The Longest Highway

by Jay911

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Human, Original Character, Adventure
Length: 56646

Max Morley, firefighter. Went to bed May 22. Woke up October 16. Unless this is a nightmare...

Side story to Starscribe's fine works The Last Pony on Earth and Founders of Alexandria. Max Morley is a 34-year-old firefighter working in Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, when the Collapse begins. But he doesn't know about it until nearly five months have passed.

Published 2015-08-14 22:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2015-12-04 04:07:45 UTC

Ice Road Trucker

OCTOBER 18, 2015
4:43 PM

Max's ears twitched as he sat at the firehall's kitchen table. He was still trying to get used to the quirks of this body, and the fact that he could 'focus' his hearing was just one of the things that caught him off guard.

What he was hearing was the faltering of the generator's droning noise. No longer was it a steady hum in the background; now it was a kind of a warbling, coughing noise. Before he could fully get to his hooves, the lights in the kitchen dimmed, then went out. The hiss of the HVAC fans dwindled away, and the last sputter of the generator motor almost seemed to echo everywhere.

"All right, then," Max said to himself. He grabbed the flashlight from the table, cradling it in one hoof, as he hopped on the other three towards the apparatus bay. Taking his time in the pre-sunset light, he walked to the semi-truck, detaching the now-useless electrical and air supply lines. Getting in, he set the light down, then turned on the battery switch, spirits buoyed as he was rewarded with a full dash of warning lights.

Once they settled down, he reached down and cranked the ignition switch.

With a cough and a rumble, the 500 horsepower engine (or is it 501 horsepower now?) came to life. He'd already started the truck once over the weekend, to make sure it worked, so there was no need to be nervous, but his heart was still in his throat.

He hopped down to manually open the bay door of the station, pulling on the chain over and over rather than relying on the electric opener. It'd been a tradeoff - he could've run the door up while the generator was still working, but that meant the apparatus bay would have been freezing. The hoof-over-hoof motion wasn't nearly as tiresome as Max thought it would be, so at least he had that going for him.

It took a couple of minutes to roll the sixteen-foot door up all the way. Once it was done, he hurried back to the truck (starting to feel cold now, not wearing any clothing) and climbed aboard, using the tools he'd fashioned to manipulate it into pulling out of the bay.

When the truck was outside the station, he looked in the rearview mirror. Habit made him want to go out and roll the door back down, buttoning up the station as he always did when leaving it. But there was nothing in there left to safeguard. And leaving the door open, along with his tire tracks, would give anyone who did happen to show up, if there was anyone left, an idea where he'd gone - or at the very least, an indication that someone had been here and gone. He owed anyone else who showed up, who made him not the last living thing to leave Prudhoe, at least that much.

He reached over and grabbed the mic for the radio. "Anyone on this channel, this is your last chance. Answer me back. Fire off a flare. Anything. If you can hear me, I'm getting ready to bug out. If you're here and want a ride south, talk to me."

Max sat there on the front drive of the firehall for five more minutes, and then, with no response, hung up the mic, selected Drive on the transmission, and let the big truck start rolling out towards the access to the Haul Road.

Okay, this isn't going too badly, Max mused as he got the rig up to about 40 miles an hour. The snow on the road wasn't cause for concern - the ridges on the road's shoulders helped delineate the gravel highway, and it was flat and relatively straight, with only a few sweeping turns every so often.

Eight-ish hours to Coldfoot, depending on whether or not there's any drifts or crashes. His mind got distracted by the concept of crashes. Would there be any? Had people fled somewhere, or simply vanished? If they'd vanished, what would happen to the vehicles they had been piloting? No, he'd not seen any indication of planes digging holes near the airport, or any suddenly-empty vehicles around town smashing into anything else. It was as if everyone had just disappeared, and either took their vehicles with them, or the vehicles were somehow disappeared as well - either together or separately.

Max lifted up his hooves in front of his face and adopted a peculiar expression. "I'm not saying it was aliens," he joked aloud to himself, "but..."

Passing the Caribou Construction compound, his mind lingered on the animal name in that company title. Would he see any wildlife? Naturally, the north was teeming with creatures - normally. If he saw any, what would happen? Would they run like normal (or, passively watch the truck go by, like 'normal' for some of the tamer beasts)? Or would he be able to stop and question them? After all, if he was a horse, maybe he'd come across a moose that was once a rigger or a trucker.

He shoved those thoughts from his head before he felt too insane, and forced himself back to the concept of scheduling and timelines. Eight hours estimated to the Coldfoot halfway point/rest stop some 240 miles distant. Five PM start time. One AM arrival time. Lovely. At least he could bed down in the warm truck overnight and check the rest stop for people in the morning - unless they heard his truck pull in and came running that night.

By instinct, he reached up for the mic on the company radio - the two-way that was used to communicate with the industry users of the road and the properties around the region. "North Slope Fire Support 30 southbound on the Haul Road, out of Deadhorse," he said without thinking. It was a habit drilled into him and every other driver on the department - users of the road called out their vehicle info and direction, and when available, mileage. It allowed others within radio range to plan for encountering an oncoming rig, and avoid the possibility of a head-on collision.

After the words left his mouth and his hoof released the push-to-talk button, Max realized what he'd done, and reached over to crank the volume up on the radio, listening intently for a reply. Normally there wouldn't be a response to a simple traffic call, unless a friend or colleague heard you and wanted to chat. Today, any other soul was a friend, and Max would gladly talk their ear off.

The radio persisted in silence.

Sighing after a few moments, he replaced the mic on its hang-up clip and directed his attention back to driving.

Dangit, I should have left something to snack on up here, Max chided himself a dozen or so miles down the road. Normally, he drove with a small buffet at hand, passing the time by keeping warm with coffee or hot chocolate, and keeping his blood sugar up with various snacks or things to munch on.

There was no more hot coffee, at least, not until he opened up the kitchen, and all the food stores were packed away in the trailer as well.

He wasn't hungry, he realized, despite not having eaten since lunch. He decided to just do the run, and eat when he got to Coldfoot. It wasn't ideal to eat before getting down to sleep, but it'd have to do.

He'd edged the truck up to 55 on the flat surface. The tires on the truck were relatively new and the snow skiff was blowing off pretty easily, so traction wasn't a worry, and traffic was nonexistent - which was both good and bad, of course.

Like was made famous on various TV "docu-reality" shows, driving on the tundra highways was a pretty low-intensity occupation most of the time. Nudging the steering wheel once or twice every couple of miles was Max's main task - even the speed was being maintained by cruise control for the time being. He knew of drivers who would turn away from the dash and actually work on paperwork or their laptop, or fix a meal in the microwave tucked into the front of the sleeper, but he wasn't one of them. Especially today, when spotting something oncoming might mean he discovered the only other person in the world.

Stop thinking like that, Max told himself. Maybe this is localized. He decided to either prove or knock down that argument by turning on the satellite radio receiver. He managed to get it lit up, and found a way to tap the numbers with the edge of his hoof, keying in 115.

The receiver was silent. It didn't show "searching for signal" - instead, it did indeed say "CNN - OutFront", but no sound was coming out - from front, back, or anywhere.

Pushing a few other presets, nothing was coming through any channel. NASCAR, Comedy Channel, Mariners Baseball - they were all silent.

"That's not optimal," he understated.

He left it on CNN, on the off-chance that whatever apocalypse had ensued was limiting their broadcasts to certain times of the day. Perhaps they would come on once an hour, or a couple of times per day, and give updates to the survivors.

Six o'clock rolled around with no more noise than the diesel chugging away and the tires crunching on the gravel. The only other thing that happened was the sun set, far to Max's right and well south.

He reached down and flicked on the driving lights, silently frowning as he drove on.

"North Slope Fire Support 30, southbound on the Haul Road, three hours outta Deadhorse."

Like the hour before, Max's call was met with silence.

He tossed the radio mic in frustration, letting it dangle from its cord and pendulum back and forth through the cab.

The only good thing that was going on so far was the truck was running well and the road was clear. That last part was both good and bad, as he'd told himself previously. He wondered where the rest of the world had gone. At any time of the day or night, at least a half a dozen trucks should have been going in either direction on the Dawson Highway, and he should have met at least one, even if it was no longer occupied. He was certain the darkness wasn't hiding them, either - he'd have easily seen the tracks leading to an unpiloted rig off the road on the tundra.

As much as he joked about it before, he was wondering if it wasn't so far-fetched that entire semi-trucks could have been abducted lock, stock, and barrel by some kind of external power. Shaking his head, he dismissed the random thought, telling himself he had to focus on the road. He was almost to the halfway point of the Coldfoot rest stop, his halfway point of the trip down to Fairbanks. He was hoping somebody had ended up surviving in Coldfoot like he had in Prudhoe. Even if there was just one person there, that would double the known population of the world.

He wondered if he'd find a person or a horse.

At quarter after ten at night, having driven for over five hours, Max found himself well within the mountainous territory of the Gates of the Arctic National Park. The road was intermittently paved - some sections of hardtop and some of gravel. It occurred to Max that the often-talked-about paving of the whole Haul Road would now never happen. Still, the bits that were tarmac were allowing him to pick up the pace, since there was no other traffic, and no patrols to mandate the 50 MPH speed. On the paved sections, he was daring to get as high as 65, and would push harder if it wasn't for the chance of encountering wildlife standing in the middle of the road. Or even worse, another vehicle.

That'd be the happiest wreck I'd ever have, he told himself, even though it would probably cause enough damage to the truck to put it off the road, at least temporarily. He shuddered at the thought of ruining the only vehicle he knew was operating on the entire road, with no one to come rescue him.

Glancing at his fuel gauge, he saw that he still had over three-quarters in the primary tank, and of course the auxiliary was still full. Everything appeared to be in good shape. The air reservoirs were holding, temps were in the green, and he was making good time.

He leaned back and stretched, feeling joints in strange places responding to his motions, reminding him of why he was undertaking the journey in the first place. Reaching up and flipping down the visor, he looked at the creature in the mirror, casting his slate-colored eyes over it.

I didn't even keep my own eye color, he realized. I was transplanted into some alien mini-horse fully and completely. Nobody would recognize me even if I could find someone I knew.

That line of thinking drew him to his family. Mom and Dad in Clearwater, and sister June with her family in Galveston... were they alive?

Max's eyes darted to the truck's satellite phone, sitting idle in its cradle on the dash.

If they didn't vanish, they'll definitely excuse a call this late. It was already past one in the morning in Florida. He took up a pen to poke the number pad, dialing from memory. One, seven two seven...

Obediently the phone system placed the call, buoying his spirits, but the unanswered ringing tone from the other end dashed them just as quickly.

He let it ring until it stopped, then stabbed the pen into the 'end' button and let it fall to the floor, rolling to the passenger side.

He didn't even bother trying to dial Texas.

Eight minutes after midnight, Max grabbed for the haul radio once again. Keeping to his routine was going to ensure he stayed awake.

"North Slope Support 30, southbound on the Haul Road, 7... seven hours out of Deadhorse."

Silence reigned as it had every other time he'd tried that.

Sighing, he realized he wasn't tired, but was definitely bored. He'd been up all day and all night, and wasn't sure how or why he was still able to function, especially with missing his evening meal. The truck was doing just as fine as he was.

Maybe I'm a cyborg, he wondered. Some deranged fool planted the mind of a human into a 3/8 scale horse body and set it free on the desolate tundra.

Shaking his head for the millionth time to demand that he keep his focus, he almost missed an important landmark whiz by on his right.

The... the campground? he wondered. If that really was the campground, then that means...

Sure enough, around the curve a couple miles down the road, he could see reflections in his headlights, reflections of the signs posted at roadside to indicate the Coldfoot turnoff and the DOT station.

He didn't have the energy to hoot and holler. Instead, he just slowed down, signaled (by habit, smiling a little at the realization), and turned left into the Coldfoot access road.

The darkness was total here, save for his own truck's lights. All the generators must have run dry here as well.

But hopefully someone was here, surviving like he did in Prudhoe, and had just shut everything off to save power. Right?

The way he chose to find out was to reach up - having to stand up fully on the seat - and grab the cord for the air horn, pulling down and holding it in place. Fifteen seconds later, he finally released it, and listened to the blatting sound echo off the trees and hills surrounding the camp.

No lights turned on in the camp, or the store, or any of the four trucks parked (turned off, or run out of fuel) in the lot.

He reached up to try again, but had a better idea, and moved his hoof to another control. Flipping it, he saw spangles of red and white bounce and collide against one another all around him, as the truck's emergency lighting strobed to life.

Reaching down to the center console, he got a knob under his hoof and managed to twist it, turning on the siren as well. Now the fire truck was wailing and flashing like it was charging down the road to an emergency. Surely anybody around would be unable to sleep through that.

Two minutes later, after cycling through all the siren sound patterns he had to choose from, he shut the lights and siren off and gave a frustrated sigh once more.

Max waited another fifteen minutes sitting in the dark in the deserted compound before he retired to the sleeper cab, leaving the truck running for warmth.

OCTOBER 19
11:38AM

Max woke with a start. Coming to in an unfamiliar location always threw him off. Doing so in an unfamiliar form was just as jarring, though he was starting to get used to it. And that, in itself, gave him reason for pause.

The truck was still running, the cab nice and toasty warm. The dash said the temperature outside was a balmy twenty-four degrees, which made him grimace a little. He had to go out and see if anybody was around, and in this weather, he'd have to get dressed to do it.

Wriggling around on his back on the bunk, he cursed and swore as he tried to get into the fire bunker gear again. How is it possible that some things can be done just fine with hooves and others are damn near impossible??

Eventually, he got suited up, and climbed down from the cab. There was no great accumulation of snow here, just cold frosty ground, so it was a little easier to move around.

First he checked the three semis and one straight truck (box van) parked in the lot. All were empty, at least of people or horses - two of the semis had oilfield equipment on flatbeds, and one was empty. The straight truck contained drums of motor and gear oil, power steering and brake fluid, and other items for servicing trucks and heavy equipment. He'd have to come back and pick through that later, taking what he needed.

Next he tried the Coldfoot Truckers' Cafe. It was unlocked, but as he'd expected, the power was off and so everything inside was frozen. Some of the formerly liquid items had burst their containers, leaving a chunky, slushy mess.

"Hello?!" he called from the door. "Fire department!" This last bit was a habit from his work, and it just slipped out.

There was stubbornly no response.

Still, he wandered through the building, trying to stay out of the puddles and icy gunk - he had no idea how or if he could clean sticky stuff out of hooves. The cafe, gift shop, store, even the bathrooms - everything was empty.

Going back outside, he peeked at the post office, but it was locked and looked like it hadn't been touched in months. Across the lot he headed, going for the Slate Creek Inn.

Calling it a hotel was probably a bit much, but it was what counted as lodging in this part of the world. It was an old construction trailer (or two) partitioned off into several rooms.

The door opened outward, and it took several tries to get the knob to turn in the cold weather. When he finally wrenched the door open, he found it just as cold inside. "Hello?!" he hollered once again. "Anyone in here?"

Again nothing answered him but silence.

He went up and down the hallways, checking doors for heat, but for the mere presence of it - not like he would normally have done as a firefighter, testing for a fire behind the door and avoiding opening any that showed those signs. Today, if a room felt even a tiny bit warm, he'd have bashed down the door with nary a second thought.

It was pointless; if anybody had been in the inn, they were gone now - either vanished, or moved on as he did from Prudhoe.

I should've left a note, he realized, far too late. The rolled-up door on the station was a sign that he had been there, but an actual sign with indication of who he was and where he'd gone would have been that much better. Glancing at his hooves, he thought, I wonder if I can even write still, with these stupid things.

Outside the inn, another parking lot sat with several smaller vehicles he'd missed the night before as he'd come in. Four pickup trucks, a small handful of all-wheel-drive station wagons and SUVs, a road grader, and of all things, an RV. All were unoccupied.

I guess that's it, then, Max decided, dejectedly walking back towards his truck. He climbed aboard, repositioning it to the fuel pumps, and tried to figure out how he was going to make this work.

He'd decided that he was going to take fuel at every place he stopped, since he had no idea where or when he'd be able to top off or how long he'd have to go 'til the next stop. However, the power being out to the compound made it tricky to get anything out of the pumps at all.

Dismounting once more, he rolled up the trailer compartment where the big generator lived, and tugged on the end of the large extension cable stored there on a reel. It free-spooled easily, part of it piling in a jumble at his hooves.

I guess there's no other way to do this.

He grabbed the cable just beyond the outlet box in his jaw, and started walking towards the tank farm. He was measuring paces in his head until he realized his stride probably didn't match up with what it used to be, so he abandoned that and decided to just stop either when he got to what he needed to plug in, or when the cable ran out. Hopefully the latter wouldn't happen, as he had no desire to be yanked like a dog at the end of his chain - especially since it would be his teeth that suffered from the impact.

Luckily, the distance was less than 200 feet, and he set the junction box down with cable to spare. Now the only thing preventing him from powering the fuel pumps was a locked gate around the tank farm.

He went back to the truck and found a crowbar, taking it back to the gate and slipping it in between the arms of the shackle, and resting his forehooves on the other end of the bar. This was a fairly simple trick of physics, to break the shackle, but it usually required quite a bit of force, so he reared back and stomped on the end of the crowbar for all he was worth.

PING!

"Jesus!" he yelled, ducking for cover as the padlock shank, the hasp bolt it was put through, and the eyelets on the gate frame all shattered at once, flying in random directions. He wasn't hurt, but could have been.

Must've been weakened by the cold, he thought to himself. Locks didn't usually grenade into a zillion pieces like that. He shrugged, picked up the junction box, and dragged it to the pump controller.

Half an hour later, through trial and error, he had the pump controller alive and talking to the pumps. They weren't on speaking terms with the cash register in the cafe, but that wasn't particularly pertinent. He didn't have his credit card with him, anyway.

Squeezing the trigger on the pump nozzle was the hardest part of the rest of the activity - until he figured to use the crowbar as a lever again. This time, he was much more careful and gentle, and the pump obediently delivered a couple hundred gallons of diesel.

He topped off the tank for the generator as well, and then unplugged everything and buttoned the truck back up. Climbing into the cab, he got rid of the turnout gear and hung it in the sleeper to dry, musing about how he felt more comfortable not wearing any clothes in this form. Looking at the dash, he realized it was four-thirty in the afternoon.

