath misted in front of us as we continued, walking in our hoofprints from the last twenty eight times we’d been this way. “Hope I can forget this too.” I muttered.

“What’s that?” She asked, tilting her head toward me.

“How many famine years did you have, Corn?” I decided that old and annoying as she may be, Corn Husk was harmless and it wouldn’t be nice to insult her… openly.

“Oh no, we didn’t have corn in the famine years.” She replied with the wave of a hoof. “Reduced to eating dirt and sickly leaves.” Did she seriously think I had asked my question the way she interpreted it?

“No, how many famine years did you have, your name, Corn Husk, your name?” I tried again, sighing and rolling my eyes.

“No child, they didn’t name the famine years, bad luck to do that.” Fuck me. Senile much, old one? “Now, as I was saying, left the farm and headed toward Appleloosa, course in those days it weren’t known as such. Trainyard, they called it. Mostly wiped out a few years later, slavers, why I left. Resettled sometime after that by a bunch of plague survivors. Nasty plague it was too. Now where did it start?” Please kill me, please.

We began our thirtieth trip around the station and I wanted to bury my head in the snow… or bury Corn Husk. Maybe she would think we were playing a game until it was too late. No, sorry folks, no idea what happened to her. She must have wandered off or gotten eaten by a wild animal. I shook my head and abandoned my happy delusions of elderly pony killing.

“Took on with a traveling act,” Corn Husk started again. “They was hucksters, sharletons, didn’t rape me though. One mare was real nice, sweet on me.” Ugh… imagining that old bag of bones getting laid made me want to scream and drown myself in 80 proof, or something stronger. “Lost at sea they was, near the wrecker shoals off Baltimare, terrible place that. I survived, washed up on a beach somewhere’s near the outskirts of the city. Took up residence and started making things, tinkering mostly, scavenging for a living and by trade. Not bad times. Got pregnant off a buck, had twins. Good kids. Both dead now. Sad to lose ‘em but they died as we all must do sometime.”

“How did they die?” I asked, being nothing if not a glutton for punishment.

“What’s that?” Corn asked, smacking at her ear. “Peepers don’t work so well anymore.” For the love of… what did eyes have to do with hearing?

“How did they die?” I asked her more loudly.

“How did who die?” She asked right back, clearly absent of any wits she might have still otherwise retained.

“Never mind, you just keep on trotting, old girl.” I told her, throwing my cigarette butt away and watching with mild satisfaction when it hissed upon impacting the snow, sinking into the white depths.

“Bourbon, bourbon, whiskey snow.” I sang softly to myself. “Where we’re going, Corn don’t know.” I adjusted the way my armor sat with a rolling shrug of my shoulders. “She may not fight but she can walk.” I yawned before picking up again. “Sure damn wish she couldn’t talk.”

“Were you saying something, dear?” Corn Husk asked. She swung her pump action shotgun around in her mauve colored magic. “What is it girl, windigos? Bandits? Thieves? Them cockatrices again? Damn them, always getting to the Brahmin, causing havoc on the farm.” I closed my eyes to try and force the lunacy out of my brain only it didn’t work.

“No, nothing Corn, it’s jus-” I started to say before being interrupted.

“Husk, Skies!” The second word was growled as though it sullied the tongue of the speaker. It was the earther mare from the day before, the one that wanted to see if I was a squealer. “Four hours is up, inside for chow.” Oh thank you sweet, sweet mercy. Never again. I dashed into the opening in the building from which the dark gray mare had spoken to us. She and another guard, an azure colored unicorn buck with a long braided green mane who looked ugly as sin but built like a solid wall of muscle exited the building after I entered and started their patrol of the outside. Corn Husk came in behind me.

“Good to be inside youngin, these old bones don’t like the cold, not no more, spent enough time up near the ruins of that old crystal place. Cold much of the year there. Didn’t care for it after a while. Nearly lost a hoof to frostbite.” Corn started blathering again.

“Sorry, Corn, I’ll be back.” I told her in a conciliatory manner that went less than coat deep. “I’ve gotta ask a question of somepony.” The old mare nodded and started trudging toward the outhouse, complaining about her bladder. From what I could see, the traders (and the guards not on duty) were all still holed up in the central building, the whole business thing was still ongoing.

“How did I get stuck with her?” I asked Pendulum upon my return, gesturing toward the elderly mare who was just reaching the distant outhouse. He looked up from his papers and moved a little under his blankets.

“I told Limerick to work out the schedule for the two of you.” He told me, his voice a creaking croak of what it usually was.

“Seriously?” I questioned. My boss smiled.

“And nopony likes standing with her. But all the guards have to share with her one time or another. Lim almost killed her with his sword two summers back.” Pendulum let his pencil fall from his magic as he took a hoof to push a pair of very small spectacles further up the bridge of his nose. Anger bubbled up in me. Stupid Limerick. I headed toward the exit.

“Where are you going?” Pendulum asked after me as he motioned for another trader to bring their ledger over to be compared. “Lunch is almost ready.”

“Outside. I’m going to make a snowball,” and fill it with ice and rocks, “and throw it in Limerick’s face.” I told the unicorn. “Then, while he’s blinded, I’m going to punch him in the dick.”

“Have a nice time.” Pendulum offered as he began to quibble back and forth with the other trader over the cost of canteens.

It turned out that Limerick was too crafty for my attempt, curse his low cunning that still managed to exist despite his general stupidity. I did manage to peg him right in the anus with the snow/ice/rock ball, though, which, upon consideration, felt almost as good as my original plan.

It was lunch time now and the off-duty guards were sitting down to eat with the traders who were taking a break from their numbers and accounting and arguments and deals. Two of the guards had been cooking up grub for everybody, which, to my great delight, did not contain any actual grubs. It was a succotash of corn, peas, beans, broccoli and carrots… all preserved for almost two hundred years. One of these days I had to pay more attention to labels or ask Pendulum how that worked. There was no way that I could see that such food would still be edible, and yet it was, despite not always tasting very good. Besides the succotash we had freshly baked bread (a real delicacy), radhog bacon (totally awesome), radigator steaks, a whole bunch of war era dessert products, including an entire fucking cake, which I planned to conduct extensive clandestine eating operations against, and drinks which consisted of about two dozen beers and sparkle-colas, a bottle of champagne, three bottles of whiskey and two bottles of peppermint schnapps. There may have been water, too, I think, but I wasn’t paying attention.

The food, as it turned out, was really quite good… especially the bacon, it was like a gift from the goddesses. The steaks weren’t bad either, though a little tough. Apparently summer was a much better season for slaughtering and preserving radigator meat. The succotash tasted very well preserved and artificial. I may have had a helping… or two (five). But, it was the alcohol that made the meal. Two of the merchants and three of the guards played what looked like homemade (or heavily home repaired) though well maintained instruments; a violin, drums, a guitar, flute and harmonica. Good times. They played, occasionally stopping to eat and drink while the bottles got passed around. Ponies reconnected more, personally, than they had during the morning with everything going on.