Wow, that took all day, he realized. He wasn't up for another evening-to-midnight drive, so he decided to stay parked at Coldfoot for another night. He moved the truck away from the pumps (mainly out of habit) and shut it down as he had the night before, except for what was necessary to keep him comfortable in the cab. He also took the opportunity to shuffle around some of the supplies, bringing emergency clothing and some foodstuffs up into the cab, and then remembered the oils and lubricants he planned to steal - no, liberate - from the other truck. Once all was said and done, it was after 6 PM, and it was dark.

I should check for one of those elastic headlamps in the store before I take off in the morning, he thought as he worked with solely the headlights of his truck providing illumination. He added it to his mental checklist and bedded down for the night.

OCTOBER 20
6:06 AM

This time, Max woke slowly and early. The latter was probably due to the fact he'd gone to bed shortly after sunset, almost twelve hours previous. He idly wondered what kind of sleep cycle miniature horses needed. He'd heard once that giraffes only slept a couple of hours out of every 24, and wondered for the first time if that applied to other animals as well.

He'd wait for the sun to rise before he took off for Fairbanks. Even with a seven-hour drive - and this one was likely to take the full seven, with twisty, windy turns through the mountains - that would put him in the city decently before sunset, and allow him to cast around for survivors.

He whiled away the nearly three hours to come by having a breakfast of saltine crackers and a couple of juice boxes taken from the 'rehab' kit - a food basket designed to provide sustenance to firefighters when they were taking a break after working hard at a fire or emergency scene.

He almost reached for his phone to instinctively check the day's weather, and remembered abruptly that there was no more Weather Underground. Well, maybe the automated stations would be still reporting, if the Internet was still a thing. But power out meant computers were down, and cellphone tower sites were down, and that was the end of that.

No more Facebook, he said to himself with a chuckle. I won't shed a tear for the Farmville and Candy Crush requests I'm never going to see again.

Youtube videos will never increment by one more viewer, ever again, he thought, frowning as the realization hit him.

Google has been searched for the last time.

The Twitter failwhale is up, permanently.

Reddit is down.

He had a facetious mind's-eye view of himself going into a mental blue-screen-of-death from that last one. Then, he shrugged it off, and sighed.

Just after nine o'clock in the morning, he returned to the truck with several bags of items he'd appropriated from the store in the cafe. No sense in leaving any of this behind if nobody is here to use it. In it was snack food, a few unbroken drinks, packages of batteries, flashlights and headlamps, and various other pieces of kit that might prove useful.

Getting back in the truck, he closed it up, took a few moments to get warm again, and then reached for the radio mic.

"If anyone can hear this, this is North Slope Fire Rescue, Support 30, parked in Coldfoot. I'm leaving here for Fairbanks in 15 minutes. If you are out there and want a ride, call me." He paused. "If you're out there and don't want a ride, call me." 'Cause I have a hell of a piece of news to hit you with, since you must've been out in the bush for 5 months. "Just ... call back. Support 30 over."

As he expected, there was no reply.

Max put the truck in gear, spun the steering wheel all the way around (getting better at handling it with hooves, every second) to do a U-turn in the yard, and drove out towards the Dawson Highway, and turned south.

Plus One

OCTOBER 20
09:14 AM

Max had an image in his mind of wildlife for miles around startling and scattering upon hearing his blurted-out curse.

Unfortunately, there was no wildlife around. Too bad, because he could have used some assistance, even if it was an elk to stare at him in wonderment.

He'd been - well, to be honest with himself, he'd been lazy and complacent. Assuming the road was good and he could just put the proverbial hammer down and keep on going.

He hadn't counted on a shaded corner hiding a patch of unmelted ice.

Luckily for Max and for the truck, the ditch was very shallow and caused no damage to the rig. Unluckily, it was wet and slick with leaves, and angled just enough that he couldn't work it back onto the road, even after throwing the tire chains on the accessible side of the drive wheels.

He contemplated - for a split second - detaching the trailer and getting the truck out on its own, then trying to drag the trailer back to the road. It was not worth the risk of losing the entire cargo when the trailer's "landing gear" - support legs - were set into the wet, soft ground.

"Damn it!" Max shouted, kicking the back end of the tractor, sending the mud flap and its metal bracket clattering to the ground.

He stared at the broken mudflap for a moment. All he'd done was kick at it, and the spring steel, which held it on the truck while being battered by debris and gunk thrown up from the rear wheels, and folded over accidentally by the occasional reversing move, had just snapped right off.

Reflecting on his encounter with the refueling site earlier, he had a thought.

Am I really that much stronger than I was before? he wondered.

"I'm so going to get myself run over," Max mumbled to himself. He was sitting in the cab of the truck, completely filthy from wrestling the other set of chains on the tires on the ditch-side. He also had the majority of a nylon tow strap wrapped around himself several times, with the hook ends dangling below his chin like a ghost's chains, clanking occasionally as they bumped together.

And now he was going to do something he never would have dreamed of risking a few days earlier.

A few months earlier, he corrected himself. Whatever.

He selected Drive on the electronic transmission, feeling the clunk as the drivetrain took up the slack. he gave it a tiny bit of throttle and set the idle control, so that the truck was under very light acceleration. The drive wheels spun briefly until the chains met resistance from the ground, and then the truck began to grumble under load.

Max hopped out, hurried to the front of the truck, and slipped the tow hooks on the strap around the pin in the front bumper/frame. Turning around to face away from the rig, he stepped forward until the strap was taut, and took a breath.

"Here goes," he murmured, and threw all his weight into the straps.

For a moment, nothing happened except Max strained against the impossibly heavy machine. Then, to his absolute shock and surprise, he felt it start to roll.

Holy shit! he mentally gasped, and dug in even harder. One hoof step - he'd moved the truck an entire hoof step. Two hoof steps. Half a body length!

Max altered his trajectory to pull more sharply out of the ditch, and the truck, he was gobsmacked to realize, followed him. Stepping onto the tarmac, he began to scramble on the smoother surface, but bore down and stamped his hooves into the asphalt, as if that would give him more purchase.

As he reached the double-solid yellow lines in the center of the road, he realized the strap behind him was beginning to slack. Picking up a little speed, it dawned on him that he was so sure this wouldn't work that he hadn't thought of how to unhook once the truck got moving.

A couple of terrifying moments later, he'd managed to kick one hook loose from the tow pin, and spin around a couple of times to shed the strap from his body. He darted back to the driver's side, hopped onto the running boards, climbed in through the still-open driver's door, and stood on the brakes, bringing the machine to a halt a few inches from the guardrail on the opposite side of the road from where it'd started.

Max sat there clinging to the steering wheel for a couple of moments, panting heavily from both exertion and surprise.

"I can't... believe... that fucking worked," he said to no one in particular.

With everything stowed and the truck relatively undamaged (but roadworthy - if not necessarily legal any more thanks to Max's buck to the mudflaps), the trip south resumed.

Only lost about half an hour, Max figured. He was still dirty and grimy, but he had no interest in opening up the truck and having a shower in the middle of nowhere. He'd stop in Fairbanks around 3 or 4PM and have his rest and cleanup there.

Once again, radio calls were unanswered. Max wished he had a means to transmit continuously, or at least repeatedly, so that he didn't have to divert his attention from the road to make a radio call every now and then. He'd missed the ice that way, and probably more than a couple of animals had avoided being seen in much the same way.

For some reason, he chose to try the satellite radio again, but it too had nothing to share.

This is pointless, he lamented.

No, it's not, he chastised himself seconds later. You'd never forgive yourself if you stayed put and then learned somebody was looking for help somewhere else.

At least the scenery was improving the further south he got. Green grass was prevalent more often than not, and forests and the like. Trees and forests period were a bonus - back north, above the Arctic Circle, there was literally nothing.

Max snorted as he passed a sign nailed to a gate leading to a property: INSURED BY SMITH & WESSON. Fair enough, buddy, I'll give you a pass. These were the kind of things Max missed by flying in and out of Deadhorse every time he went back home, he figured.

The sign did give him pause, though. He didn't have anything worth calling a weapon, and even if he had had something, he wouldn't have been able to fire it in this condition. Maybe it was a needless worry, but he was concerned about the mental state of anyone he might find. He was, of course, hoping that anyone he came across would be just as happy as him to find another living soul. But with this disaster came the absence of government and law, and what would follow would surely be chaos and anarchy. Maybe whoever he found (or vice versa) would consider the truck he was driving, and its contents, worth more than his life?

Maybe I should bring an ax up from the equipment locker, he mused.

A little over 90 minutes out of Fairbanks, specks of water began appearing on the windshield. After a few moments, Max realized they were falling as white crystals of snow, just cold enough to maintain their shape in the air; once they touched the window or the hood, or anywhere else like the ground, they burst into water droplets.

Max wrestled with the windshield wiper controls for a few moments before getting them to turn on. The blades arced across the window, sending the moisture off to the sides and letting Max continue to see the empty road.

He glanced at the temperature gauge on the dash. 34 degrees. Not bad, especially coming from 18 below at the start of his journey. Hopefully, this wouldn't be the end of it, though.

Even though it wasn't time yet - Max tried to keep his radio calls on a schedule, hour by hour - he grabbed the mic and spoke.

"North Slope Support 30, about an hour anna half out of Fairbanks, and if anybody out there cares, it's snowing."

As he was about to hang the mic up, the radio crackled, and he nearly drove off the road another time. He dropped the mic, and steadied the truck while he listened.

All he could tell was that there was noise on the radio. It was hard to decide if it was just noise - interference from something automated still ticking over nearby - or if someone was actually trying to call him.

After about thirty seconds, the crackling stopped. Max realized he was still driving down the road - in fact, he'd subconsciously pressed harder on the accelerator, and the truck was pushing 80. He backed off and stood up to reach the microphone, intent on talking again.

"If... if someone just tried to call me, I could tell you transmitted but I couldn't pick you up," he stammered. "Keep trying, and I hope I'm getting closer to you. I'm coming to Fairbanks. I'm about 90 minutes out. Keep trying. I'm listening."

He got his trembling hoof to the mic hang-up clip that time, and hung up the mic, then let his hoof fall to his side, all in silence. He kept one eye on the road and the other on the faceplate of the radio.

Suddenly, more static. Not even one bar out of five on the signal meter, but there was something being transmitted.

This isn't coincidence. This is real.

This time, Max's increased pressure on the accelerator pedal was deliberate.

He had to back off the throttle again, as the curves were just too tight for the heavy truck and trailer. As he thundered over the Chatanika River bridge, the highway straightened out, giving him a chance to take a hoof off the wheel again.

"North Slope 30 here," he called out. "I'm about 20 miles outside Fairbanks. Is somebody there?"

A few seconds later, a male voice crackled through the static. "Hey, pal. Tell me you're for real!"

Max laughed and bounced up and down in the seat, punching the air with his free hoof. "I was gonna ask you the same thing, friend," he responded. "Where are you?"

"Fort Wainwright," the voice answered. "I took over the hotel."

"Army?" Max asked. "How many you got there?"

There was a pause. "Sorry, pal. It's just me."

"Oh," Max understated. "Sorry, man."

"It's okay. I guess I don't have to ask you now if you're here to save my ass."

"I might not be the cavalry, but I am on my way. Do you know if it's safe out around you?"

"Safe as can be, buddy. I'm on a military base. Fences all around. The biggest thing I gotta worry about are squirrels."

"Okay then. I should be there in half an hour tops." Max's mind raced on how to ask what was nagging at his mind. "It's gonna be good to see another person. It might answer a lot of questions I have."

There was a humorless chuckle over the radio. "Person. Right. See ya in 30."

Max wasn't familiar with the base, so he just followed the highway and the road signs indicating the route. Driving into Fairbanks, he was stunned to see such a large city (by comparison to where he'd come from) so utterly deserted.

All the power was out, of course, so the traffic signals were dark. It didn't matter, because there was no traffic at all - not even stalled vehicles abandoned in the road by their disappearing drivers. Once again the whole mystery nibbled at Max's brain, trying to rationalize something that didn't make an ounce of sense.

Pulling onto South Gate Road, Max realized that his forward progress was going to be halted pretty immediately. Across a set of railway tracks, a guardhouse sat with double runs of fencing blocking the road.

As the truck pulled up, though, Max caught movement from behind the shack, and was dumbfounded to see a blue-colored miniature horse creep out from around the corner. No, not horse - unicorn, judging by the protrusion atop its head.

Max disembarked from the cab and hurried to the fence, speechless.

"North Slope, I presume?" the creature said with the same voice Max had heard on the radio.

Max shook his head and regained his senses. "Sorry. Yeah. Name's Max. Max Morley."

"Duncan MacAllister," the unicorn said with a smile. "Good to meet you. I'd let you in, but there's no friggin' power to run the gate."

Max blinked and held up a hoof, like he was holding up one finger in the "wait" gesture. "Maybe I can help with that." He hurried back to the compartment for the on-board generator, primed and fired it up, and dragged the junction box up to the gate where Duncan was standing.

"Were'zis meed ta goh?" Max said, the end of the cable clenched between his teeth.

Duncan blinked, then grinned. "Hang on a second," he said, and darted into the guard house.

A short time later, the truck was parked in front of the on-base IHG Hotel, and the two survivors were standing outside.

"So I bet you can tell me just what the hell happened," Max said.

Duncan blinked. "Me? Why?"

"Because of that," Max said, gesturing to Duncan's forehead. When he was met with a blank look, Max mimed a spire jutting out of his own skull. "The horn."

"...Nnno," Duncan said hesitantly. "Why would you think I could tell you anything because of that?"

Max sighed. "Before I woke up, I had a dream or a vision or something of millions of you unicorns doing some kind of magic or something."

Duncan shook his head. "Whatever happened to us, I have no idea what it was, besides the obvious. I just woke up like this one day four months ago."

"Four mon-" Max stammered. "You've been here all this time??"

"I don't have the resources to get anywhere, like you did," Duncan said, nodding to the semi-truck. "I was waiting for the military to show up. I figured that'd be the most likely way to get rescued - that they'd show up here eventually."

"You're not in the service yourself?"

Duncan shook his head 'no' again. "I'm a professor over at UAF. Or was, I suppose. There wasn't enough resources over there to survive on, so I moved here. The military rations and supplies have been keeping me going since late June."

"Since late June," Max said flatly. "Tell me how that works. I went to bed on the night of May 22 and woke up five days ago."

Duncan's eyes widened in surprise. "How can that be? You don't look emaciated as one would being comatose for that long. And you certainly wouldn't have survived without food and water."

"Tell me about it," Max nodded. "Anyway. Can we go inside to chat? As much as I love standing outside in near-freezing temps."

"Oh! My apologies, of course, come on in," Duncan said. He turned and began to walk towards the building. Max studied his new co-survivor curiously. Besides the blue eyes and muddy blue coat, he had a shock of off-white hair ('mane', Max reminded himself) and tail. Just beside that tail, emblazoned on the unicorn's rump, was a picture of an open textbook, squiggly lines representing text.

"What's with the ass tattoo?" Max asked after they'd navigated the maze of plywood barricades blocking the elements out of the lobby of the hotel.

"The...?" Duncan said with mild shock. He looked back at himself. "Oh! That." He looked back over to Max. "I presumed it was a categorizational mark of sorts. That is, when I was working on the theory that we'd been, ehem, abducted by extra-terrestrials, transformed, and set back on the planet to be observed. Kind of like tagging a bear or elk when you release them into the wild."

Max didn't want to admit he'd entertained the alien abduction idea himself. "Um, okay," he said.

"By yours, and the truck you arrived in, is it safe to say you're a firefighter?"

"Yeah," Max nodded, then caught on to what the professor had said. "Wait. Mine?"

Duncan looked bemused. "I take it you haven't had a chance to take full stock of yourself yet?"

Max bent around to look over his shoulder, and almost fell into a dog-chasing-its-tail routine because of it. To his surprise, he caught a glimpse of a picture on his own behind, depicting an antique fire nozzle squirting three droplets of water on a cartoonish-looking flame.

"What the hell," he murmured. "And the answer is no, I haven't had reason to size up my butt." He tried to reach back to touch the image, finding it was not a tattoo nor some other kind of ink. His fur simply changed color where necessary to make up the picture.

"Let's go and get something to eat," Duncan suggested, breaking Max's reverie. "I have quite the buffet set up."

The dining room of the hotel was set up with several tables with cases of prepackaged MRE meals on them.

"This row is chicken with noodles," Duncan said, gesturing to one table. "Over here is vegetarian taco pasta. You might have noticed we don't have much tolerance for meat in this form. It seems red meat is worse than white or dark meat or fish, but-"

"What do you mean, we don't have much tolerance for meat?" Max interrupted.

Duncan looked at him blankly. "What have you been eating for the past five m- oh, right, you haven't. Well, what have you been eating for the past five days?"

"Cereal, crackers, some cheese that was in the rehab kit, stuff like that."

"Interesting," Duncan said. "Well, I couldn't stomach red meat all of a sudden after I found myself like this, and trust me, that was a big change for me. I'm no vegetarian - at least, I wasn't, but it seems I'm more of one now."

"You're kidding me," Max said, his expression deflating and his ears flattening to his skull.

"Sorry," Duncan said. "You can try if you want - the meat menu items are over there in the corner. But you might want to keep a bucket handy and a bottle of water just in case."

Max decided to alter the course of the conversation a little. "I wouldn't mind a bottle of water if you have one."

"Sure! They're over here in the vestibule," Duncan answered, leading Max out of the room again. "I keep them over here so they're at least a little cool." An alcove to one of the side doors off the lobby was stacked with cases of water. Duncan reached to a case with the plastic layer torn open and picked up a bottle with a hoof, handing it over to Max. "I find the easiest way to open them is-"

Max took it in his hoof, in that peculiar way he found he could grip things, and went to grip the cap in his teeth, then turn the bottle. Instead, he cleanly bit the neck of the bottle right off, shearing it from the container and splashing water all over his hoof, fetlock, and muzzle.

"...Or, you could do that," Duncan said.

Max spit the still-intact cap and neck of the bottle out. "Didn't mean to," he said, feeling around his mouth with his tongue for any damage. Finding none, he tipped the ripped-open, three-fourths-full bottle to his mouth and emptied it. When he was done, he offered the bottle back to Duncan. "Haven't you found that, that you're way stronger like this than you ever were before?"

Duncan shook his head, taking the bottle and studying the gnashed top. "I'm no more powerful than when I was teaching mechanical engineering." He placed the bottle into another open case, which was collecting empties. "I gather you're suggesting you weren't this strong before?"

"Well, I was a firefighter," Max scoffed, "so I was fit, but not pull-trucks-out-of-ditches strong."

"Really?" Duncan's eyebrows retreated into his mane. "That's impressive."

"Yeah, I ditched the stupid thing on an icy curve, and found out I had enough oomph to pull it out with it helping me along."

"Wow," Duncan said. "I wouldn't mind gauging your strength when we have time. We should record benchmarks for what we can do."

"Okay," Max said, "but I have a question. Do you plan to stay here? 'Cause I don't. There's got to be more people out there, and we need to find them."

Duncan pondered it for a moment. "I guess it's a good idea," he shrugged. "As I said, I stayed here because I figured the military would come to me. And the reason I've stayed here now, is because I simply didn't have the resources to move myself. And I didn't feel like galloping all alone in some random direction." He smiled.

"So you're up for coming with me?"

"Sure," Duncan nodded. "How soon?"

Max almost answered "Right now", but reconsidered. "I suppose a day or two rest for me won't hurt, and you'll need time to pack stuff up. Right?"

"Pack?" Duncan laughed. "I'm hardly planning to take my clothes with me." True enough, like Max, Duncan was not wearing a stitch. "I may want to grab some notes and materials from my office at the university, including a computer or two, especially if you can run power for them. Other than that? We can take some of this, but I don't have anything else to bring along."

"Okay," Max said after taking it all in. "Well, like I said, a pause for rest is right up my alley. In fact, since I've been driving all day..."

"Say no more," Duncan said. "I should have realized this sooner, I'm sorry. Let me show you to the rooms."

Max followed the unicorn down a hallway across from the front desk, past the defunct elevators. The first room, 101, had a door with a duct-taped handle assembly on it, the door partially open. "This is mine," Duncan said. "Found a way to jimmy the balcony glass door and then shut it again without breaking it, so I was able to get the door open from inside." Duncan walked to the next door down. "Of course all of them are free. We'll have to find one that we can break into from outs-"

Duncan cut himself off as Max simply turned around, put his hoof to the door, and gave it a swift buck. The door splintered around the jamb, and completely separated from the handle portion, which cartwheeled into the room as the door popped open.

"Got enough data yet, Doc?" Max smirked.

"...Never mind," said Duncan.

Max got up, after a relatively quick but restful nap, in the late afternoon/early evening and found Duncan trying to carry several candles to the lobby.

"Whatcha up to?" he asked.

"Setting up for some light for the evening," Duncan explained. "If I need to pack up some things, I - oop."

Max dodged a couple of larger candles as they fell from Duncan's one-forelegged carry and tumbled to the floor. "Forget all that," he said. "Give me five minutes and a place to run a cable inside."

"What? Okay," Duncan said, setting down the candles on a nearby chair and following Max to the main doors.

"I fink thih ih goin' to be theh moph uved peef of theh hruck for a hwhile," Max said through his jaw clenched around the generator's extension cable as he dragged it through the doors.

"It certainly is handy," Duncan observed. He led Max over to where a couple of floor lamps stood, and helped plug them in. "It'll be interesting to see this place lit up with artificial light again."

"Go ahead and flip the switch," Max said, and momentarily, two dusty torchiere lamps came to life.

"Outstanding! Thanks for the help," exclaimed Duncan. He headed back to his room to gather some items. Meanwhile, Max went to the rack of literature near the front desk and studied it.

"Looking for things to do?" Duncan quipped when he returned with his things.

"A road map," Max said. "Not sure which way to go next, want to plan out our options. You got any ideas? Ah-hah." He snatched up a road atlas and took it over to the table.

"Well, unless you can fly, I think driving is our best option."

"Right," Max nodded. "So we're talkin' the Alcan, I guess."

"I guess," Duncan agreed.

"Dangit, we need a Canadian map book," Max said, leafing through the pages. "This stops just inside the border. Okay well, if I remember correctly the road goes to the Yukon and its capital city. What is it, Whitehorse?"

Duncan cracked a smirk. "Fitting," he said.

"Ha ha. It's ..." Max studied the overview page. "Looks like it's about 300 miles to the border. So let's say five hours. Six in case something happens. Sounds like we might need to stop there for the night, try to find a map in the checkpoint, and go from there."

"Should we take our passports?"

Max glanced over at his comrade. "I don't have mine," he deadpanned.

"It's okay, my picture's out of date," Duncan laughed. "Hopefully they take pity on us and let us in."

"Shall we do that, then?" Max asked. "Ready ourselves tonight, get out of here at first light tomorrow, and make a run for the border?"

"Oh man, I could do with a Cheesy Gordita Crunch," Duncan said. "But I probably wouldn't stomach it. Anyway, yes, let's do that."

"Right," Max nodded. This is gonna be one interesting road trip.

OCTOBER 21
9:02 AM

The truck, packed even more full with a dozen or two cases of water bottles and MREs, rolled out of the gate of Fort Wainwright and headed briefly northwest again, to head to the University of Alaska at Fairbanks. They didn't bother closing the gate; in fact, they left a chunk of plywood at the guard house with their names painted on it, the date, and what direction they'd headed, in the off-chance that somebody else was to find it.

It took slightly longer than half-an-hour for Duncan to pick up the items he wanted to bring along. Fitting the stereotype, his office at the university was a mess, full of piles of papers and half-built contraptions. Max idly played with one or two items while waiting to help carry out the things that'd be coming with them. It appeared this professor was quite the tinkerer and inventor; maybe this collaboration wasn't a bad idea after all.

"Ready?" Max asked when he saw Duncan stand at the door, looking around and sighing.

"I suppose," Duncan said wistfully. "A shame to leave all the rest of this here, really."

"Maybe if we find help, we can come back and get it."

Duncan smiled wanly and nodded. "Sure," he said. "Let's believe that."

The two men-turned-horses headed out the door and back towards the truck.

Your Call Is Important To Us

OCTOBER 21, 2015
9:46 AM
15 miles southeast of Fairbanks, on Alaska State Highway 2

"Hey, what's this?"

Max glanced over to see what Duncan was referring to - the two switches below his seat cushion. "Air ride seat," he said plainly.

"How do you - oh!" Duncan said, as he pressed one of the switches and descended suddenly with a noise beneath him like a leaky tire. Pushing it in the other direction, a hissing sound could be heard, and he slowly rose. He fiddled with the adjustments a few times before moving on to the other switch. "Oooh, lumbar support. Wait, do horses even have lumbar?"

Max shook his head a little and focused on his driving. In the back of his mind, though, he was wondering if seat adjustments might make it more comfortable for his equine shape to sit in the seat. It was already pushed as far forward as he could make it, and higher than he normally would have used, so that he could see over the dash of the rig.

"I've never ridden in a semi-truck before," the professor said unnecessarily, as he surveyed all the controls surrounding him and Max. "Are they all like this or just fire trucks?"

"There's some extra stuff in here, but for the most part it's just a regular tractor," Max explained. He took a hoof from the wheel to point things out. "The emergency light controls, siren, radios, and the satellite phone. Most everything else is stock."

"I see," Duncan nodded. He looked over the radios. "So this is how you called me, huh? I was answering you on a walkie-talkie I found in the guard shack. That must have been why you were coming in loud and clear long before you could hear me."

"Guess so," Max shrugged. "How did you keep it working all this time though?"

"Oh, it takes regular batteries," Duncan said, turning in his seat as if to go into the sleeper cab and retrieve his duffel. "I'll show-"

"Maybe at a rest stop," Max interrupted. "I want to keep us between the ditches for now."

"Oh, right. Understood." Duncan grinned. "But you could get us out if something went awry, couldn't you? Superman. Super horse."

Are you gonna be like this all the way? Max wanted to ask but didn't.

"So. Satellite phone. Does it work?"

Max thought for a moment on what to say about that. "Sort of," he finally decided upon. "I was able to dial out, but got no answer at my parents' place, so I didn't bother trying other numbers."

"Maybe they're out. Or maybe their power's out," Duncan said, trying to be optimistic.

"Yeah, sure. Maybe."

Duncan leaned back and put his forelegs behind his head. "You know, when my cellphone went offline - erm, often because I forgot to pay the bill, being focused with my lesson plans and all - it'd take a call to the operator to get it back working again."

Max gave a humorless snort. "I doubt Iridium has anyone standing by to take our call right now."

Duncan shrugged. "You never know unless you try." He suddenly leaned forward, picking up a pen (having been shown the artificial-dexterity manipulation tools by Max earlier), jabbed the '0' key, and hit Send.

"Wait, that's not going to-" Max began, but was cut off when the ringing tone started. It rang several times, long enough that it seemed as though the attempt was going to fail.

Then, rather abruptly, somebody answered. The voice was male, though it was also a little higher than human men had sounded - but this was familiar to both people in the truck at this point. The speaker sounded a little tired; clearly he wasn't synthetic. "Iridium network operator; this is Joseph speaking." Then, without invitation: "What broke this time?"

Max and Duncan stared at one another, dumbfounded. After a second, Duncan blurted out, "Uhmm... the whole world I think? Hello?"

Max cut in. "Do you know what's happened? Everywhere we've been, all the people are gone."

The phone produced a series of muffled French obscenities, before the speaker seemed to collect himself enough to reply. "You just arrived, didn't you? I don't have the time to explain the whole universe to a new-arrival every ten minutes... Alex wants this damn thing running, she can take the... hold on a minute, new ponies. I'll transfer you to somebody who has the time to answer your questions." The line went quiet, except for the sound of out-of-tune hold music.

"Ponies?" Max said aloud, looking at himself and then Duncan.

Duncan shrugged. "Makes sense, I guess. Small horses... ponies, right? I'm more interested in the fact they knew we 'just arrived'. Sounds like this is a well-known phenomenon."

Several minutes later, the music abruptly ended. "Hello? Are there still ponies on this line? If you're still here, I'm sorry about my friend. Joseph gets more selfish the closer to morning you catch him." This time, the speaker was clearly female, as well as young. A teenager?

"Hello!" Max said urgently. "We're here. My name is Max - Max Morley. I'm a firefighter from Prudhoe Bay, Alaska. I have another per- ...pony here with me named Duncan MacAllister. He's a university professor from Fairbanks. Look, I went to bed in May and woke up six days ago. Duncan remembers nothing from May to mid-June. And of course we're 'ponies'. Do you know what's happened?"

The speaker on the other end was silent for several moments. She sounded far more compassionate than whoever it was who answered. "The short answer is yes, though not as well as any of us would like. I'm afraid you might not believe me if I told you, though. Unless..." There was a pause. "Have you two seen anything unusual yet? Animals acting strange? Or strange lights around you, things moving... probably not flying yet..."

Max said, "We're in Alaska. Some of the animals are hibernating, I figure. I'm actually surprised I didn't run across any elk or deer though - I've driven over 500 miles and not seen anything. I don't know if they vanished too, or they're hiding, or what." He paused, then said, "This is gonna sound stupid, but I had a weird dream before I woke up the first time. I saw about a million unicorns all gathered together doing something, then there was a flash."

"Unicorns, huh? No, that's less unusual than you might think. What you saw may very well be an actual event, just... not one that happened on earth. I know this is going to sound crazy, but you deserve to know so I'm going to tell you anyway. On May 23, 2015, the earth was struck with a wave of radiation deadly to human life. Our nearby neighbors, aliens that look like you do now, like all of us do, intervened to stop our extinction. That intervention involved changing us into these new bodies, bodies adapted for survival in the thaumic field, as well as sending most of us forward in time. The fugue you experienced is typical, it will not happen again. Once you're in normal time, you're here to stay, and you won't change bodies again."

"I know this sounds completely insane. Frankly, I wouldn't believe it myself if I hadn't seen the proof with my own eyes. We still have it. Artifacts from the world that saved us. Recorded memories you can experience for yourselves, of what their world was like. Books written about how to use your new bodies, and all their fascinating powers. I'm coming to you from Paris, Illinois. It used to be a butthole in the middle of nowhere, but now it's one of the biggest colonies there is. We've got about twenty ponies here, and facilities for more. You said you're in Alaska... that's outside the distance we can fly to pick you up. But if you make your way down here, we can give you access to everything I mentioned. You don't have to take the crazy things I said just because somebody said them."

Max looked at Duncan, trying to gauge the professor's reaction. He was just staring out the windshield, but his focus appeared to be mostly internal.

"Illinois," Max said. "Well, we're heading south already, and my plans were to find people with whom I could meet up and survive. I guess meeting up with ponies will do just as well. I don't know what kind of resources you have, or if you need anything, but I have a semi-truck full of medical-" He muttered the next four words. "-well, human medical supplies, firefighting and rescue gear, lighting and electrical, and a bunch of military prepackaged foods and water. I don't know if you need any of that. Like I said, my plan was to pick up anybody I come across who needs help, and go to someplace where we can survive. I guess that's Paris. I have no idea how long it'll take us - we've averaged about 250 miles a day so far. I don't know if the road will get rougher the further south into civilization we go. But I'm willing to give it a shot if you'll have us."

"Absolutely," the pony on the other end answered without hesitation. "We can use all the manpower we can get. If you've got the skills to get down here safely, than you've got skills we can use. There's room for you if you can make it. I'd like to be able to send transport for you, but... by the sound of it, you're more competent than anypony I could send to get you. I'll text you my number when this call is over. Feel free to ask if you ever need information. The world is changing all around us, so don't be surprised if you encounter something that shouldn't have been possible. Lots of things that didn't used to be are happening."

"Fair enough," Max said. "We'll do our best. It might be useful if we knew what to prepare for on the trip down. Or is 'lots of things' as specific as you can get? Do we need to arm ourselves?"

"I sure as hell hope not," the voice began, though she didn't sound very confident. "If you have to stop while traveling through big cities, you actually probably should keep a weapon handy. I've heard stories of stray dogs and other urban predators going feral and attacking ponies. I'm not sure how reliable those reports are, but I have heard them."

"I'm sure you already know you shouldn't eat meat. Most newcomers figure that one out pretty quick. You can eat everything earth horses can, which means you shouldn't starve if you've got grass around. I don't actually recommend it; it's not the tastiest thing in the world. So far as supplies... food is still pretty common in most areas. Might need something to purify water if you don't enjoy diarrhea. Most people don't."

"That's about it. If you wanted to make lots of ponies very happy, you could see if you can find a gearbox for an industrial wind turbine, preferably one megawatt or better. I don't actually expect you to be able to bring something like that... we're talking five to ten tons here. But if you did, you'd be our hero. Hell, if you even tell us where to find one, we'd love you forever. And if you can't find one, we'll take whatever else you can bring. We're pretty good for food and water here, so focus on non-perishable items. Farming equipment, industrial machinery, or seeds. Things like that. Plus all the warm bodies you come across. You wouldn't believe how few of us there are. Well, maybe you would. It's not more than a few thousand, on the whole planet. But more every day, so... your chances get better the longer you're out there!"

Max found he was nodding through some of the topics discussed, pointlessly since the conversation was audio-only, of course. "We'll definitely try. Like I said, I don't know how long it'll take, but if you're going to text us your contact info like you said, we'll try to keep you posted on our overall progress. So, then... I guess we'll be off. Thanks for answering and for all the advice, um..." Max realized he hadn't caught the younger ....pony's?... name.

"Alex. Everypony just calls me Alex. Well, except for the ones going with this whole new naming scheme. They call me Lonely Day. Either one works, though I prefer the first one. Seeing as it’s real and all. Good luck, you two. I’ve already got your number now, I’ll text you mine." The line went dead. Sure enough, within a minute, a new text message had appeared, containing a satellite phone number.

For a long moment, both men - both ponies - remained silent. Then, finally, Max looked over at Duncan.

"Wow."

"Wow," Duncan nodded.

"So."

"Did you hear her say 'a few thousand' on the whole planet??"

"That's insane," Max answered, trying to keep driving, as he had somehow succeeded in doing throughout the phone call.

"What - do you think she was lying? Or crazy?"

Max barked out a single laugh, shaking his head. He waved a hoof at himself and Duncan. "Are you kidding me? She - and Mr Friendly at the beginning there - they knew too much about what we're going through, for them to be making shit up. It's way too much of a coincidence. I think we have to believe them."

"So we're ponies now? For good?"

Max's head swam with that concept. "Seems like it."

Duncan shook his head. "It defies the laws of science."

Max chortled again. "You weren't listening, Doc. She said all kinds of things we aren't going to believe are possible now. And she talked about 'our powers'." Max tossed a hoof towards the spire sticking out from Duncan's forehead. "Wanna bet you have some special ability now?"

Duncan reached up to touch the horn, eyes crossing as he tried to focus on it.

"Never mind that right now. Do me a favor and grab a pen and paper and write this down before I forget."

"I can do better," Duncan said, turning to reach his duffel. He extracted an iPad and mashed a hoof on the power button, then realized he needed something smaller than hooves to work the display. "Ergh, hang on."

"Just use a pen and some paper," Max insisted.

"I can get this," Duncan said, taking up a pen, but using it to slide the unlock screen of the tablet away. He opened up a notepad app and said, "Ready, shoot."

Max repeated the items Alex had spoken of during the phone call - items that their colony could use. "That's our shopping list," he said when Duncan had it stored. "Consult it every time we stop and see if we can cross anything off. And take down the number she texted us, too. I want a backup in case this phone's memory gets wiped." I wanted it on paper for the same reason, he grumbled to himself, but let Duncan have his moment with his electronic devices.

"We also need to figure out a course to Paris, Illinois. So put on that list a road atlas. Or, better yet, a GPS. If the satellite phones work, maybe GPSs do too."

"Got it," Duncan said.

For the time being, though, their situation hadn't changed. They were getting close to 50 miles outside Fairbanks by this point, and had over 250 more to go to the border between Alaska and the Canadian Yukon territory. Max kept going as quickly as he dared, but was likely to see at least 4 more hours of highway unravel before him, before he could rest.

A couple of hours had passed, and the two men left one another to their own thoughts.

So this is me from now on, huh? Max ruminated, letting his eyes drift down to the orange-furred hooves resting on the truck's steering wheel.

This wasn't some kind of crazy mass hallucination. It was real, and it was going to demand its acceptance. He was going to have to deal with having a tail getting in the way of sitting down, and walking on all fours at a height barely half that of what the world had been designed to work with.

Not to mention he'd had his last ever steak, to hear young miss Alex tell it.

Max let his mind drift, wondering what the future would hold for a world populated by small horses instead of humans. Would chairs change? Would they live in stables and eat (and bed down on) hay? Or would they try to hold on to their humanity as long as they could, stubbornly sticking with a world designed for bipedal creatures with opposable thumbs?