I made sure that I got my fair share of the booze, though Pendulum cautioned me not to get into drinking contests with any of the other guards (spoil sport). Mostly it was, he said, because they wouldn’t want to lose something to a Pegasus. It would make them… unpleasant. And that was why I stayed a little away from the other ponies, watching the fun, still getting food, drinking (despite some reluctance to pass the bottles to me) and laughing along, clopping my hooves to the music.

There was a feeling to this meal, something that I couldn’t quite describe or remember. It felt cozy, warm, even with the occasional glare it still seemed inviting. It was… almost… like having friends, a home. Not quite, I didn’t think, but near. The songs were rowdy and bawdy, just the way I liked them. The alcohol was cold, the food was hot and the fire was roaring. Outside the wind picked up again and the snow fell harder, deeper, a blizzard like the day before as the temperature dropped precipitously. But you know, in here, inside, with what was going on… it didn’t really seem to matter. I checked my griffin patient, delicately feeding him a little water and beer, which he sputtered on but mostly kept down. The turtle came out of its shell and didn’t protest with its horrid squawking when one of the guard ponies took it up and used it as an additional accompanying drum. Everypony laughed and I smiled, the tortoise squeaking happily. All in all, so far, it wasn’t that bad of a day.

The music died down after a pace and with cries rising from all around, one of the merchants, a unicorn, was pushed forward by her peers, admonishing her to tell everypony a story. She tried resisting but with a lot of yelling and a little encouragement, she began a yarn. I sat down with a beer after passing the remainder of a delicious bottle of Peppermint Schnapps off to a thoroughly drunken guard, wrapping myself in one of my blankets and listening with rapt attention.

Her voice was smoky, worn, hard from years of travel on the road but still kind of hot. She wore a white furred vest over a deep brown coat and a charcoal colored mane came down around her shoulders and cascaded over them, bangs jutting out from beneath a knitted cap with a tassel on top and little flap things on the side to help keep her ears warm. She had a cutie mark of bottle caps and a knife. The other ponies, apparently knowing her by name, I hoped, were calling her ‘Swept Up.’

“The tale… of the Forgotten Lace.” She said, amplifying her voice just a little with her magic so that it would carry and be more easily heard over the occasional ruckus. Voices roared in approval, stomping, stamping and clopping hooves together. Cups and mugs were jinked together or banged against the floor riotously with whatever silverware ponies had.

“Evening Bloom was a lusty lass,”

Swept Up began, clearing her throat,

“still a young filly, green as spring grass,
when she had her first buck, just on a lark,
not but a week before getting her Cutie Mark,
and wasn’t it her luck…
a second fuck she had as the day grew dark.”

Cheers rose up from some of the bucks.

“It even was said that she got her Cutie Mark while performing the deed,
moaning in pleasure, at the joy of some hot young buck’s seed.”

Some of the ponies whistled or laughed at the rhyme. I smiled appreciatively. I really liked this story so far.

“Bent over a bench, what a lusty young wench,
doing some wailing while getting a railing!”

Swept Up started thrusting her pelvis, pretending to be a buck that had a filly from behind, hoof in her mane, biting her lip, making a sound effect or two.

“When what should appear, on Evening’s perfect sweet rear,
but a mark most apropos, a field being plowed and tilled by hoe!”

The bottle came back around (champagne this time, nice and bubbly) and I took two swigs, tossing it to Pendulum, who’d been moved closer to the fire and festivities. He caught it in his magic and took a proper sip before sending it on to the next pony.

“Well, Evening by her best and only grace,
took it as the most fine, illustrious race,
to see if she could bed, bang and fluster,
every village stallion, to see who cut muster.”

Swept Up made a gesture with her hoof sticking her tongue to the side of her mouth to uproarious applause.

“One hundred and three, that insatiable filly, did do by the end of the week,
she lost out on sleep, for being fucked deep, and soon her pelvis did creak.”

The mare gyrated and mimicked having a pain in her flank. I lit up a cigarette and started tapping my horseshoes to the beat that the other ponies were using to help Swept Up keep time for her lines. I was really enjoying this story, by the way. Bet you didn’t see that coming… not.

“To the doctor she hobbled, but on his dick her head bobbled, in order to be seen and examined,”

she gave a blowjob to an imaginary stallion,

“but out of the blue, the ol’ doc wanted something new, and to the table she was pinned.”

The mare stopped for breath then rushed back in.

“Lift up your tail, we’ll cure your ail,
we’ll bump and grind, in your behind,
and then you’ll feel hale!”

The unicorn swept her flank back and forth to thunderous cheers.

“Better she felt, then when she had knelt, but by now the story was far too well known.
All the mares in the town, had great cause to frown about the bucks Evening had blown.
So they gathered in sight, one starlight night, to show the gal what was right,
but Evening, she had already flown.”

The trader wrapped the champagne in her magic and polished off the bottle, letting it fly behind her and smash on the far wall.

“So off to the isles, to use her wiles, but Evening was run out once more.”

Swept Up rolled onto her back and briefly spread her hind legs to cat calls.

“Word had spread, of Bloom’s open bed, and everypony knew her a whore!”

She jumped back up with incredible agility.

“But one place remained, in stasis sustained, that wasn’t in any way aware of our mare.
Where could it be? It starts with a ‘c’ all prim and stuffy, Canterlot would lay our lady bare.”

I continued to smoke, and, may have, occasionally, added to the cheering that the other ponies gave, offering a few suggestions… ahem. What can I say? It was a funny story. Now I also felt much less concerned about being seen with that copy of Horns.

“Pageants and fairs, princes and heirs, Evening Bloom wanted them all.
So she whored for a bit, then took a sit and made her way to a hall.
She ordered nice things, like golden cock rings,
big anal beads, and studded leather leads,
all kinds of toy pleasures, and vibrating treasures.”

The story teller jumped in the air and pretended to be overcome with glee.

“And at last, when night was near past, she found what she truly wanted the most,
frills and lace, for the thrill of the chase, now she just needed a party with a host.
The very next day, while on her way, Bloom found a buck that was quite dashing.
His blood was blue, he was a prince too, and his party she would soon be crashing.”

Wow, I needed to come up with something ribald like this, but my mind was not meant for such things, I felt. Wait, what was I saying? It was… I just… had no skill for rhymes. There we go. Swept Up danced around, a perfect princess with an invisible prince.

“Soon they went away, for a roll in the hay, one that would last for a day.
And they bucked and they fucked and they humped and they bumped
and they diddled and they fiddled, oh how the two engaged in play.
Then he pulled out his junk, and shot all his gunk, right into her hair,”

Swept Up made a jerking off and splooging gesture,

‘my mane, my mane, I must complain,’ and that’s when Bloom decided to try a mare!”

The cheers were so loud I thought the building might collapse… or we’d attract every enemy within a hundred miles.