Whoa, he said to himself, shaking his head. You're getting a little too deep there. Focus on getting down the road.

Duncan had settled down somewhat - though his excitement for the road trip was simply replaced with excitement over the revelations that had come from the phone call.

"There's so many bombshells in what she told us," he declared, adopting an awestruck, hushed tone. "Let's start with the concept that aliens helped us. The biggest question mankind has ever wondered the answer to, has an answer. And mankind... is now ponykind. And like you said, things which have no business being possible are about to show up. She made mention of thaumic fields. Now unless she's a fellow follower of Pratchett and is just talking out of her... well, if she genuinely had that term delivered to her by our 'alien benefactors'? That means magic exists." Duncan rubbed his chin with a hoof. "I wonder if that means that magic can be scientifically quantified like any other energy source?"

"Sounds like you have a new field of study, then," Max smiled.

"Don't you know it!" Duncan gushed. "'Recorded memories you can experience as if they were your own'. We're talking about things that belong in the realm of science fiction. I dare you to tell me you're not excited."

"I think I'm still trying to take it all in, Doc," Max responded. "Between worrying about icy corners and an elk finally making his first appearance, I'm too busy to get excited."

"Oh! Of course," Duncan said. "I'm sorry. Am I disturbing you?"

"You know what? Normally I'd say yes, but the fact that we're probably the only two people left in Alaska, giv'er. I don't care. I'd much rather have you talk my ears off than sit here wondering if I'll ever hear another voice again."

Duncan looked mildly embarrassed. "Sorry," he said.

"Don't be, I'm serious," Max smiled. "I admire your enthusiasm. I just need you at about a 7 instead of a 10. But I understand it." He decided to change the subject. "Can you open that map and give me an idea of what we're facing on this leg?"

"Okay," Duncan nodded, working to perform reverse-origami on the booklet that had been sitting on the dash. "Let's see... We're on the 2, right?"

"Yeah. Just passed the Johnson River about ten minutes ago."

"Okay, I have it. There's... not a lot. A couple of tiny villages, some really straight sections of road, and then you cross the Robertson River, and parallel the Tanana River for a while. You come across Route 1 to the south... let me look... no, that doesn't go any further south than Anchorage. After that, the 5 goes north, obviously we don't want any more north... then it gets all twisty again right to the border. ...Huh. Interesting."

"What is?"

"The Canadian border patrol station isn't at the Canadian border. It's about... a hoof's width... let me see... 20ish miles?... inside Canada, in a town called Beaver Creek."

"Beaver Creek?" Max repeated, snerking. "Of course it is. Well, the odds are overwhelming we won't be finding anybody there anyway."

Duncan shook his head. "Gotta keep your spirits up," he insisted. "We need to assume there's going to be survivors everywhere we stop. Call out to them, search for them, bring them with us. You heard what she said. Paris needs as much population as we can find."

"And supplies and equipment," Max said, letting his mind drift back to the 'shopping list' Alex had mentioned. "It might be difficult to pull at first, but I think I have a solution for that, when we find ourselves at a truck stop or a big city."

The 'twisty section' was both twisty and hilly, and significantly dropped their average speed, putting them definitely in the five-hour-to-six-hour window for arriving at their stopover point.

"Oh shit!" Duncan said at one point, jabbing a hoof toward his side window. "There they are!..."

Max glanced in that direction and involuntarily let his hoof off the accelerator pedal. In a meadow off to the right side of the road, a herd of nearly twenty elk were grazing. They snapped their heads up nearly in unison and stared at the truck as it roared by, several hundred yards away.

"He-ey," Max cheered, raising a hoof. "Good to see you guys made it! I was startin' to get worried about you."

As the truck passed, the animals returned to their previous tasks, disinterested in the first movement they'd seen other than themselves in the past 5 months.

Finally, at nearly four o'clock in the afternoon, the truck grumbled its way up the incline leading to the border between the United States and Canada.

Do countries even exist any more, if we're all ponies, and 'all' is one millionth of what Earth's population used to be? Max found himself wondering.

He was snapped out of his internal monologue when he realized Duncan was talking. "Sorry, what?" he said.

"I was saying, are we going to stop?"

Max looked up at the small structure squatting in the late afternoon gloom ahead of them. "Sure, why not," he said, slowing the truck.

They left the truck running - Max, by reflex, put on the hazard lights, in case somebody came across them parked on the road. He was having a hard time getting used to the concept that such an encounter would be few and far between, if at all, any more.

The United States Customs Port of Entry building sat entirely within the Alaskan side of the border. True to Duncan's earlier statement, a roadside sign told them that Canadian Customs was 20 miles further up the road. There were no vehicles at the crossing except their own, and no signs of use or occupation.

"See if there's an open door," Max suggested, while he walked around the other side of the place. On the inbound side, he indeed found access into the structure, and called Duncan over.

Inside was a lobby with counters for visitors, immigrants, and the like to discuss their cases with border patrol or customs agents. The countertops were well above head-height for ponies, so Max needed a boost from his riding partner in order to scramble over it and unlatch the side door from within the office area.

"Nothing much here," Duncan observed, wandering through the offices. "Looking like it was pretty quiet when it all went down."

"Yuh-huh," Max agreed from another part of the building.

"Do ya suppose they had any warning?"

"What?" Max called back, sticking his head out of an office door.

"Did anybody know the world was ending?" Duncan asked, looking at a family photo on an agent's desk. "Like, did they get the kind of warning we'd've had in times of war? Or even like a solar flare. Far as I know we would've had at least some warning that one big enough to disrupt electrical was going to hit."

"I sure didn't," Max commented.

"Me either, but maybe our time-jumping meant we missed it."

Max had gone back to searching through the rest of the building. "I don't get that part. What did sending people through time accomplish? Other than to disorient us all by having us wake up alone."

"Who knows. Like the young lady said, though, they supposedly have information that will explain it all to us when we get there."

Duncan had left the photo behind and continued through the offices as well, and met up with Max near the back door. "So, nothing here?"

Max shook his head. "Not that I can see, but I do want to try and get into something back here." He turned around and led Duncan to a cabinet in a back storeroom.

"Wow," Duncan said, raising his eyebrows. "Seriously?"

"You heard her. Arming ourselves is probably a good idea if we have to pass through cities. Plus, we have wildlife to think about this far north."

"Yeah, but..." Duncan held up a hoof and wiggled it back and forth. "How're either of us going to work 'em?"

Max shook his head. "We'll figure that out later. For now, we have to figure out how to get inside."

Duncan shrugged. "Use that crazy strength of yours," he said. "Melt the lock with your heat vision."

"I don't have hea-" Max scoffed, then stopped talking as he realized Duncan was on to something. Max didn't need to find the gun cage's key, nor a tool to help him defeat the locks. He just had to breach its protection. He turned around with his hind legs facing the wire cabinet. "Okay, stand back. I don't know where parts might fly."

Duncan backed up behind a desk and crouched low. "Don't wreck the guns."

"Yeah, like I have that kind of precision," Max said, grunting with exertion on the last two syllables, as he reared up and kicked with all his might. The cage rattled with a mighty clang, but still held, even though it was seriously deformed.

"Are you okay? Can you try again?" Duncan asked.

"Fine," Max said, lifting a hind leg and shaking it, then the other one, to get the stinging sensation to die down. "Here goes."

Again he bucked at the cage, and it folded over even further. Repositioning to try from the other side, as if to bend it back into shape, he bucked once more, and the entire mass tore free from the drywall and collapsed in a messy heap.

"Wow," Duncan observed as Max tried to pick through the mangled debris. "I'm glad you're on my side."

"Help me collect these," Max said, yanking shotguns out of the cage as carefully as he dared. "Find something to carry them in. And any spare ammo."

The truck was back underway, its new cargo stowed in the sleeper under the bunk mattress. It rolled down the hill and past a rest area bearing a sign that said YUKON - LARGER THAN LIFE.

A short distance down the road, another sign read: MAXIMUM 90.

"Let me convert that into American for you," Duncan said, reaching for his tablet computer.

"Doc, relax," Max said. "We just stole six shotguns from a government office and we're about to bust an international border without reporting to a customs agent." He turned to face his co-driver and grinned. "I ain't worried about no speed limits."

"Oh," Duncan said, sitting back in his seat. "Right."

Author's Note

Grateful for the assistance in this chapter provided by somebody named Starscribe. :twilightsheepish:

Next time: Poutine, moose, and maple syrup, eh?

Spreading the Good Word

OCTOBER 22
10:26 AM
62 MILES (100 KILOMETERS) SOUTH OF BEAVER CREEK, YUKON, CANADA

"Good news: No more traffic."

"Bad news..." Duncan thought for a moment. "No more hot dogs."

Max shrugged. "I'll give you that one."

Duncan nodded in return. "They were both kinda weak. Okay. Good news: Pollution is almost non-existent now."

"That's easy to follow up. Bad news: No more diesel than what's in the storage tanks."

"We did fill up, right?"

"Yeah," Max said. "I did it while you were checking the motel."

"Okay," Duncan responded. "Your turn."

Max pondered a bit for another item for their time-wasting game. "Good news: The Mariners will never miss the playoffs again."

Duncan laughed. "Talk about optimism," he said. "Okay, then. Bad news: King Felix will never make the Hall of Fame."

"Aww, now I'm sad," Max pouted, only mildly facetiously.

"Good news," Duncan said. "He'll never record another loss."

"That's better." Max pondered again. "Bad news: We gotta figure out a way to tell people what Alex told us, and not come off sounding like crazies."

"You think the physical proof won't be enough?" Duncan asked, gesturing to himself and then Max with a hoof.

"How would you react if I walked up and told you we were converted into ponies by aliens, magic is real, and you should come with me to Illinois?"

"Um, hello?" Duncan countered, again gesturing to himself.

"Okay, bad example. I still think it's gonna be a tough sell. Explain to people that everyone around them was sent ahead in time, and that's why they're all missing, and you need to change everything you know about the universe as a whole. And if you want a chance at survival, come with us."

"All right, that does sound a little iffy," Duncan conceded. "But I'm sure we'll figure it out by the time we come across someone."

"I don't know - it's not like we have a schedule," Max said. "We only have a vague statement that 'a few thousand' people-"

"Ponies."

"-ponies still exist. Somebody with access to a population distribution map and a calculator could probably figure out our odds of finding somebody, but for now, we're just stabbing in the dark."

"I hear ya. But you gotta think positive."

"Mmm," Max said noncommittally as he drove on. Changing the subject, he added, "So far we've been only driving five or six hours a day. What do you think about driving all the time the sun is up? We got about six hours to Whitehorse, which is the territorial capital. There's around eight hours of daylight today I figure, so we could get around 120 miles past there."

"Don't forget that we need some time to explore the community we stop in, service the truck, look for supplies and survivors, and so on. Probably better to do that with some light."

"Of course," Max said, smacking a hoof to his forehead. "Thanks for catching that. I'm too fixated on getting south as fast as I can."

"Not a problem," Duncan nodded. "Let's stop in Whitehorse tonight. We'll hopefully find a GPS there, and be able to figure out how far we can go and where we can stop from there on."

"Works for me," Max agreed.

Several hours down the road, Max broke the silence. "We need to add some items to the shopping list," he said.

Duncan jerked as if being awoken. "Huh? Oh, okay. What?"

"Spare parts for the truck," Max said. "Specifically tires. I'm feeling a little shimmy that might be a flat spot on the right front after I ditched it between Coldfoot and Fairbanks."

"You don't have any spares onboard?"

"Not like that," Max said, shaking his head. "Takes too much space that could be used for emergency gear. Plus, with highway trucks, it's not uncommon to have a service truck come out to just change or repair the tire right where you break down."

"I see," Duncan said, then tapped and scribbled on the tablet for a few moments. "Is it working OK otherwise?"

"Oh yeah, plenty of fuel, temps in the green," Max reassured his co-pilot. "We'll want to stock up on DEF once we hit a decent sized truck stop."

"DEF?"

"Diesel Exhaust Fluid. Newer trucks need it to meet emissions requirements."

"Do we care about emissions any more?"

Max shrugged. "Not sure if it'll run without it. Let's just be safe. Also motor oil and gear oil, spare air filters and washer fluid. Maybe even a couple spare batteries. All that kind of stuff, we need to get when we can. I'd rather carry the extra weight of it than not have any and be broken down in the middle of Canada with nobody around for a thousand miles."

"Fair enough," Duncan said.

The truck rolled on, generally southward, past villages with names like Burwash Landing and Destruction Bay. They didn't stop in every little hamlet they came across, lest their trip get extended to many months of travel; realistically, their odds being so close to zero that they'd come across another person/pony, they relied on slowing down and getting on the horn, lights, and siren as they passed, and scanning the streets to make sure any movement was noticed.

The road became gravel again, which ended up being more like hard-packed dirt with a pebbled surface. It was short-lived; apparently there was a construction zone, with some abandoned equipment left there. Max resisted the urge to siphon as much diesel as he could from the graders and paving machines - there would be plenty to get with less effort further down the road.

"Wait a minute, now we're going north again," Max said as he approached an intersection in the ghost town of Haines Junction, where Highway 1 pointed to his left.

"It's okay," Duncan said, waving a hoof while looking at the map. "Just for a bit. It bends around east and then we're in Whitehorse pretty quick."

"All right then," Max said, cranking the wheel around to the left.

True enough, the road arced east a few kilometers out of town, and then Max saw a sign that indicated Whitehorse was 154 kilometers away.

He did a little math in his head, helped along by the dual-labeled speedometer on the dash. "That's almost 100 miles," he said. "You consider that pretty quick?"

"Relatively speaking?" Duncan said with an apologetic grin. "They look pretty close on these map pages."

Max shook his head, reaffirming to himself that he had to find a GPS in the city and see if it worked.

Finally, ultimately, they arrived in the capital city of the Yukon Territory, and it was as desolate as the other places they'd visited. Not a single vehicle was on the streets, and there was no power to be had, if the traffic light on the highway was any indication. Max turned left and headed into the 'downtown' area of the small city, to find a place to lay up for the night.

"I am going to be so glad to get out and stretch my legs," he said, leaning back and wiggling them even as he spoke. "All four of 'em."

"Tell me about it," Duncan agreed. "I cramp sitting on this seat like this." He was referring to trying to sit like a human.

"So why do it? I'm the one who has to, in order to drive," Max pointed out. "Bend like your body's supposed to. Don't take pity on me."

Duncan shrugged soundlessly, and the two men fell silent while they surveyed the town. The north end of the downtown area held some shopping centers and stores, so Max wheeled over that way to find a spot to park.

"Holy -!" Duncan blurted out, and suddenly Max found a powder-blue hoof shoved into his personal space, very close to his snout.

"What the-" Max began to protest, but then looked in the direction Duncan was pointing, and spotted the house a little bit west of the downtown core. The house was a bungalow - no, an actual one-story log cabin, right here in downtown. It was surrounded, like its neighbors, by a well-kept wooden fence. The one difference about this house was the smoke rising lazily from its chimney.

"So what do we do, knock?" Duncan said, standing on the sidewalk leading to the house's front door.

"Idunno," Max shrugged. "I figured anybody alive would've come running at the sound of the truck."

"Door's open," came a voice from within, startling both ponies.

Duncan looked at Max, nodding to the door. Max nodded, and stepped forward, giving the door a tentative push.

The inside was warm and toasty, lit nicely by the windows, from which the curtains were all drawn back. A German Shepherd dog sat up, ears perking up and showing the alertness of the canine. It wasn't who had spoken, though. Sitting on a couch was a pony, with an off-white coat, green eyes, and black mane and tail. Lack of a horn indicated that he was of the same race as Max - the so-called "earth pony".

"Hello," the pony said. His voice had the slow, calm, carefree timbre of an aboriginal. "Welcome to my home."

"Hello," Max responded. "I'm Max. This is Duncan."

The pony nodded. "Jordan James," he said, "of the Southern Tutchone, before you ask." He was using his hooves and a knife to peel an apple. "Have you come far?"

"Very far," Max nodded. "Do you know what happened to the world?"

"Please, sit," Jordan said, indicating the other chairs in the room. "And don't mind Sydney. She won't bite."

Sydney had laid back down by the time she was mentioned, and looked over to the pony briefly, then returned to gazing at the fire in the fireplace.

"To answer your question," Jordan said once his guests were seated, "It would seem that an owl is loose."

Duncan looked nervously at Max.

"I speak of our legends," Jordan said evenly, waving a hoof in dismissal. "Dismiss your thoughts of the crazy old man who became a crazy old horse." He nudged some apple slices set out on paper plates towards the ponies, who accepted them. Another piece was flipped across the room to Sydney, who snapped it out of the air into her jaws with barely a movement.

Max said, "Forgive us. This is a little surreal."

"And what isn't these days?" Jordan said with a hint of a smile. "The owl has taken everyone away, and I am out of pitch." He shifted a little, setting the knife down.

"How have you survived alone here all these months?" Duncan wanted to know.

"The same way my people have survived all these thousands of years," Jordan answered plainly. "The land shares her bounty with us, and we in turn treat her well. Perhaps even better than she has been treated in my lifetime."

He's referring to the Earth 'healing' now that humans aren't assaulting it with pollution and industry, Max mused.

"It was a surprise to find that she wants us to leave the elk and the deer and the moose alone," Jordan was continuing. "Perhaps a trick of the raven, or maybe the land wishes that the animals grow plentiful and strong once more."

"You're talking about not being able to hunt and eat meat," Duncan said.

Jordan nodded the patient nod he'd used many times with the white man who needed things spelled out for them, who didn't appreciate Tutchone lore. "Tell me what your explanation of all this is."

Max leaned closer. "As strange as it may seem, the Earth has been hit by a strange radiation that was going to kill us all. But aliens-" He blinked and stuttered, realizing how bizarre it sounded coming out of his mouth. "Aliens, so we're told, changed our forms to something that could survive. And sent most of the world's population into the future for some reason - supposedly to help us make it."

Jordan listened, then nodded and smiled. "Your story and my story could easily be the same tale viewed through different eyes. The tale of the owl seems not so tall when set beside the idea of visitors from beyond this land transforming us, does it?"

Neither pony had any response to that.

"It will soon be dark," Jordan said. "I was going to go to the store and gather supper before long. It is fortunate you got here before I left."

"We don't want to intrude," Duncan protested.