“Now fair Evening Bloom, lost in sticky spunk gloom, knew she wanted a different kind of lay.
To a spa she did go, and wouldn’t you know, she found a mare who was throwing a soiree!
Sunny’s my name, and if you’re game, we’ll go together tonight.”

The unicorn pretended to get all fluttery, fanning herself and fawning over an imaginary mare.

“And this unicorn mare looked soft and white,
so Bloom said ‘alright, it would be my delight.’
And that’s how they ended up there,
our lusty little Bloom and the tall unicorn fair.”

“All bedecked to the nines and dressed like divines, they partied and made quite the pair.
Then away they did fly, beneath Luna’s sky, for this Sunny was quite the randy mare!”

Swept Up flapped imaginary wings, and a few of the other ponies looked back at me, but I couldn’t tell if they disliked me or just wanted me to join the unicorn up on the stage. I was totally down for… or up for… what would be right way to put it? Anyway I would definitely go for the latter.

“Bloom had too much to drink, a whole kitchen sink, but in her lace she looked damn fine.
So after a wink, they went past the brink, and Sunny in rapture said ‘you are mine!’
All the things that they did in Sunny’s abode,
with toys galore and each other they rode,
bare backed and besaddled,
‘til their minds were addled,
what glorious ecstasy!
Bloom had never had a fuck like this one,
nor was it just a quick one and then done,
they fucked recklessly, breathlessly until it was past time for the morning sun!”

“Knock! Knock! Look at the clock!
Majesty why are you not awake!
With horror in her eyes,
Bloom ran at the surprise,
fore Sunny could open her eyes.”

The mare took on a look of mock horror, mouth agape, eyes open wide, forehooves against her cheeks.

“And Bloom disappeared, nopony knows where she sailed,
for she had suddenly seen Sunny’s glamour as it failed,
and t’was only then she realized who she had railed!”

“Evening Bloom had left, leaving her lover bereft,
gone she was without even a trace.
Her lover blushed furious red, when sister and guards entered out of concern,
for they saw on Sweet Celestia’s bed, before she ordered them ‘round to turn,
not just the toys and the mess, but upon their princess…”

a look of surprise and embarrassment on Swept Up,

“Evening Bloom’s quickly forgotten lace!”

The entire building seemed to shake (including the larger building around us but I may have just been drunk), such was the applause, no small amount of it mine.

“Alright, alright!” One of the guards shouted over the commotion. “New guard postings, gotta let those who haven’t as of yet, have the chance to eat and make merry.” He was a middle sized buck, scarred, missing his right eye and a good chunk of his nose. But, it was hard to tell. He had the blackest coat of any pony I’d ever seen and no mane to speak of. The buck started rattling off names, but I wasn’t paying a lot of attention. “Skies and Salt!” My name came up, not sure who Salt was. I thought it was just a condiment, or a block to be licked. “Roof!” Great, we had to take overwatch… waiting for the roof to collapse under the weight of the snow, just what I always wanted.

“Can I pull guard with Swept Up?” I asked plaintively... suggestively. Everypony stopped.

“Morning Blossom, that you?” Corn Husk asked from a corner, looking up in confusion, turning her head this way and that as though she’d just been half asleep.

“Evening Bloom, not Morning Blossom.” Swept Up answered the old coot, giving me an appraising look.

“What!? T’aint morning, its afternoon young missy and I don’t know what you mean by even booms, that talk just aint ladylike.” Corn replied, speaking in almost exactly the wrong direction to the other mare.

“Hey Corn, you’re old enough, you ever fuck Celestia?” Limerick called out.

“Did I what!?” She answered to general laughter.

“That’s enough!” The sable guard buck yelled. “No fillyfooling, you’ve got guard duty.” He said to me, pointing a hoof at my chest and then toward the door. “Now get to it!” Damn it. I slung my rifle over my back, grabbed my gear and headed toward the door. Nothing ever went my way.

Sea Salt was a broad earth pony buck though he wasn’t very tall. His coat was the palest blue and his mane an off-white that was just out of place when compared to the snow. He had a lighthouse Cutie Mark on his flank and didn’t say but the two words that comprised his name as we took the rickety and somewhat dangerous looking scaffolding up to the train station’s roof. Seriously, there was very little in the way of rails or any type of safety consideration. I mean, I would no doubt have been fine, that’s the benefit… well, one of the benefits, of having wings. Despite my hopefully immunity to the dangers of the situation I was still considering writing a sternly worded letter… and sending it back in time so that it would actually be useful to ponies who could do something about it. Hmmm, guess there was no point in complaining about safety two hundred years and an apocalypse after the fact. But still, it was fun to think about, indignation, righteous outrage, won’t somepony think of the children… children.

“Salt,” I asked as we climbed the highest steps leading up to roof, “you ever seen these foals?” He stopped, bracing his legs against three different steps to hold steady against the rising wind and looked at the picture I’d taken out. He squinted at it for a few seconds, shook his head and, without saying a word, continued walking. Cheery, chatty fellow wasn’t he? Despite his faults he had one hell of a beautiful rifle, made my hunting model look like a piece of crap. The thing appeared to be a battle variant, internal magazine, semiautomatic, chambered in… 308 I would guess, probably gas operated. The thing was sexy as fuck. Nine notches on the stock. I contemplated asking my companion about them but figured it might be rude to do so.

The two of us took to the roof and cautiously, through snow that had been swept into drifts, made our way toward the lightly fortified observation post. And, by lightly fortified, I mean there were old pieces of wood, barbed wire, sheet metal and… well… no, that was about it. Yup. I didn’t know why but the little square of cover against the wind and snow reminded me, reminded me of… I strained to think.

Heat. Waves of heat off of ruins in long summer grasses, a sky with less clouds, thunder in the distance. High above, a wind that made those grasses shake and slither, watching and waiting. The sound of insects and birds amongst the yellow and green, distant trees with dark thorny bark and canopies of pale grayish green leaves. Time, soon it would be time, the key to a just world…

Pain, all through my skull. I stopped, grimacing, eyes clenched shut, smacking my head with a hoof. It was cold, snowing, winter. There were no long swaying grasses, no insects or birds, no thorns on the barren dead trees that comprised the forest surrounding the old train station. The pain diminished until it was just a dull ache and I followed Sea Salt into the tiny shack that would be our observation post for the next four hours.

One of us would stand, scanning along the sides, looking in the cardinal directions for any approaching enemies, any signs of something out of the ordinary in the great white that was the building blizzard. Light was fading, fast and there wasn’t shit to be seen, even with binoculars, from here. But, even so, we took it in turns. One looking, one huddled up under all the blankets we possessed. The time as a lookout felt too long, the time under the blankets too short.

Sea Salt never spoke, just perfunctorily performed the assignment and curled up under layers. My attempts at conversation were short lived. Shivering and cracked lips didn’t well contribute to chatter. Thoughts of the funny rhyming story and of Swept Up, or Candi, or that raspberry buck, or a thankful and recovered griffin, just couldn’t keep me warm, sadly. I wanted to light a fire to generate some heat but knew better than to do so. We may not have been able to see anything out, but with a fire, others could sure as hay see in.