Jordan fixed him with an intense stare. "We four-" he indicated the dog as well as his two guests "-are the only living souls in this city besides the wild animals. I would not turn away the only people I have talked to in twenty-three weeks."

"...If you insist," Max nodded.

"I do," Jordan said, giving a nod in return. He stepped down off the couch. "Let us go."

Max idled the truck through the deserted town, following the pony piloting a quad bike ahead of him, a dog running at his side.

"He's something else, isn't he?" Duncan said.

"That's how these folks are. The natives, I mean," Max said. "Met a lot of them up in Prudhoe. Very down-to-earth people."

They continued on in silence until they got to the Superstore parking lot. Max pulled the truck up to the fire lane as Jordan stopped his quad near the front doors.

"There's still stuff salvageable in here?" Max asked.

"Some," Jordan nodded. Sydney darted ahead at some unspoken command, ducking through a half-open door. "Not the fruits or vegetables of course, or the frozen foods. You might want to hold your breath."

Max and Duncan involuntarily gasped as they entered the building; the stench of rotting food was horrible. Jordan seemed unperturbed by it, and Sydney was long gone, scouting for dangers far ahead of the trio.

"Oh my," Duncan squeaked out, trying not to breathe too deeply.

"Luckily, the cans and boxes hold the smell at bay," Jordan said. He went to a cart sitting near the front of the store, a small flashlight lashed to the wire frame by a shoelace. He flicked the light on, then began nudging the cart forward down an aisle.

"Peaches," Jordan said, taking a can and putting it in the cart. "Pineapple." That can was taken as well. "Pears... meh. Don't like pears. Take them if you want."

Max and Duncan followed along silently, watching the pony load up his cart.

"Honey Nut Cheerios," he said after moving down another aisle. "I guess the regular ones are all gone now. Going to have to live with it, Sydney."

A whimper sounded from elsewhere in the store. Jordan called out, "I told you you should have eaten them slowly."

"We have plenty in the truck," Duncan said. "You won't have to bring much along."

"Me?" Jordan queried, then gave a short chuckle. "I'm not going anywhere."

Max blinked. "We have word of a colony down south," he began to explain. "There's lots of-"

"My people have lived here for thousands of years," Jordan explained. "If, as you claim, the owl will show mercy and return them over time, I should be here to greet them."

"How will you survive?" Duncan wanted to know.

Jordan looked over his shoulder with a smile. "The same way my ancestors survived, and those before them," he said simply.

They returned to Jordan's house with a decent-sized basket of food and supplies. Again, Jordan drove the now-laden quad, with Sydney running alongside, and the truck trailing behind.

"Are we gonna try to persuade him to go?" Duncan asked Max.

The driver shrugged. "He seems pretty set in his ways. If he's sure he's gonna make it, who are we to tell him no? Besides, to hear him tell it, he's survived here for 23 weeks. Tell you what - I'll offer him some of our supplies if he insists on staying here. We can always pick up more on the road."

"I guess that'll work," Duncan said, sounding like he was still unsure.

And so, after a candlelit supper, Max said to their host, "Thank you for the fine meal. Canned fruit isn't something we thought to bring from where we started."

"You should take some with you," Jordan suggested. "There will still be plenty left at the store by the time I tire of it."

"What will you do when the food in there is gone?" Duncan pressed. "There aren't any more deliveries coming-"

"Maybe not by truck, or airplane," Jordan smiled, "but I will be provided for."

"Can we at least leave you some things to help you get through the winter? Is there anything you're needing?" Max asked.

Jordan pondered for a moment. "My stock of firewood is running low and my chainsaw will be useless soon, with good gas in short supply. And I see you are in a fire truck..."

Max smiled. "I think we can spare an ax."

In actual fact, after a restful night inside a warm house with comfortable bedding, they spared not only an ax but one of the three comprehensive first aid kits the truck carried in its medical bay. Also, they parted with some of the MREs and bottled water that Duncan had rescued, in return for cleaning out the Superstore of powdered drink mixes, to add to their water for variety. Lastly, Max left a small notebook's worth of information - what they learned from Alex, plus the number to the truck's satphone.

"I don't have a spare phone," Max said. "But if you do manage to get a way to get in touch, call or text us and let us know how you're doing."

"Do not worry about me," Jordan smiled, shaking Max's hoof. "Sydney and I will weather this just as with everything else."

"Take care of yourself, Jordan."

"As with you, Max, and you, Duncan." At the last moment, Jordan pressed a small book into Duncan's hooves. "Some reading for the journey. Be well."

After topping off with fuel and other supplies - with the blessings of Jordan James, the sole resident of Whitehorse - Max and Duncan found themselves on the road headed south-eastish, towards the British Columbia border. It felt strange to leave someone behind, but both of them realized that not everyone would want to be dragged away from their longtime home to uncertain salvation.

"Huh," Duncan said, reading the book Jordan had passed him.

"What?" Max asked.

"It's about the Tutchone - his people," Duncan explained. "Listen to this in the section on their legends. 'Etsuya. The Traveler. A heroic monster-slayer. Frequently he uses his cleverness to defeat his enemies, at which point he transforms them into something harmless'."

Max pondered it for a moment. "Interesting, but it doesn't fit exactly."

"No, but it's really eerie, don't you think?"

"That a native people have a legend about a traveling hero?" Max countered. "I think every culture does. Doesn't it?"

"Maybe," Duncan conceded. "It just seemed prophetic to me."

"We're not heroic monster-slayers-"

"You're a firefighter. Don't you guys talk about 'slaying the dragon'?"

Max sighed. "Well, we don't transform our enemies into something else."

"No, but we were transformed into something else," Duncan said.

"Okay," Max said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes a little.

The pair found nothing of use in between Whitehorse and Watson Lake, some 275 miles down the road. They also came up empty on the next day's leg, between Watson Lake and Fort Nelson, British Columbia, another 320 miles distant.

On the evening of October 24, Max told Duncan that he wanted to stay put for a day, do some work on the truck - change the oil, make sure all the linkages were tight, and so on - and asked if he would be comfortable venturing through Fort Nelson on his own to look for supplies.

"Yeah, I can do that," Duncan nodded.

"Cool. Got the shopping list?"

"Yup, up here," Duncan said, tapping a hoof to his head.

"Excellent."

And so, on October 25, Max found himself lying under the truck in the wash bay of a truck stop, getting filthy from both the floor and the collected gunk and grime the truck had accumulated in its 1600 mile journey. Unscrewing the drain plug for the oil pan was not easy with hooves, and Max was glad he waited for the truck's motor to be a full night's worth cooled down before he ejected its contents - mostly into the used oil pan, but more than he liked onto him.

While the sump drained, he checked tire pressures, brake slack, differential fluid and power steering fluid levels, fifth wheel tightness and lubrication, and a myriad of other things important for continued operation. He did this under the light from several battery-powered tower lamps stored on the truck, so he was working with a limited amount of lighting, and had to remind himself to charge them from the generator once they moved back outside overnight.

His work time alone gave him plenty of time to think about the journey, both already gone by and yet to come. Getting south as quickly as possible was his ideal goal; not that he had anything against Canada, but getting into CONUS would put him into familiar territory on US highways. And Canada, with its one-tenth the population of the United States, by definition gave him and Duncan only a 10% chance of finding others compared to what they'd find in America.

They hadn't found a GPS yet, and had forgotten to ask Jordan James about the device back in the city of Whitehorse, where it was likely they'd've found one. Duncan was under strict orders to find one on his scavenger hunt, along with 'the usual stuff', meaning foodstuffs, tools and equipment, anything unusual that looked handy, and of course, the items on Alex the pony from Paris's list.

If they found anything that wouldn't fit into the cab or trailer, Max had another idea, but it would take some luck and fortune to make it happen. The back of the trailer had hitches and air and electrical connections on it, as many trailers do, allowing the truck to pull a second trailer. In fact, a lot of long-haul drivers would pull three - and there were the stories from Australia of the road trains, pulling five or more full-sized trailers across the outback. Max was sure the tractor could take the strain of one more trailer and maybe another, and he was reasonably sure of his skill in pulling two trailers behind the big rig - though three would be only done if it was absolutely necessary.

What they would need to find was a trailer, either a flatbed or an empty van, and a 'dolly', which hooked up to the hitches at the rear of the fire truck's trailer and provided a fifth-wheel attachment for the new trailer to hook on to. So instead of an eighty-foot-long 18-wheeler, Max would be in control of a nearly 140-foot, 34-wheeled monstrosity - if they only added one more trailer and the dolly.

Max wriggled back under the truck and put the drain plug back in, tightening it up, then lay there on his bony, pony spine for a moment. What have I gotten myself into? he wondered, for a fleeting moment.

Then he decided, You're just responding to an emergency situation. The biggest emergency situation of your career. Nothing new. He glanced at the hooves holding the oil filter wrench over him. This makes no difference. Not at all. You've proven in eight days over 1600 miles that you can do what needs to be done.

It was late afternoon when Duncan came back. He pounded on the door of the truck stop in a rhythmic beat, something he'd insisted on so Max would know it was him; hugely unnecessary, Max figured. Even if a pony with a Bowie knife covered in blood ran to the door, Max would probably at least talk to him.

"Hey," Duncan said, wedging his way through the door, with something draped over his back. "Check out what I found at an outfitters' shop."

"Saddlebags?" Max questioned, looking impressed. "And fit for our size, to boot."

"Well, they're intended for pack mules, or something like that, I think. I remember hearing once that there's still a use for them in remote hunting and prospecting. I got you a set, too, they're underneath this one." True enough, a set of bags were against Duncan's barrel, under the ones that were stuffed full.

"You got some good haul too?" Max said, nodding to the bags' contents.

"Yes, including the precious GPS," Duncan said, "though I had to break a truck's window to get it. I feel bad about that, but then I guess the driver isn't around to mind."

"Until he reappears after getting sent forward in time, and finds his truck ransacked, and nobody at the insurance company to take his claim," Max quipped, helping unbuckle the bags. "What else ya got in here?"

"A bunch of canned and boxed food, thankfully from another semi-truck - no meat or milk to spoil and stink it up like the store back in Whitehorse. Some utensils and pots and pans, because I got some mac 'n' cheese, or at least the Canadian version. More batteries - I figure we should grab all of them everywhere we go, right?"

"Right," Max agreed. "Anything from the pony's list?"

"You know, there's a surprising dearth of wind turbines or farm tractors up here?" Duncan grinned with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Seeds are in short supply here too, but there's still lots of road to travel to find any of this stuff."

"That's okay," Max said. "Good haul. Let's stuff it all into the trailer somewhere, make some-" He looked at the box. "Kraft Dinner for, well, dinner, and plan out the rest of our drive, then get our heads down for some sleep before we get on the road tomorrow."

"I'm all for that," Duncan said, slowly trudging toward the trailer's access door.

"Hey, thanks for doing this today, pal. I know you must be beat."

Duncan smiled thinly, trying to dismiss the insinuation, even though it was obvious it was the truth. "No big deal," he said. "We gotta stick together and pull our weight, right?"

Max lunged to his hind legs, grabbed the handle for the door, and hauled it open for his partner. "Get in there, Doc, and thanks."

And so, at half-past-eight in the morning on October 26, North Slope Fire District Rescue Support 30 pulled out of Fort Nelson, BC, and turned south, aiming for Fort St John, BC, 240 miles down British Columbia Highway 97.

Max grabbed the radio as they passed Muskwa, a couple of miles south of Fort Nelson, and called out on it, trying to get back in the practice of announcing his presence, in the hopes that someone might answer.

As with every time except when Duncan had answered him, there was no reply. But Max figured his luck would soon turn in his favor.

Author's Note

Jordan's heritage is a very real thing even though the character is a fiction. I wanted to have an aboriginal in the story and found it very interesting what the mythology and lore of the people who live in and around Whitehorse was, and how it fit into the story!

The Wild Rose

OCTOBER 27
ALBERTA HIGHWAY 40

Fort St John, BC, had been a bust. The only thing they found there was more supplies, which was good of course, but no more ponies, which did nothing for their spirits.

On the positive side of things, the GPS was working, and providing a route for them, plus estimated time of arrival at their next destination. Max had taken all the overrides off, except ferries - no sense driving hundreds of miles to find a boat he couldn't figure out how to use blocking his path. Toll roads and such weren't a concern, though.

He'd been tempted to just plug in Paris and follow that route, stopping only when tired or needing supplies and/or repair, but the route didn't take them promptly south as he'd wanted - it was more of a diagonal path across three Canadian provinces and half the midwest. His preference was to go straight down through either British Columbia or Alberta, into either Idaho or Montana, then Wyoming, Nebraska, Iowa, and Illinois, and then they'd be 'home'.

There wasn't a route through BC that didn't involve backtracking further west again, so Alberta it was.

Unfamiliar with the cities and towns in the Canadian prairies and foothills, he'd thrown a virtual dart at a place that looked to be a day's worth driving from Fort St John, and landed on Hinton, Alberta. It showed as being on the Trans-Canada Highway, which he'd once heard was kind of like an interstate, so at least it had that much going for it.

The highway he was currently on, however, was not at all an interstate. He was used to the two-lane blacktop from the couple thousand miles he'd already driven, but the view was breathtaking. The road rolled and twisted through the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, and between the hills and valleys and the glacial rivers, he was figuratively kicking himself for never having vacationed in the area. Hopefully once life is as close to normal as we can make it, there'll be time to enjoy stuff like this again.

Duncan was curled up in a tight little ball on the passenger seat, finally sitting - or in this case lying - as a pony should. He was also asleep at present, having lost the battle to stay awake as a passenger for so long. Max also had a suspicion that Duncan had been burning the midnight oil, too, concocting some oddball contraptions using the truck's toolkit and the various things they'd obtained throughout their journey.

Max found himself blinking and nodding, and mentally cursed at himself to stay awake. Don't start thinking about nodding off or you'll do it yourself, he chastised himself.

He forced his head to look back and forth across the mirrors and the dash, checking everything out to make sure it was all working properly. He glanced over at the GPS, suction-cupped to the middle of the windshield so both ponies could see it, and noted that a town by the name of Grande Cache was a couple dozen miles ahead.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a brightly-colored thing flash past the windshield, and instantly shot bolt upright, putting both forehooves on the wheel. Whatever it had been, it was way too close for comfort, and his reflexes took over, stabbing a hoof down on the brake pedal as quickly as he could react.

The truck's tires howled, sixteen of them locking up and drawing four parallel black lines on the asphalt road surface. Duncan was jarred awake, shrieking "SHIIIT!!" as he slipped free of the seat belt and tumbled into the passenger-side footwell.

The motor and transmission automatically geared down to assist in braking, roaring and grumbling as it went, and the truck stopped in far less distance than a semi-truck had any business doing - and kept itself in a straight line, to boot.

Max was panting, chest heaving as he clung to the wheel, hoof stamped down firmly on the brake still. He looked over at the footwell after a second. "Sorry! You okay?"

"I think so-ow!" Duncan exclaimed as he began to untangle himself. "Hitting this stupid thing on stuff hurts." He gestured to his horn.

Max pulled the parking brake handle, put the transmission in neutral, and bailed out of the cab, intending to see what he had hit, or almost hit.

He was stunned to see a snow-white pony galloping at full speed towards him from past the back of the truck's trailer, her pink mane and tail trailing behind her. He opened his mouth to greet her, but a hoof came up and smacked against his jaw with a resounding crack.

Duncan, having disembarked too, came around the front of the truck to see the new pony standing over a felled Max. She still had her hoof raised up in the air, shaking it at the orange Earth pony. In addition, feathered wings were spread wide from either side of her barrel, and she was trembling with rage all over. "Y-you could have killed me!" she hollered at Max with a face full of anger.

"Hey!" Duncan tried to interrupt.

"Don't you look where you're going?!" the winged pony railed at Max, who was still lying on the ground, dazed. He shook his head a couple times to clear it, then looked up at the creature verbally assaulting him. A long, wavy cascade of pink hair fell about her face, nearly touching the ground, mimicking her above-average-length tail. On her sides, where Max had the firehose icon, she sported a trio of... flowers?

"Can we back up and try this again?" Duncan again attempted to interject, actually getting in between the two ponies this time.

The mare looked contemptuously down on Max with a 'hmph'. "I don't wanna see him try to back anything up, judging by how he drives going forwards."

"Hi!" Duncan all but shouted, placing himself directly in front of her. "My name's Duncan. And you are?"

The pony finally took note of her surroundings and the unicorn standing before her. She looked him over, about to snap back with another smart reply, when realization hit her. "Oh my God," she blurted out, her expression changing dramatically to one of relief. "I'm...!"

Max slowly got to his hooves behind Duncan and moved up beside him. The mare looked back and forth between the two of them, her expression growing more and more apologetic by the second. "I'msorry!" she finally blurted out, her cheeks pinking up nearly as much as her mane. "It-it's just that... the first thing moving out here besides me, and I nearly get killed!..."

"I wasn't trying to hit you," Max murmured, "I was just driving down the road." Then realization hit him as well. "Wait... that was you, flying??"

"Well, duuh," she shot back, flexing her wings out to full open and back.

Max looked at Duncan, who was still looking at the pegasus mare. "Fascinating," the professor whispered.

"Look, I'm sorry for hitting you-"

"You didn't," the pegasus admitted, looking away embarrassedly. "It was just a reeaally close call."

Max blinked. "Okay then, I'm sorry for almost hitting you, but I wasn't expecting you or anything else out here on the road." He rubbed his jaw with a hoof again, then muttered, "And you didn't have to hit so freakin' hard."

"Perhaps now would be a good time to start over," Duncan tried one more time to gain control of the conversation. "Miss, I'm Duncan, and this is Max. And you are...?"

"Oh," she said, blushing yet again. "Sorry. Caitlyn."

"Hello, Caitlyn," Duncan smiled. "Are you from around here?"

She finally came to her senses and her ears folded back as she looked away. "Hinton," she nodded south-eastwards.

"That's where we were going to stop today," Max offered. "Are there any others there? Besides you?"

Caitlyn shook her head. "I'm the only one left," she murmured. "Everyone else is gone."

"Well, we're here now. Can we take you back to town?" Duncan suggested. "We are heading in that direction, like my friend said."

"I guess," she said hesitantly after looking over the two and their machine for a moment.

"In that case, please, come this way," Duncan said, gesturing with a hoof.

Max let his partner lead the mare to the passenger side, while he checked around the truck to make sure he hadn't flattened any tires with his panic stop. Satisfied the truck would still drive, he climbed aboard and belted in, finding the pegasus sitting in the space between the bunk and the seats, with Duncan in his usual spot.