For a few brief minutes the sun was visible as it lowered past the clouds, and, it was only due to that fortunate circumstance (which yet foretold even lower temperatures) that Sea Salt and I could tell that the snow had gone from white to gray. I thought it might have been ash, but it didn’t exactly look, feel, or taste like it. What? Also, what was it? It just seemed like… gray snow with a… I turned my head back and forth, greenish tint… rainbow patina… to it.

“Radiation.” Sea Salt said in a soft voice, just audible over the storm. Radiation? As in, radiation radiation?

“How?” I asked. He looked up past the edges of the roof above us.

“Radwinds, something in the clouds, fallout from fires of the world long ago?” The buck shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, we need to get down and let the others know.” He hefted his weapon and packed up his gear as I shouldered my rifle. We made our way quickly but carefully across the darkening roof, getting to the edge and looking down. It would be a dangerous descent, and slow… unless. I unclipped my armor at the shoulder blades, letting the loose pieces hang down and opening up my wings. Okay, not the best of ideas, but worth a shot, and I was probably strong enough. Please let me be strong enough.

“Hop on!” I yelled to my companion through the heat stealing wind. He just looked at me, thinking I was crazy from the reaction on his face. “Now, damn it! The stairs look too treacherous and we need to get down safely and fast!” Yeah, safely, we’d see about that. I flexed my wings but Sea Salt was still giving me the most apprehensive of looks. “Listen, you’ve got three choices; stay up here in the radiation and the cold, risk the steps which are dangerous and covered in ice, or let me help you!” Salt looked over the edge, putting a hoof to his brow and no doubt seeing that I was right about the ice. The buck repositioned his gear and hesitantly began to climb (or was it clamber) onto my back. I couldn’t truly fly, yet, as far I knew, but I could glide with the best of them… or so I would claim.

“ALRIGHT! HOLD ON!” Here goes nothing. I backed up from the edge, ever so thankful that Salt was light for a buck and didn’t wear heavy gear. I charged forward and leapt, less gracefully than I would have liked, into the air. The snow and wind hit me like a blast from some type of ridiculous sonic weaponry and I was blinded, but I remembered the layout from my hours of walking with Corn Husk and from the climb up. Banking left I opened my eyes enough to see that we were following the building, though not too close. I didn’t want to get buffeted into the sides. We were losing altitude fast, very fast and the ground seemed to be rushing up to meet us much quicker than I would have liked. The wind was making it hard for me to steer and maintain balance… that and the buck on my back. I tried to angle for what looked like a snow bank and wished really super hard that it was just a large pile of snow, not a thin layer covering some debris. “BRACE!” I shouted and turned into the snow pile. I was a Pegasus, I could take some falling and or impact damage… right?

There was a poof of blinding white as we went right into the soft cushiony snow and then a hard smack as we collided with the ground underneath. We rose like two ghosts, though, technically I was white already, but you know what I mean. We were covered in snow and followed the side of the building until we reached a collapsed section of wall and entered inside. The two of us galloped to the interior building, losing our coating of snow as we ran.

“Why aren’t you at your post!?” Night Light, the black buck with no mane shouted the question, looking scandalized. Salt and I stopped, freezing, trying to catch our breath as Pendulum, seeing the look on my face, rose, very weakly from where he was seated, legs shaking. “I asked you a question!” Night Light roared at us, clearly angry. The others sitting around the fire were trying to figure out what was going on.

“Wild, what is it, what is wrong?” Pendulum asked, taking a tentative step towards us and keeping his balance through great effort.

“Radiation,” I wheezed in reply, “radiation.”

Ponies scrambled madly to find protective gear and measuring apparatuses. Night Light had two guards get those who were still outside on duty. Swept Up was doing a head count. It seemed like there were more traders here now as well, almost double what there had been earlier in the day… or had it been yesterday? Regardless, it definitely looked like there were almost three times as many Brahmin as there had been previously. Big wigs these new folk must have been, at least, big in the trading profession for the area.

“Hold on.” Pendulum said in little more than a whisper but it carried across the area we were in, his voice competing only with the crackling of the fire and the movement of other ponies. The diminutive unicorn buck had pulled his radiation thingamajiggy from off of Bessy. “Accumulation testing.” He said, almost to himself, despite the fact that everypony around him heard. “Give me a count, timed to one minute.” Limerick of all ponies pulled out an old pocket watch as did Corn, though hers might not have been working. “Now.” Pendulum said, forcefully.

The big earther was staring intently at his watch, our employer doing the same with his gadget. Swept Up finished her head count as the remaining guards returned, curious and confused, only to be shushed by the old black buck. Pendulum was staring so hard at his device that I thought he might start sweating. Limerick was mouthing the seconds as they passed, silent but for the workings of his jaw.

“Time.” The earther said, swiftly.

“.2 rads.” Pendulum said. He scratched his horn. “Times sixty is… twelve an hour.”

“That… doesn’t sound so bad.” I said, breaking the breathless hush of the shack. I got several
hateful glares for my comment. What? I wanted to inquire further but held my tongue and felt where I’d bit it a few days ago.

“Your body can only process out six rads a day.” Pendulum said quietly. “Four Hundred Fifty is a lethal dose in ninety percent of cases unless treated immediately and extensively.” It was? “At the current rate we would hit a fatal dose in less than two days. Underground?” He asked, but toward the other traders, not to me, little miss doesn’t know anything about radiation stuff.

“Underground.” Several of the other traders… and Night Light, agreed in deadly serious murmurs. Flashlights, headlamps, lanterns and magical illumination sprung to life amongst the group as orders flew back and forth. The fire was smothered and a splash of green paint was thrown across the outside of the shack, in case any more traders showed up. It would indicate radiation to them, but nopony else, especially raiders, would understand. I was grabbing gear, checking Bessy, throwing the turtle into a bag, slinging the griffin onto the Brahmin’s back with Limerick’s begrudging but quiet help.

Six guards lifted the entire fire pit up and off the ground (with unicorn magic and good old fashioned earth pony gumption), two traders directing their efforts. It was a massive slab of concrete that had fit almost seamlessly into the floor. In fact, had I not just seen it lifted up and moved, I wouldn’t have ever guessed it could be pulled out. Hehe… pul… never mind. Four guards descended the lightless ramp that had lain under the fire pit, two shotguns, a submachine gun and a… was that a flamethrower? Hot damn. Killing, cooking, warmth and elimination of the advantages granted by cover all in one nifty package. Now only twenty bits with a mail in rebate of- what is wrong with me?

“Clear!” One of the guards shouted up from down below. “Start ‘em movin’ now!”

The first group of ponies, herding a line of Brahmin, followed the ramp down into the darkness. Limerick and I brought Bessy along with our wagon into the second group forming up and waiting for the signal.

“Next!” A voice echoed up. Pendulum limped over to us, wreathing his horn in magical light and took the lead, slowly and unsteadily going down the ramp. His hoofsteps sounded hollow and overly loud. Limerick and I followed him with several more ponies and Brahmin behind us. We descended the ramp, cautiously, carefully, keeping pace with Pendulum’s light for what felt like a minute or two. The light from above faded, growing smaller as we gained more distance. I kept my eyes on the unicorn’s light, growing fainter and farther away, until it suddenly winked out and we were thrown into darkness.

We were in the dark, literally, not just in the way that I usually was. The few scattered lights we had were no proof against the shrouding darkness. The third group bumped into us and a dim light, that seemed much brighter than it should have, flickered to life. I raised a hoof to shield my eyes and blinked rapidly, waiting for them to adjust as additional lights came on. My surroundings slowly came into focus. It was a tunnel of some kind, concrete and steel, wires and pipes running along the walls and ceiling, the occasional grate on the floor. A short distance ahead of us was a bend in the hall and Pendulum popped his head out from behind it.

“Lim, Wild, lead the Brahmin to the corral, make sure the other guards follow.” Our boss told us before his head disappeared again. Corral? Underground? Here?

“Now that I can see shit again, follow me.” Limerick told the other ponies around and behind us. He led the way down the hall, taking the left bend and then an immediate right down a half lit corridor.

“Are we in a Stable?” I asked, studying the design of the place.

“Dumber than you look.” Limerick snorted. “You see a big cog door or a whole bunch of crazy ass experimenting going on?”

“Um, no?” I answered back, following him down wooden ramps that had seen better days. It felt like they were covering stairs, which made sense. Ponies might walk down them but I got the feeling that Brahmin certainly wouldn’t.

“Like I said, dumber than you look.” He glanced back at me and grinned. I hoped he’d turn around and smack his head on an archway but was, as usual, disappointed.

“Well, I guess that’s about the same as being dumber looking than you are and better than looking cleverer than you are, since, ponies would expect more from you than you’d be able to deliver, and then they’d be constantly disappointed by you.” I replied idly.

“What?” Limerick asked back to me, turning his head again.

“Exactly.” I responded with a faint smile. He scowled at me and used a hoof to smack a button that set the next set of lights on ahead of us. “So, not a Stable, where are we then?”

“Old fallout shelter, made early in the war, not as good as a Stable but for our purposes it’ll do.” Limerick answered, his voice bouncing off the walls. “Don’t know much more about it. You’d have to ask Pen. He likes to read and stuff, know history, all that shit.”

“Huh.” I answered more as an affirmative grunt than anything else. The glow of the lights above us and on the walls was sterile, uninviting, not cozy and comforting like that of the fire we’d had above. I really missed it… the cold and radiation not so much. Though it wasn’t warm down here by any means, I could see my breath even if I didn’t immediately feel like dying, as I did every time I’d spent more than five minutes outside, like I had earlier in the day. The walls were bare, gray, cold to the touch, cracked every so often but surprisingly intact for their age of… wow, two hundred years give or take. It was an impressive amount of time. Wonder how much time those zebra ninja assassins had lived through with their razzle dazzle time traveling ways.

“So, what happened down here?” I asked, intrigued, pulling on Bessy’s lead. “Did ponies make it to safety? Did they die here? What’s the story of the place?” There were no remains, no visible stores of supplies, nor any evidence of previous long term habitation. Limerick growled.

“What makes a stupid mare think I know when I’ve already told her that I don’t?” He retorted through clenched teeth as he pulled open what had once been an automatic door but was now just two heavy hunks of metal in need of greasing. He wedged himself in between the two door halves and pushed against them, straining to the metal’s squealing.

“Sorry, most of the time I actively try not to pay attention to anything you say because it’s often not worth my time to listen to.” I offered, taking one side of the door and heaving with all my might to get it to open all the way. “Usually when you speak I just hear ‘waa waa waam’ and that’s about it.” I returned to my charge and knocked her on the head so she’d stop licking a frosted pipe that ran along the wall and whose purpose was unknown to me.

“I don’t like you.” Limerick said as he continued forward and hit the next set of switches.

“Mutual.” I muttered as I… cajoled (that darn word) the Brahmin to move again.

Thirty more seconds of walking and we reached our destination. It had once been some sort of large room for storing stuff or having meetings or something of the sort. The ceiling reached high overhead, more than twenty feet, and there was a wrap around balcony (with actual railings) about half that distance above us. The walls here were, if it was possible, even more drab and bland. Gray, gray, gray, everywhere you looked. But, it was a large room, easily forty feet across and there was space for plenty of Brahmin.

“How come the first group down didn’t come here right away?” I asked, taking Bessy to a corner so that Limerick could unhitch her from the hastily reattached wagon.

“Lim knows the way better than most and nopony in the first group was strong enough to open the door you had to come through.” I started at the words. Pendulum was up on the balcony above us, leaning over the railing and looking down. He looked better but still… peaky? Was that the right word? He was pale and a bit haggard, tired, worn, frayed, I’m galloping out of words right now. “They are following behind, in case you were actually wondering, Wild.” He told me, lighting up a cigarette as Limerick and I unloaded the cow. “Head up as soon as you are done. The radiation cannot penetrate this far so the festivities will continue.” The little unicorn buck took a drag, keeping the cigarette in his magic and turned away, disappearing.

“Why do I kind of feel like an ass right now?” I asked to myself as I set the sleeping tortoise creature to one side. Also, Pendulum said… cough… I’m sure you got it.

“Because you ar-” Limerick began as he set the griffin down on the cold floor.

“Shut up, you.” I interrupted. He rolled his eyes but smirked anyway. I really had asked for that one, hadn’t I? We gave Bessy a quick rub down with rags then draped a thick but scratchy (to me at least) blanket over her. You know, I suspected it wasn’t even a blanket at all but a piece of carpet or rug from some decrepit building, a memento from the time before the apocalypse. Neither of my two companions were willing to confirm that belief, though. Limerick set down a large bowl of water and one of some kind of dried vegetable feed that smelled strongly of hay but was completely devoid of flavor (what, I was curious last week) in front of the Brahmin. The two bucks refused to trust her with bags over her head if nopony was watching. There was a fear of suffocation from bovine stupidity. I never argued on the matter.

“Course, you realize, we’ve taken your feather brained friend down here instead of leaving him on the top floor.” Limerick said with a one sided smile as he slid blocks under the wagon’s wheels. I… we… what? Damn it. The other guards, bringing their own Brahmin (and wagons) in and taking care of them, ignored us for the most part, except for occasionally giving me shooty looks that I really didn’t trust or want to test.

“Can we have somepony magic him up?” I asked as I slung my bagged tortoise over one armored shoulder with a satisfying clunking sound. Limerick shook his head.

“Takes too much energy, that and there are very few here that would help you over hurting you.” The buck answered truthfully. Some of the other guards had begun to file out with whatever they needed.

“We can sling a rope over the rail and hoist him up.” I said, pleased with myself over recognizing a solution.