"Looks like we'll be there in a little under 2 hours," Max declared, nodding to the GPS, as he pushed in the parking brake and started back underway.

"Two hours??" Caitlyn said with astonishment. "Psssh. I could fly there in 40 minutes."

"Yeah, well, you don't have to follow roads, I bet," Max countered.

"Did you really fly out this far from there?" Duncan asked.

Caitlyn shrugged. "Sure. Why not? I'm gettin' good at it after being alone for 5 months with nothin' else to do."

"You've been around the whole time?" Max queried.

"What?" came the response, with a quirked eyebrow.

"Let's try it this way," Duncan said. "How about you tell us what happened from your point of view, and then we'll explain what we know."

"Ookaaay," she said slowly, then thought back and began to speak. "It was a Saturday in May... the weekend after May Long, I think, 'cause me and my friends had gone to Banff for the weekend. Dad was on shift and said he'd be back in the morning, but when I woke up, everybody was gone, and I was like this."

"It happened while you were asleep?" Duncan wanted to know, and Caitlyn nodded yes.

"And you woke up on May... 23?" Max asked, pausing while he looked at the calendar function on the GPS. "So you were here from day one."

"Day one of what?" Caitlyn asked. "What caused all this?"

Duncan began telling the story. Max drove on, listening and realizing that Duncan had quite the memory for detail - bringing up points that he'd almost forgotten.

Caitlyn gave a little laugh. "Sure," she said. "Tell me another one."

Duncan smirked and raised an eyebrow. "What part of it do you find hard to believe, little miss pegasus pony?"

"I-" she began, then stopped. "There's no such-" After a couple of false starts, she set her hoof down and her mouth became a thin, frustrated line.

Max glanced over his shoulder at her. "You're telling me you've been flying around with wings that have no business holding you up at their size, and you're flying the B.S. flag on this whole deal?"

"It's just... so..." she said, waving her forehooves around in the air again. "Y'know?"

"Oh, we know," Duncan nodded. "Especially the whole-" he waved his hooves like she had "-part. Anyway. What have you been doing all this time besides flying? How have you survived?"

She shrugged. "Not hard to survive when you've got a whole town to buffet off of. There's literally nobody in my town. Pick a new house every day if you want."

"Is that all you've been doing?" Max asked, slowing down as they approached the town of Grande Cache. "Eating and flying?"

"Don't bother stopping," she said with a wave of her hoof. "There's nothing here. I've checked. And that's what I've been doing, while I've been flying... looking around for anybody else. Seeing if there's another person left in this freakin' world." Her expression suddenly changed, and her eyes went from one stallion to the other before her. "I..." she stammered.

Duncan looked back at her, somewhat surprised to see tears threatening to spill over.

"I'm...?" she said with a trembling voice. "You're...?"

Duncan nodded and put on a faint, but warm smile. "You're okay now," he nodded. "You're okay now. We're here. You're not alone any more."

Her eyes squeezed shut and she nodded, then gulped, holding her chin high, but finally the proverbial dam burst, and her forelegs gave out beneath her. She collapsed to the floor of the cab, sobbing openly.

Duncan turned to face forward again, with only a passing glance at Max. The two of them stayed silent as the truck moved on.

"Caitlyn?"

The pegasus pony lifted her head, blinking away the residue of tears, not knowing how long she'd slept.

"Caitlyn," Duncan was saying softly. "We're coming into town now."

She sat up and then put her forehooves on the center console in an effort to see out the windshield. They were indeed on 16 passing by the golf course, approaching the Safeway and Walmart on the left.

"Keep going," she said. "Me and my dad's place is up on Sutherland. Third set of lights, past the Tim's."

Max took what he could understand of that and counted defunct traffic signals. At the third one, he wheeled the truck into a right turn.

Duncan turned to talk to Caitlyn some more. "Can I ask a question?" he said, and without waiting for permission, went on. "How old are you?"

Caitlyn's eyes darted back and forth rapidly. "Eighteen," she said a little too quickly.

Duncan chuckled, and Caitlyn reddened as she saw Max's shoulders rise and fall in a silent laugh too. "Caitlyn, there's no law any more, no age of consent. I'm not going to 'card' you. I'm just curious, based on some of your mannerisms." Duncan winked, then went on: "Care to try again?"

Her ears folded back and she looked away, blushing and muttering in a tiny voice. "Sixteen anna half."

"Hey, that's nothing to be ashamed of. On the contrary, you should be proud of fending for yourself in this situation for so long."

Max found Sutherland Avenue soon enough - a curving, relatively narrow residential street, but rather than balk at taking the truck up there, he decided to try and get as close to the girl's house as possible, for her benefit. It wasn't as if he'd have to exchange insurance with the owners of any vehicles he scraped past.

"Right here," Caitlyn said, gesturing with a hoof to a cream-colored duplex not far up the street. Max pulled up and stopped the truck.

The three of them climbed down and approached the building. The first thing they noticed was the myriad of trampolines surrounding the structure.

"Safety nets," Caitlyn explained when questioned, her wings fluttering slightly. "Don't laugh, it worked."

Getting past the 'safety nets', they entered the right-side door of the duplex. All the curtains had been pulled down - to allow light to enter during the day, since there was no power, Caitlyn told them. The fridge was duct-taped shut, with a stain on the floor in front of it that had been half-cleaned up.

"By the way," she told the stallions, upon coming across the fridge, "Seems like we can't eat meat any more. Or at least I can't. Made me retch."

"It's a species-wide thing," Duncan commented. "Heard it from the hors... oooh, I almost went there."

Max facehoofed as Duncan chuckled to himself and Caitlyn rolled her eyes. Duncan continued: "Anyway, we figured it out beforehand, but Alex the pony from Paris confirmed it."

"Paris?"

"Illinois," Max said. "That's where we're heading. They have a colony there. You're welcome to come with us."

Caitlyn's hooffalls up the stairs ceased, and Max had to stop to avoid bumping into her. Duncan collided with Max, though.

"Leave? Here?" Caitlyn wondered aloud. After a pause, she muttered, "I'll think about it," and resumed her climb.

Once they were on the upstairs landing, Caitlyn gestured left. "My room." Then right. "Dad's room. And the bathroom's straight ahead, but I haven't been using it since there's no water pressure. I've been, um, going... outside."

"Good a place as any," Max nodded with a practical tone. He obligingly peeked in the rooms indicated, and turned to Caitlyn when he was done. "So. What are your plans?"

She looked perturbed. "It's kinda sudden," she said. "I'd been hoping my dad would come back."

"Have you seen him since May?" Duncan asked, bluntly but softly. Caitlyn shook her head. "Then it's likely he was one of the ones sent forward in time."

"Can we... I mean, I checked myself, but before we go, can we check his work one more time?" she all but begged. "Maybe you guys can help me check the buildings out in detail, see something I couldn't from the air. Please? I just have this vision all of a sudden of him lying somewhere calling for help..."

"We'll help," Max said. "Where did he work?"

"Obed Mine," she said. "He's with SRD. He was working on the site. He works four days up there, four off."

"Hon, we're Americans, from a long way away," Max said as patiently as he could. "You're gonna have to spell things out a lot more."

"Oh. He's with the government. They were doing remedy...? Replan... Reclamation," she said, remembering the word. "The coal mine was shut down about three years ago, and they've been working to 'reclamate' the area ever since. You know, plant trees, make it look normal again."

"Remediation," Duncan offered.

"Yeah, that. Dad was supposed to work Wednesday-Thursday-Friday-Saturday that weekend. Then he'd be home Sunday morning and we could hang around and do stuff until Thursday, when he had to be back up on site. But he never came home. I looked all over that gawdamn site from the sky, but I couldn't spot a single living thing."

"We'll do our best to check it out," Max assured her. "Right now, though, personally, I need rest, and it's probably not a bad idea for all of us."

"Seriously? It's like four-thirty," Caitlyn said.

"Kid, we've been drivin' for 8 hours," Max told her. "It's real tiring, especially as a pony. So you two do whatever you want. I'm gonna put my head down." With that, Max went into Caitlyn's father's bedroom, hopped up on the bed, curled up with his chin on the pillow, and shut his eyes.

Duncan sat at the kitchen table with Caitlyn for a while, mainly to just listen to her and gauge her handle on the situation.

"I'm used to being by myself for four days out of every eight," she said with a shrug. "Dad's off at work, and I go to school and then my job."

"What do you do?" Duncan asked, letting her continue to use the present tense uncorrected for the time being.

"Tim's," she said plainly.

"That's twice now you've said that. What does it mean?"

"You don't know what Tim's means?" she said incredulously. "Oh, right. Americans. Tim Hortons. It's a donut and coffee shop."

"Oh! I've heard of them," Duncan answered brightly. "I had a stopover in Toronto on the way to a conference in Boston a few years ago. Had a coffee from there. It was pretty good."

Caitlyn smiled. "The double-double: Canada's version of crack," she said.

Duncan didn't know what to say to that. "A-anyway," he carried on. "I was a professor at the university in Fairbanks, Alaska, and Max was a firefighter in Prudhoe Bay."

"That explains the fire truck," she nodded. "So you've found nobody else besides me?"

"One other fellow, but he was pretty determined to stay where he was. Being a native with a long local history, he seemed to be able to hold his own. Er, not that you can't. It's quite obvious that you can."

Caitlyn waved a hoof dismissively. "I know what you mean. I've met some natives before, they're pretty tough. They can handle themselves just fine. Dad used to make deals with a guy that still had trap lines out in the bush near here. He was a pretty cool guy."

"Right," Duncan said in general agreement. "So, um, what have you been doing for food? I don't see lots of supplies in here."

Caitlyn shot to her hooves, the chair skittering back. "Oh crap, are you hungry? Sorry, I should have asked. I just kinda find a place with some canned or packaged food and take what I need when I need it. I can go find someth-"

Duncan held up a hoof to try to get her to sit back down. "I'm fine, it's okay. I was just making small talk. I'm only hungry for information at this point." He smiled as she tentatively scooted the chair back in and sat down. "You'll find I'm quite the inquisitive person. Pony."

"They actually said we're supposed to be ponies?" the mare asked, looking down at herself. "I can kinda sorta see it, but ponies to me have long braided manes and bridles and stuff, and hang out in petting zoos."

Duncan laughed a little, holding up his forehooves. "I could try and do something with your mane if you like, but I'm still learning how to be adept with these."

Caitlyn just gave him a sarcastic smile.

Max opened an eye, feeling a presence over him as he regained consciousness. He was lying on his back, all four legs splayed out broadly. In between his legs were four white hooves, and a stern face with pink hair cascading down around it hung over his head.

"Hi," Caitlyn said evenly.

"Ungh," Max mumbled. "What time is it?"

"'Bout seven PM. We need to talk."

"'Kay," he said, trying to blink himself awake.

"Two things. Number one. You didn't ask if you can sleep in my dad's bed. The answer is, the couch is downstairs."

Max internally winced as he realized his gaffe. "Got it," he said, and tried to sit up, but forehooves suddenly stood on his forelegs to stop him.

"Number two," Caitlyn said as she stared intensely at him. "You guys said earlier it doesn't matter how old I am?"

"Right," Max nodded. His thoughts caught up with the fact she was straddling him on the bed. Oh God, don't be thinking what I think you're thi-

"Then don't call me a kid," she hissed, bringing her head close. "Got it?"

"Uh... got it," he acknowledged.

"Got it what?"

"Um... ma'am?"

She hmph'ed and let loose with a little smile. "Caitlyn will do. Kate is even better."

"All right then, ...Kate."

She nodded and pushed off him, hopping off the bed and stalking out of the room. She passed the doorway, where Duncan leaned against the jamb, smirking as he watched.

"You kinda deserved that," he told Max. "Both parts."

Max threw himself up to a sitting position, then climbed down off the bed. He paused at the door to rub his forelegs, where hoofmarks were starting to show, just above the fetlocks. On a human, he was sure there'd be bruises.

"Aw, shut up," Max said, heading down the stairs.

The next morning, Kate insisted on stopping by her old work before they went to search the mine area.

"You said you have a generator on here, right?" she said, galloping past the truck's trailer. "Light it up and bring me an extension cord." With that, she dashed to the back door, a set of keys in her mouth.

Max set to powering up the trailer's generator while Duncan spooled out the junction box and cable. When Duncan got to the propped-open door, he found the pegasus opening bottles of water and pouring them into the industrial coffee brewers.

"Help me pull this back," she said, stopping her efforts and indicating the countertop the brewers were on. Duncan helped her, and ultimately exposed the point where the brewers were plugged in to the wall.

"Plug these in," Kate directed. "They'll need about ten minutes to warm up." She then went back to feeding bottles of water to the top of the machines. "While we're waiting, you can take anything in here you want. We'll pack your truck full."

"Excellent," Duncan said, heading off to raid the shelves of the back room. Max sauntered up to the door, curious about what was going on.

"You guys need to have at least one last Tim's coffee before I lock this place up for good," Kate said. "Actually, do you have a brewer in that thing?"

"Are you kidding?" Max said, cracking a smile. "It's intended to keep firefighters on their feet. I'm surprised there isn't a spigot right on the side of it."

"Good. 'Cause we can take as much of the coffee as you can fit, too. Duncan's 'shopping' now, feel free to join him while I get this brew going."

Max propelled himself up from his leaning position against the doorframe, walking into the building and heading down the back room's aisles, seeking out his unicorn partner by the faint light coming from the back door.

"I never knew how they did all this stuff," Duncan commented when Max came upon him inside the room-temperature freezer. "Too bad we can't take any of these - they're surely bad by now. But a blueberry muffin would be great right about now."

"I hear ya," Max nodded, eyeing a tray of moldy sandwich buns. "Anything salvageable at all?"

"Lots of bottled water, soda pop, juices and such," Duncan rattled off. "Maybe some of the fillings and toppings for the donuts? Looks like most of the product was shipped in frozen, not made here."

"Fakers."

"Bah, they're all like that these days." Duncan peered at a couple of the trays inside the dim light of the freezer. "Maybe a couple of these might be edible, I don't know."

"Let's just start with the known good stuff."

"Fair enough," Duncan said. He found a cart and started loading bottled drinks onto it, while Max did the same with cases of coffee in cans and individual packets.

After they were done, Kate called them over to two tall cups filled with coffee. "Sorry, guys; no milk or cream, but I do have sugar or sweetener," she said.

"I guess I'll take two sugar," Duncan said, obviously lamenting the lack of dairy product.

"I take mine black anyway," Max shrugged. "I guess now I find out if this stuff really is as addictive as they say." He craned his neck to the counter where the coffee cup was, bit the rim of it, and tipped his head back, letting the drink wash between his teeth and into his throat - slowly, since it was rather hot.

"Not bad," Duncan said, having done similarly after Kate had doctored up his drink with the additives. "Thanks for this."

"Least I can do," she said with a smile. "I put the rest in a Take Ten, so we can take it on the road. You got everything you want from in here?"

"Yup," Max said, and Duncan nodded.

"Then let's go."

The generator was shut down, the cord coiled back up on its reel, and the door of the restaurant closed and locked - keys left in the doorknob. "I guess I don't have to worry about anybody else coming by and using these, right?" Kate said, smiling a little weakly.

The trio mounted up in the truck and began driving north towards the Obed mine, a couple dozen kilometers distant.

By 12:30, they knew what all three suspected all along. No creatures of any kind, besides them, were present at the Obed Reclamation Site.

"Sorry, Kate," Duncan said genuinely.

"It's okay," she sighed. "I just wanted to check one last time, just in case. I wouldn't be able to live with myself otherwise."

"We understand," Duncan spoke for both stallions.

"I left him a note on his bed, anyway. So if he comes back, he'll know I'm okay at least." She drew in a breath, trying to hide a sniffle at the same time, and then said brightly, "So! Where to?"

"South," Max said plainly. "Any road that gets us south."

Author's Note

Kudos to any of you who got what the title and the new character (and the current locale) all have in common. It just hit me while I was trying to come up with both a chapter title and the visual characteristics of our newest traveler.

Scenic Drive

"What? No, don't go that way."

"What?" Max said, stepping on the brake and halting the truck's progress through the intersection. They'd only gone a mile or two past Hinton, and Kate was already backseat-driving.

"Trust me. 40's a gravel road south of Nordegg. You don't want to take this rig on that mess. Likely to see snow in some parts too. Go straight."

"Are you sure?" Max asked.

"Go straight," the pegasus demanded, her white hoof pointing through the windshield down Highway 16.

Max sighed and wrestled with the steering wheel, aborting the left turn and starting the truck down the highway which ran southwest out of town. He didn't want to go southwest, or south-southwest, or west-southwest, or anything that had 'west' in it. His destination was south and east.

"Don't be like that," Kate said, sitting back down. "I know this area - you don't. You want to get south? This will get us south, a lot faster than the forestry trunk road."

"Looks like she may be right," Duncan chimed in, poking at the GPS with an improvised stylus. "This goes into a town called Jasper, and then Route 93 goes south from there to Lake Louise, and then Route 1 goes to Banff. By calculations, Banff is about... four and three quarters hours from here. So we'll be there by dinner time."

"Yup," Kate nodded. "But it might be a little slower than that - probably gonna see snow no matter which direction we head. The road might be dicey if we do get some snow, so we might not make Banff at all tonight."

"I don't mind stopping in a pull-out; it's not like we're going to go stay in a motel or anything," Max said. He nodded his chin behind him. "This is our communal bed for the foreseeable future."

"Do I at least get a bunk to myself?" Kate asked, looking around her. "Oh hey, I bet I could fit in one of these fold-out shelves if we chucked the microwave."

"The microwave's handy-" Max began, but realized his argument was on the losing side; they needed more room in the heated cab, and they had a microwave and more in the kitchen component of the trailer. "You're right, I guess. We'll move it into the trailer when we stop."

"Awesome," Kate grinned.

Little of interest ensued between Hinton and the gates of Jasper National Park, some 15-plus miles distant. Kate played the part of tour guide, pointing out various landmarks and commiserating with her new friends about the beautiful view. At one point, they did encounter a moose and her two calves, wandering at the side of the road near a small lake. The animals paid little attention to the former humans and their machine - no more than they would have several months before.

"Punchbowl Falls," Duncan read off a sign, chuckling a little. "There're some interesting place names here."

Max countered, "Coldfoot. We've got our share in our country, pal."

"True, I guess so."