“If you want the balcony to collapse on us.” Limerick replied. Was it me or was he really enjoying this? “Probably won’t support his weight, especially not just the rails, which would be the only part we could sling a rope over.”

“Pendulum was leaning on a rail.” I responded, making sure that Bessy was tethered to a heavy hook that was set in the wall (a more recent addition no doubt as I couldn’t see any reason for it to have been there as part of the original design).

“And he doesn’t weigh more than a half grown colt fed on specks of dust.” Limerick retorted. “That griffin’s near twice his weight.” I scratched my chin.

“We… can… carry him?” I suggested, throwing up my wings in exasperation.

“We can.” Limerick affirmed, putting tobacco in his lip. Whew. I wiped imaginary sweat from my brow and smiled. “Ten caps.” The earther spit on the floor and held out a hoof, waiting. I… err… we… damn it.

We sat together in a moderately sized room and the place was packed. There were a total of thirty one ponies here, guards and traders both. It seemed that the harsh weather had delayed a goodly number of the group as they’d arrived during Winter’s Day instead of beforehoof, as planned.

It was a square room, maybe slightly rectangular, certainly not one of those fancier rhomboids... and not at all relevant… with a door out to the main hallway, another to a short hall that held storage, bathrooms and beds and a final door that led out onto the balcony overseeing where the Brahmin were held. Thanks to a generous amount of trader provided spark batteries and a few crystal power cell generators on their last legs there were lights (flickering and headache inducing), running water (only slightly irradiated) and beds, real beds (two hundred years old and musty as hell but they were still beds).

Pendulum refused to go into the details of the place’s history, saying only that he knew a little and it wasn’t a happy tale, definitely one for another time. The thirty one of us sat in the room around lanterns and camp stoves with thick and heavy rugs on the floor and food cooking for a late dinner. Why we hadn’t come down here in the first place was a matter of some contention between the leaders of the group (of which I thankfully was not one). Many, Pendulum included, viewed this place as more of a last resort. It was still cold, took time and effort to set up everything, cost a massive amount of caps to run the power through the spark batteries, you couldn’t see what was going on outside, there was less room, and you really couldn’t have a fire (the ventilation systems couldn’t handle it, apparently).

I also got the distinct feeling that some of the ponies were incredibly uncomfortable being underground in closed in spaces, drab and dreary and gray and close. I was… strangely okay with it. You’d think that with me being a Pegasus I’d be claustrophobic, hyperventilating, climbing up the walls trying to get out, but I wasn’t. The place wasn’t great, that was for sure, but there was something oddly familiar about it, almost reassuring. I couldn’t tell what it was though it felt like I’d been somewhere similar to this shelter before. That was one of the big drawbacks of not being able to remember your life. A sight, a scent, a sound… they could remind you of memories, stirring the depths of your mind but you could never fully find and grasp them, regain what had undoubtedly been lost. It was… infuriating, being so close to something, anything of my past life but never quite being able to understand. I was like a pony sitting outside a bar, listening to the music inside but not quite able to comprehend the lyrics of the song, only able to catch a few of the notes. I knew it was there, somewhere, but the words wouldn’t come, leaving me in the dark.

“You seem deep in thought, child.” A brassy, honeyed voice like the purr of a tiger said from near my side. First, a tiger, really? Second… well, hello! Who was this? I turned to my left to see a beige mare, even smaller than Pendulum (and that was really saying something). I hadn’t noticed her before, meaning this sexy little number was a late comer to the meet, probably arriving while Sea Salt and I were up on the roof.

She was covered from shoulder to rump and down her legs in layered armor and cloth, a cautious mare, this one, or maybe she just got cold really easily (seeing as she was so small). Startling big violet eyes looked at me from under a vivid black mane, interspersed with green dyed sections and cropped into a short Mohawk type style, turned to the side so that it cast half her face in shadow. A few charms and pieces of jewelry were tied into her mane and her ears were heavily pierced with earrings. I opened my mouth to answer but couldn’t think of one.

“What are you thinking of?” She asked, taking a sip of what I guessed was tea from a steaming mug with a couple chips in it.

“So many answers to that question.” Was all I was able to get out, accompanied by a lopsided smile.

“I can guess.” The mare answered back with a smile of her own that made me feel like she knew something I didn’t… which happened to me a lot more than I was comfortable with.

“Why are you wastin’ your time with that turkey bitch?” A familiar voice asked from one of the dimmer corners of the room. I turned my head in unison with the little mare and saw the dark gray that wanted to knife me… yesterday, now, was it?

“Because it is a better use of my time than spending any of it with you, Smoke.” The newcomer replied evenly. Smoke, huh? That was the red maned (I was totally going with it being a dye job by the way) jerk’s name. I stuck my tongue out at her before the new mare and I turned away from the bitch. She had the most hilariously angry look on her face as we did so. Small victories.

“They tell me you are Wild?” The mare spoke in what was halfway between a question and a statement.

“Well, I like to think so, but as it turns out, my partying ways have gotten me into some troub…” I stopped talking and scratched the scar over my left eye. “You mean my name is Wild, don’t you?” She tried to hide a brilliant smile behind a hoof but it was clear she found me amusing. “And your name is?” Other than sexy, I mean.

“I don’t know if I should tell you.” The mare replied and I wasn’t sure if she was serious or jesting. “There is a great power in names, Wild.” She sipped her tea, swirling the mug a little to stir it.

“You know my name.” I countered and began to dig through my bags to find a can of baked beans that had survived the apocalypse only to wait for its inevitable demise at my hooves. You are mine little legumes, there can be no esca… uh… IGNORE ME!

“I know a name, yes. But, is it your real name?” She asked. Hmm, good question, probably not.

“I guess it… isn’t.” I shrugged and went back to searching for the can, very glad that I didn’t accidentally let her see the copy of Horns I’d hastily stuffed in my bag when we’d evacuated the train station.

“Most call me Question.” She said, setting down her mug. “Few can pronounce my name, an ill omened thing. My comeuppance for being born during a quadrature, I must guess.”

“An alignment of celestial bodies, wherein they have an angular separation of ninety degrees as seen from the earth’s surface.” I said by rote, eyes scrunched shut. Whoa, where the hay did that come from?

“Yes, indeed.” Question answered. “You are… were… a Sky Taker?” Sky Taker? What the hell did that mean?

“Uh, what the hell does that mean?” I asked back, somewhat befuddled. Also, surprised, what did I just say? I knew it was correct but I didn’t know how I knew it or where from. Weird.

“Sky Taker, you were of the Enclave?” Question clarified. Oh, that’s what she meant.

“No. Yes. Maybe. I… really don’t know.” I told her in all honesty. “I get these… strange dreams that feel like they might be memories or visions… or a really bad drug trip that make me think that maybe I was but I can’t make manes or tails of them.” Story of my life. Ah, there the beans were, stuffed into one of my blankets that I’d been using in the station. I pulled the blanket half out and what should come free, along with the beans? The copy of Wingboner I’d been perusing since before leaving New Appleloosa. My face turned red, I could feel it, knew that it was happening. No mirror was necessary.

“I see.” The earther mare said with the hint of a smirk as I tried to stuff the stupid magazine back into my bag. Embarrassment, lots of embarrassment, especially because of the pages it opened to, five mare orgy, lots of toys, large in size, no holes barred… going to stop there, details not required.

“So, uh, what do you do?” I inquired of… Question, odd name, just trying to change the subject.

“I trade and tinker, Wild.” She answered, watching with some trepidation as I deftly (not really) opened the can and dug into the baked beans. She what? Oh, tinkered, not tink… yeah, forget that little bit. I slurped down some more beans. What? I was hungry, and not acting very ladylike I suppose. “Was a guard, sometime ago, with my sisters… half sisters. But, I was very good at fixing things, tinkering with them, which made me more money than the guarding did.” I slowed down and chewed my food reflexively, thoughtfully. Really wish I had a napkin about now to wipe my chin. “So I scrounged and saved, and now I tinker and trade. It means I get to see this… lovely country of yours.” Yours?

“You’re not from Equestria?” I asked through a mouthful of food, thankful that spit and beans didn’t go flying everywhere.

“I was born across the sea, some years before you, I would think.” Question replied. “I came here sometime ago but I think that now I might go back. Your Pendulum speaks of hiring a vessel to cross the treacherous seas. I may take passage as well, ply my wares and fix things there.”

“Sounds nice.” I said. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know how to fix a music box, would you?” I still carried the thing around in my bags but had never been able to get it to work. And I’d tried, mostly by smacking it on things and shaking it in my hooves. Neither of which worked, which was enormously frustrating as they were the only things I knew how to do in those circumstances.

“I might.” She answered. I looked through my possessions until I found the old Fabletec barding and unraveled it, dropping the box in front of her. The mare picked it up gingerly but with some excitement, as though it were some rare treasure. The turtle, meanwhile, emerged from my gear.

“This is… odd.” Question whispered. I watched Limerick pantomiming some very lewd actions toward Corn Husk, whose back was turned, wrinkled rump in the air while she dug through one of her bags. Swept Up and several others quietly cheered him, inadequately covering their laughter with hooves while an infuriated Night Light tried to restore some restraint and professionalism to the room. I smiled.

“Odd?” I asked her, seeing Pendulum put a hoof to his face and shake his head with eyes closed as Corn Husk, noticing at last, chased Limerick out of the room, swatting at him with a magically held rolling pin. Good times.

“Locks and keys… many songs… but which one… opens… hmm, you were saying something?” Question was so absorbed in studying the music box that she seemed lost in it.

“There’s nothing odd about my box… I… oh… uh… what’s wrong with the music box?” Trying this again, also, cough, you didn’t hear any of that first part. The little mare raised an eyebrow so far it threatened to disappear in her mane.

“This is very old.” She held it out. “Made sometime before the war, perhaps.” The mare set it down and started pulling worn but well cared for tools from her saddle bags. “Most music boxes play one tune and are mechanical in nature. But this, this one is arcano-tech. Magical and technological fusion, early, first generation after the initial innovation boom that precluded harsher hostilities, perhaps.” Great, another historian. She put a screw driver between her teeth and began attacking the device, taking it apart. “It should play many songs… several.” Question spoke around the screw driver. “One must just find the key to…” the tinker pulled the bottom out and gently pressed a hoof to certain pieces of the box, so small that I could barely see them (despite my rather excellent eyesight)… “unlocking them.” There was a distinct click and the mare started piecing the music box back together.

“You didn’t break it, did you?” I inquired, worried. I liked that box… let me rephrase that… yeah… nope, you know what? I’m just going to stick with what I thought and you have a dirty mind, a dirty, dirty mind.

“I have made it so that this contraption will sing again.” Question replied, putting away her gear. She gingerly turned the little mechanism on the bottom and a soft sleepy melody arose from the music box. On the top, a little pink earth pony spun around and around on a cake as a gray pegasus that looked a little like a very young Ditzy followed a wire path that led to it crashing into the fake ground of the music box’s top. Patterns. Dancing, crashing, over and over again. At least I sort of flew better than the tiny little metal Pegasus that crashed in tune to the music... sort of.

“Thank you.” I said honestly, taking the box back with both hooves. I had cleaned it several times since first finding the thing out on the hillside where I’d woken up. Hadn’t even realized at first that there was a little earth pony on the top (that was how dirty it was). Now that it was working and cleaned I just needed to find somepony who could reapply the silver styling on it and repaint the floral designs. Good luck, I thought to myself. Finding a tinker was a miracle, finding a pony that was artistic and shit for this kind of thing was probably impossible. “How much do I owe you?” Hopefully she wasn’t as mercenary about prices as Pendulum and Limerick were, but, then again…

“On the house.” Question replied with a smile.

“On what house?” I asked, lighting up a cigarette and not sure if she was propositioning me or something. The other mare shook her head, took the cigarette from me with a deft hoof, and puffed on it. “Hey, I was smoking that.” The mare ignored my protests for a few moments, tilting her head and watching the two headed tortoise try to lick the remnants from my bean can.

“And now I am smoking it. On the house means it’s free.” She explained. Oh? It did? Okay, then I guess she could keep the cigarette. I lit up another for myself and passed her my whiskey canteen. I’d bought a little bit more (of the cheap kind) during my off time earlier in the day. What? No reason why I hadn’t mentioned it earlier, just didn’t think it was important. Question took a swig, showing no signs of discomfort at imbibing the liquor (my kind of girl)… again, what? Don’t judge me.

“You are beholden to Pendulum?” My new drinking buddy asked. I was what? Oh, she meant...

“You know I don’t think I would mind. He’s small for a buck but easy on the eyes and…” that wasn’t what she meant. She was giving me the weirdest look, I couldn’t even hope to describe it. Damn it! Again! Why must I make a fool of myself for first impressions? “Uh… what do you mean?”

“He owns you.” Question replied. He what? Nopony owned me.

“No, I work for him and… oh, you mean this?” I smacked my collar to a look of absolute horror on the earther’s face. She nodded, drained of color, aghast. “Don’t worry, thing doesn’t work. Long story, not a slave, not really anyway, there was drinking involved, debts, caravans under attack, flares, snipers, a hellhound…” my words trailed off as Question’s face changed from terrified to incredulous.

“Are you drunk?” She inquired. Why did everypony always ask me that?

“Not entirely.” Was the best answer I could give. She shrugged and offered the canteen to me. I accepted the whiskey from the other mare and leaned back to listen to one of the guard ponies begin a story as the music from my box slowly and finally faded… and that still doesn’t sound right, does it? Regardless, there was no radiation down here, my music box was working and it hadn’t been that bad of a day in the end. “But I’m doing my best.” Came as an afterthought. Question chuckled. I laughed and clapped my hooves for the story teller as the earther made herself another cup of tea. No, not a day day as things went in the wasteland. Though, the night was not yet over. I offered Question the canteen after taking a few nips for myself.