"The 'States doesn't have the market cornered on funny names, not by a long shot," Kate said. "My mom's family is from Newfoundland. The places I've visited when we went back there... Come-by-Chance... Goobies... Gros Morne..." She paused and smirked before adding, "Dildo..."

"What??" Duncan burst out laughing.

Max was chuckling too. "There is not a place called Dildo."

Kate stuck a hoof forward and waved it back toward herself. "Gimme the GPS, I'll show ya."

Rather than take it off the windshield, Duncan just leaned forward with a stylus and searched. "Huh. I'll be damned. There's a Dildo Run too. Hey, what's a Dildo Run?" he said to Max, cracking a grin.

"Shut up, there's a y- there's sensitive ears present," he said.

"Psssh! I've heard worse," Kate shot back. Then she jabbed him in the side with a hoof. "And that's for almost callin' me a 'young girl'."

"Hey, I'm driving here!" Max said, squirming out of the way and wavering a little in the lane as a result.

They continued to marvel at the scenery as they carried on, encountering a stretch of road where a large river parallelled the tarmac for several miles, with rock cliffs on the other side. A rail line eventually came alongside the highway as well, and Max raised a point.

"If we ever talk to Alex again, we need to find out where the cars, trucks, and everything else went." He gestured to the train tracks. "Wouldn't you expect to see an empty train somewhere along there?"

"Or empty airplanes crashed to the ground after they ran out of fuel," Duncan nodded, shivering. "Good point."

"Hadn't thought of that," Kate admitted. "All the cars and stuff back home looked like they were all parked. Nothing was 'abandoned' like people just vanished while they were driving."

"Definitely an interesting question," Duncan agreed.

Ultimately, they arrived at the town of Jasper. A quick bit of panic ensued just inside the town limits as a rail underpass stymied the American drivers ("What's 5.1 meters in real numbers??"), but it was dealt with when Kate got up, scrambled past Duncan, and flew out the open window, to "eyeball" whether or not the trailer would fit. She landed on the hood of the truck, turning around to look Max in the eyes. "Yer good!" she called out.

"Don't get scratches on the finish," he replied, idling through the underpass.

"Hey, look, I'm one of those bulldog things!" she responded, turning around again, stepping forward and adopting a pose at the very front of the hood cowl.

"Wrong kind of truck," Max murmured, but had to chuckle along with his unicorn partner's laughter.

To Max's relief (as he was afraid she'd fall and he'd run her over), Kate took off from the nose of the truck and flew on ahead of them.

"Elk," Duncan pointed out, indicating to their left in a meadow between them and the train tracks. Kate saw them too, swooping past and shouting out a greeting. The beasts stopped grazing and looked up, but none fled, which surprised Max.

The road changed from a two-lane highway into a four-lane main street, and Max divided his attention between Kate and the road ahead. The plan was to stop at or near a truck stop, grab something to eat, power up the pumps long enough to top off the diesel tanks, and get moving again.

"Really touristy place," Duncan observed.

"Yeah, I'm seein' that," Max acknowledged. He was feeling less and less confident that they'd find a big Flying J or similar truck stop.

Petro-Canada, he read off a gas station sign. Diesel. He let off the accelerator and started to turn in. Good enough for me. "I think I'm gonna pull in here," he declared. "Probably as good a place as any."

"Gotcha," Duncan nodded. He unbelted and moved back to where Kate had been sitting, to remove the microwave. Max wanted to scold him for unbuckling while the truck was still in motion, but based on how well the seat belt had served him the last time Max had done a panic stop, there probably wasn't a point to it after all.

Kate circled around overhead a couple of times as the two stallions dismounted and stretched their legs. She landed a few feet away and said, "Nothing moving in town besides us as far as I can see. You gonna turn on your lights and siren?"

"Eventually," Max nodded. "Not right now, though - it's too loud up close." The truck was essentially facing the wall of the garages of the gas station, and blasting an air horn and loud emergency siren right at the wall would only cause it to echo and make their ears hurt. "Let's just have our lunch before we get gas."

"Eat and get gas," Kate quipped. She trotted over to help Duncan, who was opening up the trailer.

A lunch of granola bars, bottled water, and some items from a handful of MREs was divvied up between the three of them. As they sat there on the pavement of the gas station forecourt, Kate looked up, behind the two stallions, looking thoughtful while chewing. When her mouth was no longer full, she said, "We need some paint."

"What?" Max blinked in surprise, looking over his shoulder. As he thought, Kate was gazing at the side of the truck trailer. It had no blemishes other than road grime.

"We need to put a new name on there," Kate explained. She put her forehooves together in front of her and spread them wide as she spoke. "Pony Express."

Duncan nearly choked on his saltine crackers.

"We are not putting that on the side of the truck," Max said with a flat expression.

"Why not? Give me a reason."

"I'll give you two," he said, holding a foreleg up like he was counting off with fingers. He looked at his hoof and set it back down, embarrassedly. "First, we're not delivering the mail. Second, we are hardly 'express' considering we keep stopping like this."

"Pssh," Kate said dismissively, waving a hoof. "It still needs something better than 'North Shore Fire Rescue Support' on the side. Something to tell people this isn't just another abandoned rig."

You don't think they'll figure it out from it driving down the road, and having ponies roaming around outside it? Max wanted to ask. He looked over to Duncan, but the unicorn was silently enjoying his meal - though he cast a smirk and a wink at Max in any case.

After lunch was done, Duncan was the first to his hooves. "While you're setting up to 'acquire' some fuel, I figured I'd take little miss artiste over to the market next door and see if there's anything we can scavenge."

Max stood up and grunted with a nod.

"Don't worry," Duncan said, as he walked past Max. "I'll keep her away from the spray bombs."

Max rolled his eyes and went for the generator compartment.

"So what did you get?" Max asked as the two were pushing shopping carts toward him a half an hour later, while he was reeling up the generator's umbilical cord.

"Lots of canned stuff," Duncan declared. "Some more water, batteries, a bunch of those "head light" things, oh! - some pasta, parmesan cheese, spices and salts..."

Kate interrupted. "Shovels, snow brushes, road salt, and kitty litter," she said, identifying the entirety of her packed-full-cart's contents.

"You figure we're seeing more snow, huh?" Max inquired.

"Just about guarantee it, seeing's how cold it feels here," she said. She nodded to the south. "Icefield's probably covered. We'll see in a bit."

The road started out like any other they'd been on in their trip so far - two lanes of blacktop with a narrow shoulder, with pine forest on one side and cliffs or rivers on the other, with mountains in the background. This route went right through the heart of the Rockies, meaning high elevations, meaning the likelihood of snow even in late October was fairly high.

The truck labored on several hills as the road snaked through valleys in between mountains. There were a couple of places where long switchbacks caused the road to fold over on itself as it traded distance and turns for altitude. There was no snow on the roads, but plenty of it on the peaks surrounding the ribbon of asphalt.

"Actually, it looks better than I thought it would," Kate commented, leaning forward to peer through the windshield. "Even better since we won't have to worry about avalanches."

Duncan blinked, eyes widening as he turned to look at her. "Seriously?"

"Oh yeah. They close the road for hours at a time, drop dynamite from helicopters onto the snowpack, and then once it's stopped... well, avalanching all over the road, they use big loaders to get it out of the way. You could be parked for 5 hours for 'avalanche control'."

"Wow," Duncan observed.

"Good thing it's not that bad today, then," Max said.

"Oh yeah, you probably don't have anything to worry about," Kate answered. "I guess I misjudged."

In fact, there were some areas on the highest parts of the road which showed signs of having been snowed upon at some point, but the daytime sun had melted it. The gravel shoulders and grass ditches had some remnants, but the road was only damp at best.

About an hour into the trip down from Jasper, a large metal and glass construct hung out over the cliffside with a paved pullout and a sign.

"Glacier Skywalk," Max read aloud.

"Oh, yeah, this is a tourist attraction," Kate said with a smile. "You can go out on a see-through floor a thousand feet over the glacier valley."

"No thank you!" Duncan said with a nervous laugh.

"Not even on a bet," Max agreed.

Kate gave her dismissive 'pssh' again. "Wimps," she said.

"We're not the ones who could fly out of trouble if we fell," Max countered, as the truck passed the viewpoint.

A couple of miles down the road, they encountered a cluster of buildings on one side of the road, and several tarmac and gravel paths on the other, snaking into the valley and up onto a gargantuan sheet of ice.

"This is what the road's named for," Kate said, continuing to play tour guide. "The Columbia Icefields. People pay good money to get in big buses with balloon tires and go out on that glacier." She gestured to the ice in between two mountains.

"That might be fun," Duncan said. "A lot of history in that kind of place."

"I don't want to take this thing out there," Max said, "and I don't know how to hotwire a bus. Sorry."

"I was just kidding," Duncan smiled. "But I might take this down in my notepad for a place that humankind should return to when it's back on its feet."

"Hooves," Kate said. "And ponykind."

Max rolled his eyes.

About half an hour later, a large building on the left side appeared, in the middle of a large parking lot type area.

"Saskatchewan River Crossing," Kate explained.

"Looks like a truck stop," Max said.

"Do we stop?"

Max shrugged. "We don't really need the fuel, but it might be nice to stretch our legs, and see if anybody's here."

"Good plan."

With that, Max slowed and turned the wheel.

The airhorn and siren failed to attract any people or ponies, as had been the case every time before.

It was only three-thirty or so in the afternoon, so it was too early for supper and far too early to stop for the day.

Max climbed out of the cab, looking around for Kate. She was stretching more than just her legs - doing loops and rolls overhead, hooting and hollering and enjoying herself.

He waited for her to land, and then approached her. "Hey, got a question," he said.

"Sure. What?" she responded, while poking at her wings to tuck a couple of errant feathers into place.

Max blinked as he watched her maintenance procedure ensue. "Um," he finally said, "what's this Route 11 that goes east from here on the GPS? Should we take it?"

Kate shrugged. "You could, or you could keep going south on 93. Ninety-three'll get you down to the Trans-Canada quicker, and it's a more open road closer to a lot of bigger towns. Eleven goes to Rocky Mountain House, and then you have to take the 22 down through Sundre and Cochrane, which is kind of a quieter road with less people on it."

Max mulled it over. "Thanks," he said. "It's good to have somebody who knows the area along for the ride."

"Like I said, I've been up and down these roads a bunch. Just before all this happened, me and my friends came down here to Banff for a vacation. And when my dad had to come down to Calgary for work stuff, I'd sometimes ride with him and go sightseeing or shopping in the 'big city'."

Max smiled and nodded, watching Duncan emerge from the building with yet another shopping cart full of stuff. "What'd you get this time?" he called across the lot.

"Same old same old," Duncan replied. Still, the cart was packed to the gills with junk.

"What do you do with all this stuff?" Max asked as the cart went by him.

"One of these days I'll show you," Duncan grinned, beginning to unload his haul into the trailer.

Southward they continued, aiming for the village of Lake Louise, at the junction of Highways 1 & 93.

The trip along 93 was much the same as it had been between Jasper and Saskatchewan River Crossing - rocky terrain surrounding a two-lane road. Patches of frost-and-snow-covered ground were here and there, with damp sections of highway in shadowed areas. Max elected to slow it down on the curves and take it easy where the trees blocked the sun from reaching the road, so their trip took longer than the GPS projected.

As such, it was nearly six o'clock by the time the truck reached Lake Louise. The sun was threatening to dip below the horizon, but Kate insisted that they drive into town and go to the town's namesake - the lake beside the grand hotel of the same name. "It'll be worth it," she insisted.

They arrived to find a crystalline lake hemmed in by mountains, with the sun setting in a valley on the far side of the lake from their viewpoint.

"Okay, this is indeed picturesque," Duncan had to admit.

"This shot is on our money," Kate said with pride, which soon faltered. "Well, what used to be our money, I guess. Probably not worth anything any more, is it?"

"Collector's items," Duncan suggested, in an attempt to pick her spirits up.

"So, are we stopping for the night here at the 'Chateau'?" Max asked, indicating the hotel.

"Actually," Kate said, turning and smiling, "Do you have another hour's driving in you? I know the perfect place in Banff to go. I don't mean to sound like a broken record, but it'll be worth it."

Max shrugged. "Why not," he said. They hadn't started out nearly as early as usual, so he wasn't too tired. "Sure, let's go."

The truck proceeded eastbound on Highway 1, a four-lane divided highway. It was Max's first time driving at night since the strange event, and he forced himself to stay alert. Once or twice a moose or elk was visible off the side of the road, but they stayed well out of the way and weren't a factor.

Forty minutes after leaving Lake Louise, the truck arrived in Banff. Everything was dark, of course, and Kate had to peer at signs with the assistance of the truck's emergency spotlights to locate their destination.

"Probably stop here in the parking lot," she said, indicating to the left, while the road made a sharp curving turn to the right. "Better than trying to jockey around that curve; we can walk from here."

"What are we walking to?" Max wanted to know.

"You'll see," Kate smiled. "Give me one of those headlamps, and do we have any big lights that can light up an area?"

"Yeah, at least a couple," Max said. "Duncan, can you help her while I get one of those?"

"Sure thing," the unicorn said.

Kate and Duncan remained in the cab as Max dug out one of the battery-powered LED light towers. Carrying it to the front of the truck under one foreleg, he managed not to drop it before he got back to the others. The pegasus had a headlamp on an elastic strap around her forehead and was testing the direction of the beam of light as she moved her head back and forth.

"Okay, up this way," she said, taking to the skies and flying up the as-yet-untravelled part of the road.

The two men carried the other light between them, balanced on both their backs, as they followed her to a building at the top of a hill.

"Is that sulphur I smell?" Duncan mused, nostrils flaring. Then he blinked. "Oh, I know what this is!"

Kate was already flying over a fence and into the building from its 'back door' so to speak. They could occasionally see her light flickering and wavering through the building as she navigated her way to the front door, unlatching it and letting them in.

"Right this way, gentlemen," she said dramatically, turning and leading them inside.

Initially they balked at her taking them to the door of the ladies' change room, but as she nudged the door open, she grinned at them. "It's not like there's anybody changing in here, y'know," she said, and proceeded through. "C'mon!"

Ultimately, all three of them passed through the change room. To Max's surprise, the far end of the room was several inches deep in water - warm water.

"I was right," Duncan laughed. "This is a hot spring, isn't it?"

"Bingo," Kate giggled. "Let's go!" She shoved the door at the far end of the room open and sloshed into the pool.

Max and Duncan followed, lifting the light onto a cement deck surrounding the pool. When it was turned on, despite the cool air, Max was surprised to see steam rising from the swimming-pool-sized hot spring pool. The water, which had been mildly warm inside the change room, was much hotter in the main pool.

"Not bad," Duncan said, pushing off from the side and wading into the middle of the pool.

"I've so always wanted to do this," Kate said, standing on the deck by the far end. She leapt into the air, flapping her wings only twice, and spread all four legs out wide. "Banzai!!!" she screamed just before splashing down.

Max had to admit the pool was a refreshing way to end the day, especially after sitting in the uncomfortable position needed to drive the rig. He treaded water into the pool and found a ledge to sit on, settling into the water up to his chin and relaxing.

Once they had their fill, they appropriated towels from the change room and dried themselves off, and started back for the truck.

"I know I'm being a pain," Kate said, flying backwards ahead of the two stallions, "but there's one more thing I want to do while we're here in Banff."

"It's almost nine," Max pointed out. "We need to get down for rest soon."

"And that's exactly where we're going," she smiled. "Trust me? One more time?"

They drove back down the hill that had brought them to the Upper Hot Springs, and instead of turning left to go back into town, at Kate's insistence, they turned right.

After a short drive, a gigantic structure loomed out of the darkness.

"Holy shit!" Max exclaimed. "Is that a castle?"

"It's a hotel," Kate giggled. "The Banff Springs. It's the most luxurious hotel I've ever seen."

"Cold and dark," Duncan pointed out.

"The dark won't matter with your eyes shut, right? And the cold part is easily rectified. Follow me."

The three ponies' hoofsteps echoed through the stone and marble halls of the century-old building as they climbed the stairs, once again with a light and some supplies.

On the top floor, Kate studied a floor diagram briefly, then hurried down the hall. "Here it is," she said. "The Royal Suite."

"Still cold," Max mentioned.

"Hang on!" Kate said, her wings flaring out as if to indicate her frustration. "The card key won't open without power," she said with sad realization.

Rolling his eyes and resigning himself to not getting any sleep until whatever was in this room was obtained, Max sighed. "Hold this," he said, passing off his end of the tower light to Kate. He lightly shouldered her aside, turned his back to the door, and gave it a buck around the latch, springing it.

"Oooh! Thank you," Kate squealed happily, giving back the light and cantering inside.

The stallions followed her into the ultra-luxurious suite. As its name implied, it was the kind of lodgings royalty or celebrities would enjoy. A number of spacious couches and chairs filled the multiple rooms of the suite, and a king bed adorned the private master bedroom.

"Okay, now, you two and your heat," Kate said after racing through the suite taking in its luxuries. She dashed over to a dark square in the wall, and when she pointed her headlamp at it, the stallions realized it was a grand fireplace.

"It's gas, but I bet we could burn something in it just the same," Kate grinned. "The question is, do we break something up from in here or go cut down a tree?"

In the end, a third option was taken. One of the restaurants in the hotel had a wood-fired oven, and obviously had to keep a stock of fuel for it. All three ponies carried chunks of wood up to the suite.

Max broke some of it up into kindling as the others arranged a few logs on top of the gas element. Once it was ready, they figured out a way to activate a barbecue lighter Duncan had acquired on one of his scavenger hunts, and soon, the fire was beginning to burn.

"This is gonna be good," Kate squealed in delight. "Guys, I'm gonna insist on taking the master bed myself."

Duncan smiled. "Figured you would," he said. "Be my guest."

Max shrugged. "Couch is fine for me," he said, already feeling warmth from the fireplace.

"Okay, so let's stock this up so it burns all night, but don't burn the place down, okay?" Kate said.

Max shot her a look. He didn't want to remind her just where he had come from and why catching the place on fire would not be in the cards.

"Can I go to bed now?" he asked.

"By all means," Kate said. "'Night, guys!"

"Goodnight," Duncan called out as Kate went into the master bedroom. He turned to Max. "Got a particular couch picked out?"

"Actually," Max said, looking around at the carpeted floor near the fireplace, "this might be as good a place as any, especially if I have to stoke the fire all night."