“Alright, turn in.” Night Light ordered. It was late, very late, and he may have interrupted a ten pony blanket and pillow fight that I might have been involved in… suggested… instigated… not important. Several hours had passed since Question fixed my music box and things had continued rather pleasantly. There were stories, songs, rhymes, some decent food and a few more bottles of alcohol. Yippee! Mostly for the last part. Question’s eyes had this adorable ‘cross eyed thing’ going on from drinking too much.

With nothing to do other than occasionally check on Bessy from the balcony, keep the tortoise from eating Question’s armor (though I did let it shit near Smoke’s area of the room), make sure the griffin was alive, and just downright enjoy myself, the evening had passed rather quickly. Occasional forays to the entrance proved that the irradiated snow was still falling heavily overhead, not that it mattered down here. At least, it wouldn’t matter until we tried to leave the next day, or so I thought. According to Pendulum, there were extensions to the tunnels that could, if need be, take us miles away from here, hopefully to where the snow wasn’t so grayish green and death causing.

“You heard me, early start tomorrow.” The old black buck added. Boy, he needed to get laid… not that I was offering, mind you. He looked like the wastes had chewed him up and spit him out… more than once. Call me superficial, I wasn’t a huge fan of bucks that looked like they’d been hit by a train. If anypony was getting hit by a train it was… oh, never mind. I was going to have to start acting like an adult one of these days, especially once I’d found my foals. Speaking of them, none of the ponies had seen them, or so they claimed. Nor had any of the Brahmin and believe you me it was a shock to see (hear?) one of them talk. It made me very suspicious of Bessy but a blank stare and a mindless moo from her kept my worries at bay. Still, really weird to see Brahmin with intelligence, it was kind of like finding out that Limerick was actually a professional baker who liked to knit and sing opera in his spare time. That would be a laugh... or very frightening, not sure which.

Many of the ponies, Pendulum and Swept Up (unfortunately) included, had already turned in for the night. The beds primarily went to the traders while some of the guards drew lots or gambled for the few remaining spots. I didn’t waste my time. Smoke and several of the other guards who’d been assholes when I arrived won early spots and the last thing I wanted was to be near them for the night, unless I had a very sharp knife. It was incredibly amusing though when Smoke had asked if Question was going to be sleeping in one of the beds. The response she got was ‘not if it means being anywhere near you, child.’ Ah, I wished I had a camera to capture that dumb earther’s face in response. I kind of also wanted to hug the tiny little mare, despite being afraid that she was so fragile I might break her by doing so. And no, before you ask, nothing happened between us. I might have been an exhibitionist, and mind that use of ‘might’ in the sentence there, but it just wasn’t in the cards, yet.

The unmistakable scent and sound of one of Limerick’s horrendous farts (possibly more than one, though multiples might have killed us all) drifted through the darkening room as the little lanterns, lamps and lights were turned off. A few complaints laced with creative cursing responded to his emanation. I made one final check on the griffin, holding my nose as I did so. The smell of Limerick’s farts had the tendency to linger. Mr. Beaky Feather Whatever the Fuck was muttering about teeth and dragons again, weird feathered fiend he was. But, he seemed no nearer to death, mayhap a little further from it in fact, and that was… well, that was something. The tortoise was snoozing happily on my makeshift pillow when I returned. Figures. I pulled the sack of spare clothing and rags from under the reptile, hearing a satisfying ‘donk’ sound as he hit the floor. The pillow went on top of the little bugger and he gave a single indignant squeak.

“Shut up you.” I told my… pet. “Just be glad I didn’t make you into soup earlier.” One last sound, this time a harmonious squawk from both heads, and the creature was asleep. It snored with a gentle and not entirely unpleasant whistle every few breaths. I got comfortable on the floor, threw a blanket over myself and hugged my chest with my wings. Ponies were exchanging good nights and harmless taunts back and forth across the room. I joined in briefly and stared at the ceiling, awash in the dim red glow of the low level emergency lighting that the shelter had been set to for the night. I guess red wasn’t too bad as colors went, it wouldn’t interfere with anypony’s night vision and had we been outdoors the wavelength was rather unenergetic, meaning it wasn’t visible over long distances, like blue, white and yellow lights were. Weird that I knew that, no idea how, aliens? Maybe I’d read it in a book. Hooray for night lights… boo for Night Light.

I turned over, resting on my side and saw Question doing the same not too far from me. She’d taken off her armor but kept the layered full body clothing. The mare had a mischievous smile on her face (probably from all the drinking and she could put it away really well for a mare of her size) and wiggled her shoulder underneath the clothing she wore until… what the fuck? The tip of a feather… more...a wing loosened from beneath the voluminous layers. Question wasn’t an earth pony, she was a Pegasus? She was a Pegasus! The mare brought her wing to her lips and made a ‘sshh’ sound, then winked. I shook my head like somepony’d just given it a good knocking and her wing was hidden again by the time I stopped. I knew I wasn’t so drunk as to imagine it. Hmm…

“Good night, Wild.” The other Pegasus said, eyes closed. “Dream of flying on warm sunny days.” Revelation complete, mind blown. What was going on here? How many Pegasi were there out in the wastes, like her, hiding in plain sight, just trying to make a living? Maybe there was only the one but I hoped there were more. So many questions raced through my head but they would no doubt have to wait until I could get her alone… which was tempting regardless of circumstances.

A minute went by as I thought of things I wanted to ask, to say. Attempts to quantify the new feeling growing inside me failed like Limerick on a math test. The temptation to write in my journal was almost overpowering but with incredible self control, the book stayed in my pack. I could understand why she would keep her wings hidden, especially after the reception I’d gotten from the other ponies upon arriving. It was an interesting and unexpected development to give the understatement of the damn year. And it was one that begged to be explored, now more than before I wanted to know her story, who she was, why she was here, everything. I just had to hold onto the notion that Question would be willing to answer.

“I will.” I replied, still kind of shocked that there was another flyer amongst the traders. It… explained a few things, in retrospect. “Happy Winter’s Day.” She made an ‘mmm’ sound as acknowledgement and I turned again so that I was lying on my back, staring at the faint glow that the red lights cast across the ceiling. Huh, a weird day, but, not a bad one, not at all. And, the best part, now there were two pegasi (that I knew of) in the group. That’s what the feeling was… another pony like me...I wasn’t alone.

Coming Soon: Chapter 4. Mountains, Miles, Mares…

Author's Note

And that would be the reason why the chapter had to be split into two parts. It was really damn long. I probably could have easily split this chapter in half again, point of fact. Anyway, whatever I usually say here, imagine I'm saying it again, rather tired right now. Any opinions on which of the ponies introduced here that should accompany the trio on the next leg of the journey? Pleasant evening and all that. Also, hooray! The story as a whole has passed the 100,000 word mark! Cheers and whatnot.