Duncan frowned lightly. "We don't need our driver tired 'cause he was up all night. I can handle the-"

"We're only about an hour or so away from Calgary," Max cut him off. "I figure we're gonna want to stop there, since it's a city of a million people. There's gotta be somebody there, and it'll probably take all day to search it, unless they come find us right away. So I'm not too worried about being tired tomorrow, but thanks anyway."

"Suit yourself," Duncan shrugged. He smiled and nodded at their surroundings. "Beats sleeping in a shelf in a truck bunk, I bet."

"Probably," Max said with a mild laugh, thinking back to conversations from earlier in the day. "Anyway, I'm gettin' my head down. Night, Doc."

"Goodnight, Max," Duncan said, hopping up into an easy chair to curl up.

Dodge

OCTOBER 29

“So, where do we stop in the city?” Max asked.

“Idunno,” Kate shrugged. “It’s a big place.”

“Where would you end up if you had the free run of the whole city?” Duncan mused. “Where would your home base be?”

“The mall?” Max smirked.

He got a hoof to the side for his efforts. “Pssh, get real,” Kate said. “More like a hotel.”

“Yeah,” Duncan said, raising a hoof, which Kate bumped. “S’what I did.”

“Is there some place lots of people would gather?” Max inquired. “On the highway?”

“There’s a stadium,” Kate said. “Maybe that, I guess.”

Max hmm’ed. “Good as any, probably. If we don’t find anyone there, we might have to do a lap of the city to get somebody’s attention.” He turned his attention to Duncan. “Did Alex say how many ponies were left?”

“Not that I recall,” Duncan answered. “Except that ‘most of us’ were sent forward.” He added, “You trying to calculate the odds?”

“Odds of what?” Kate said.

“Finding somebody,” Max explained. “In a city this size.”

“There’s gotta be somebody here. There’s one and a quarter million people here,” Kate said. After a pause, she added, “Right?”

“We’ll see in about an hour,” Duncan said, tapping on the GPS with a pen. “Take Route 1 straight in.”

“On this beautiful, wide highway?” Max said with a smirk. “Now I can put the hammer down. Make it 45 minutes.”

Forty minutes later, the truck passed a truck stop - on the wrong side of the road, Max noted with disappointment - and crested a hill overlooking the city.

“Well, at least it’s not on fire,” Kate quipped. In fact, there was nothing out of the ordinary in sight, except for a lack of traffic.

"Always the optimist," Duncan smiled.

The truck descended the hill and continued on the Trans-Canada Highway, passing a suburban airport and an amusement park, still ten or so miles outside the city itself. Max picked up the radio mic and held it out to Duncan.

"What?" Duncan said.

"I'm drivin'," Max answered, pushing the mic towards Duncan a second time. "It's time you do some work here. Call out."

Duncan took the mic, staring at it as if it might grow legs and attach itself to his face. He squeezed the button on the side. "Uh, hello. Is there anybody out there? Um, over."

"Smooth," Max smirked.

"It's your fault," Duncan accused. "My sum total of using a radio has been in your presence."

"Give it to me," Kate insisted, reaching out and pulling on the cord until Duncan released the mic and it shot towards her. She keyed it up and said, "Anyone on this channel, this is the Pony Express, do you copy? Anyone in the Calgary area, please respond. Over."

Max flinched at hearing the name she'd called out with.

"What?" she said.

"Don't get me started," he shot back.

"No answer," Duncan pointed out.

Max flipped on the emergency lights. He held a hoof out towards the siren control, but decided to wait until they were in the city proper - otherwise, they'd only serve to assault their own ears.

Another hill came and went, and then they were starting to come into the city's surrounds. The ski hill and former Winter Olympic venue loomed on the right.

"Anybody out there? This-"

"Don't do it again," Max cut Kate off.

"Fine, I'll drop the name," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "This is a truck coming in past COP on Highway 1. Anybody out there?"

Still, there was no response. Max rolled the truck through the intersection in front of Canada Olympic Park. He continued on eastbound on the highway as it transitioned into a surface street.

"How far is this stadium?" he asked.

"Idunno, about five minutes, I think," Kate said. "You'll see it."

True enough, in a few minutes, after passing through several barren communities, and past a hospital, which Max filed away in his head as being potentially noteworthy, there stood a red and beige structure on the left - beige stadium seats flanked by four red metal towers, from which a large speaker was suspended over midfield.

It took several attempts to find the correct road to get into the place, but eventually, the truck ended up in the parking lot of McMahon Stadium, according to the darkened electronic signboard out front.

"Doesn't look promising," Duncan observed.

"Maybe we should check that hospital back a ways," Max suggested.

"Probably right," Kate said. "But let me take a look from above."

"Sure," Duncan said, leaning back in his seat to let her past. She perched on the door briefly, then leapt into the sky.

"That's never gonna get old," Max smirked, looking through the windshield at the pegasus as she ascended.

"Almost didn't, thanks to us," Duncan pointed out.

They watched Kate circle around the stadium a few times, then come back to roost on the front cowl of the semi again. She shook her head.

"Don't scratch the finish!" Max railed.

Kate was tempted to drag her hooves across the hood as she came to the door and climbed in across Duncan's lap again. "Nothin' but a big, fat nothin'."

"Back to the hospital, then?" Duncan asked Max.

"Might as well," he agreed, putting the truck in gear and preparing to turn it around out of the parking lot.

"Well, this is turning out to be a bust," Duncan said about fifteen minutes later. There wasn't a soul at the hospital, or at least, none answering their call.

"Do we check inside?" Kate wanted to know. "For people who can't get out of bed."

"Anybody who's been in bed for five months, they're beyond our help," Max proclaimed.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Duncan said. "So. Where to next?"

"Do you wanna try a mall, just for the heck of it?" Kate suggested.

The biggest mall, according to their GPS, was through downtown and down a main road through the south of town, so they angled that direction.

"Pretty big river," Duncan said, looking at the waterway beside him as they headed downtown.

"The Bow," Kate said, ever the tour guide. "Supposed to be the best fishing in western Canada."

"You'll forgive me if I skip that, because I think I'd have to fish like a bear," Duncan said.

After a pause with no reply, he gestured with a hoof, like a bruin scooping up a salmon. "You know, like-"

"Yes, we got it," Max interrupted.

"Right," Duncan said. "Probably couldn't eat fish anyway, considering they're meat."

Max tried to tune out the rambling, but was getting increasingly agitated. At first he thought it was the incessant nattering that was getting on his nerves; then the frustration of not finding anybody in a city of a million people pre-Event. After a moment, he realized his foul mood and general sense of uneasiness was increasing the closer he got to downtown.

"I'm not sure I like this idea after all," Kate commented. Max looked over his shoulder to see the young pegasus sitting on the floor, frowning, ears pinned back to the sides of her head.

"Oh thank God it's not just me," Duncan said, though there wasn't much relief in his voice.

Max said nothing, but decided to chalk it up to all the things he'd rattled off in his mind already, plus the uncertainty of pushing into a downtown core that should never have been completely devoid of life.

"Anybody'd be put off by this," he murmured to himself, though the glances he received out of the corner of his eye told him his voice hadn't been low enough.

Off the river drive he bravely went, onto a southbound road that traversed the river by way of a bridge. Max tried to put from his mind's eye the nonsensical vision of the truck falling through a dilapidated, disused structure into the river below, and got across it safely.

Despite nearly every fiber of his being telling him it was a dumb idea, Max turned down one of the avenues (needlessly obeying the one-way arrangement of the grid roads, he realized later) and followed the GPS's instructions to find southbound Macleod Trail.

"I'm really not liking this," Kate warned, a tremor in her voice.

Duncan looked over at her, shivering in place, now huddled low on the floor. He looked back to Max. "Hey, pal, I don't feel so good either-"

"I know," Max snapped. "Just hold it together 'til we get to the mall, then we can all puke as a group."

The fact that Max acknowledged feeling uneasy too seemed to paradoxically settle the others, somewhat. The trio rode in silence down 6th Avenue until the GPS voice, oblivious to the drama, perfunctorily instructed them to turn on 1st Street East. The truck rounded the corner, momentarily crossing a set of train tracks for the city's transit system, and, glancing down that passageway nervously, Max saw a flat-black box the size of a shipping container sitting in the middle of the street, with a cable at least eight inches in diameter coming from one end and snaking its way to a nearby manhole and underground.

Inexplicably, the nervousness began to ebb as they headed south. The truck dipped under a rail underpass, this one for the freight line - and nobody felt like getting out to check if the truck would fit under the bridge. If it didn't and it was jammed there, they'd all get out and run.

Or fly, in one case.

But fit it did, and by the time they reached the next set of traffic lights, Max had the rig going nearly fifty miles an hour. It took him another half-dozen blocks to realize and ease off, as they passed signs indicating the grounds of the Calgary Exhibition & Stampede.

"Hey, the Stampede grounds," Kate said. "Maybe somebody-"

"They'd be crazy to camp out anywhere near here," Max cut her off, and Duncan was interrupted while trying to say almost the same thing.

"No, seriously; there's all kinds of places on the grounds for-"

"Didn't you feel that?" Duncan said, turning around in his seat to face her. "That wasn't natural. It wasn't just coincidence we all got it at the same time, either."

"I know, but-"

"For all we know, there's a Terminator back there," Max said. He was at the wheel, so ultimately it was his decision, and the truck unwaveringly continued south. For a few minutes, there was silence as they all considered what had just happened, and what they had said to one another.

"We're almost at the mall," Duncan said quietly. "We'll stop and check it out. Okay?"

"Yeah," Kate said.

Max grunted and nodded.

When they arrived, their destination contained a Shell station within its parking lot's boundaries, so Max positioned the truck there. He started the generator and began the task of topping off their tanks, while the other two took some lights and began to explore the mall.

Duncan held the door open for Kate. "Thank you," she smiled and trotted inside.

He followed her, surprised when he saw how much sunlight was getting into the building.

"Looks like this place has lots of skylights," he said, looking up at the roof nearly completely made of glass. "Guess these are redundant." He flicked off his headlamp, removed it, and tucked it into his satchel, slung over his neck.

"Hello?" Kate was calling out, having already sprinted ahead to the junction of their corridor with the main core of the mall. Her voice echoed eerily throughout the structure. "Anybody here?"

Duncan's hooffalls also echoed as he caught up with her. She was hovering in place a foot or two off the tiled floor.

Kate pivoted to face Duncan. "Left and straight ahead?" she asked, indicating the two ways the main part of the mall branched.

"Why not," he shrugged, and started off towards the left.

Kate fluttered on down the main corridor.

Max sat beside the truck, listening to the generator drone on as the two diesel pumps trickled fluid into the reservoirs of the semi-truck. This is why I prefer truck-stops - they have faster pumps. Filling from a pump designed to be compatible with diesel passenger cars meant the large fuel tanks for both the generator and the truck would take a long time to fill - on the order of a half an hour combined.

Max glanced up to the open cab of the truck, and the items sitting there. He'd shut off the emergency lighting to save battery power (and his retinas, from the strobing effect), but the master power switch was still on, providing electrical service to everything in the rig. He climbed up and was about to throw the switch, but the satellite phone caught his eye, blinking its idle indicator and the clock.

He wriggled over to where he could sit comfortably in front of the device, then took up a pen in his teeth to use as a stylus. Digging out the number Alex had texted him from, he keyed up a reply.

Max here. Making good time - in Calgary, Canada now.

Those fifty-three characters plus shifting for capitals and punctuation took him nearly six minutes to accomplish. Still, he spent some more time contemplating his next set of sentences before composing them, using some short forms to speed up his efforts.

Smth strange in downtown Cgy. All 3of us felt weird getting closer 2 downtown core. Like a fight or flight feeling. Worst when we passed blk seacan in mid of road. Better now bout 60 blks away, sensation almst gone.

Again he ruminated on the situation before continuing.

Not going back 2 core. If ponies alive there, have 2 come 2 us. Will stay in city til 2morrow morn in case. Probly at current coords.

One more time, he paused, then heard and felt the 'click' of one of the pumps automatically stopping the nozzle flow as the tank filled up. He added one last bit:

Any advice greatly appreciated. Continuing south 2morrow aft. Max

Reading over the text crowding the small screen, he then pushed the SEND button, reacting with mild surprise when the phone indicated the message had gone into 'the cloud' successfully. Guess it's still working, he mused to himself, just as the second pump clicked off.

He climbed back down and headed toward the pumping island to finish up.

"Anything?" Duncan said, meeting up with Kate in the food court.

"Yeah, a crime against food," she said, gesturing behind her with a foreleg. "Marble Slab Creamery back there. All the ice cream is melted of course."

Duncan smiled, then clarified: "No encampments or looting? Evidence that somebody has been here?"

"Nah, none of that. Probably nothing worth grabbing either. I mean, over half the place is dedicated to clothes and stuff, and half of the rest is electronics stores or restaurants with rotten food in 'em. Maybe one of the department stores might have junk on your junk list."

"I'm always up for junk," Duncan joked brightly. "But we may have our share for now. Especially if we need to get moving quickly - if that weird sensation returns."

Kate shared in his serious expression. "You got any idea what that was?" she asked.

Duncan shook his head. "New to all of us, it seems. But whatever it is, I presume it has to be related to the aliens that did this to us. Never experienced it before in my life. And, quite frankly, don't want to again. I thought I was going to soil the seat."

"I hear ya," Kate nodded. "There's nothing in here; let's go."

Duncan agreed and followed her outside. They were one entrance further south than they'd entered, so they walked (and flew, lazily) along the mostly-empty parking lot back up to the truck.

"Ready?" Duncan asked Max, who was sitting on the ground near the cab.

"Yeah," Max said. "Nothing worth grabbing?"

"Not in here," Duncan said. "If you need some fashions or home furnishings, though, we've got our pick of the litter."

"All right. I'm not ready to leave this place without something to show for it. So do we make camp here for the rest of the day, or drive around?"

"Where else can we go?" Duncan asked. "Assuming north is out of the question."

"It is," Max said, and both ponies looked to Kate.

"Hey, I don't know every street and alley in the city," she said. "Far as I'm concerned, we've hit pretty much every place somebody might build a camp, except the airport."

"Do we try that?" Duncan asked Max.

"I suppose there's no harm in it, so long as none of that weird shit is in there. Okay, let's go."

They climbed aboard the rig and started off for the airport terminal.

Going around the downtown core necessitated a trip out to the ring road, a freeway that circumnavigated most of the city. It was, of course, as deserted as everywhere else.

On the way to the airport, Max told the others about the text message he'd sent.

"Did you get an answer?" Kate asked.

"Not yet," he replied, gesturing to the darkened phone on the dash. "Not sure if we will or not. We never discussed that, but since we traded numbers, I figured I'd bring her up to date."

"Good plan," Duncan said. He removed the phone from its cradle and began to fiddle with it.

"What're you doing?" Max wanted to know.

"Just checking... yeah. Let's store her as a contact just in case, so we know what number to call or is calling us."

"Just don't erase it," Max cautioned.

"Don't worry," Duncan said. He took a pen in his mouth, and spoke around a grin as he typed. "Macksh's... girl... prend..."

"Hey!"

Kate laughed.

"Relax," Duncan said after he spit the pen out. "I put it in as 'Alex Pony'. See?" He turned the phone's display towards Max.

"You're hopeless," Max sighed.

"You're the one who's hopeless," Kate countered, still giggling. "We're gonna have to laugh once or twice if we're going to make it in this bleak gawdamn world."

"She's right, you know," Duncan said. "There's nothing to be gained from sulking all the time."

"I'm not sulking," Max countered.

"Sure," Kate said, rolling her eyes.

"Look, I'm just spooked because of downtown, all right? Tell me you're not, I dare you."

That shut them up for a moment. "Okay, point," Duncan said eventually. "Let's start over, shall we? What should we expect to find at the airport?"

Max pondered the question. "Well, hopefully no planes half-screwed into the ground, for starters. Ideally, some kind of camp from people who took up residence there."

"The lack of cars and trucks on the highways - that means logically we should see a lack of planes, too, though I'm not sure I get how that works. The people who were sent forward in time were sent with their vehicles? That's gonna make a mess in the future. Imagine waking up as a pony at the controls of a seven-forty-seven."

"No thank you," Max said. "This is hard enough as it is."

"The problem is that a city big enough to have survivors is too big to check all at once," Kate said. "You need a quicker way to survey the whole place. And I know how to do it." She climbed up onto the center console again. "Roll down your window, Dunc."

"Be careful," both men stereoed as she prepared to take off.

"I always am," she said dismissively and leapt out the opened window as the truck hurtled down the ring road highway.

"Always freaks me out when she does that," Max mumbled.

"You'd do it too, I'm sure, if you could," Duncan smiled. He tapped at his horn with a hoof. "At least she has 'special appendages' that work."

Max had no reply for that, so he just looked out the windshield, trying to spot the white-and-pink pegasus in the sky. It was surprisingly difficult to locate her once she got moving and distant.

"I wonder if there is something more we could be doing to draw attention to ourselves when we come into a city?" Duncan mused. "I mean, somebody back at the mall we were at has absolutely no hope of spotting us even with our flashing lights turned on. They might have better luck seeing Kate if she wasn't so fast and tiny... hey!" He brightened with an idea. "She could tow a banner."

"Better ask her before you start putting one together," Max said, allowing himself a smile.

"Just thinking out loud. She's right, though; the city's far too big to ensure that anyone anywhere in its limits would know we were here just from what we've been doing. Maybe we need to put together a list of places we should visit when we hit a new city, such as the airport, the train station, city hall, stadiums, hotels, et cetera."

"Yeah, I can see how that could be a good idea. Add fire stations and truck stops too. And hospitals I guess."

"Shopping malls?"

"Meh," Max shrugged, turning on to the road leading to the airport itself.

Duncan was evidently storing the plans in his head, to be transcribed to his tablet later. "Also should probably look for signs of smoke or fire, right? I mean, that's how we spotted Jordan."

"Yup," Max nodded in agreement, wondering how the old man was doing. His thoughts were cut short by the fact they'd arrived at the terminal loop road - the lower half of which the truck would definitely not fit; and the terminal building itself appeared to be intact and untouched, indicating no colony was present.

Max was about to ask if he should try to find a gate to the tarmac when something fell right in front of the windshield and landed on the hood of the truck with a THUMP.

"Gah!" Duncan screamed, and Max recoiled with a less family-friendly curse word emanating from his lips.

Kate looked at them through the windshield, shaking her head. "No signs of life," she called out.

"Get off the frickin' hood!" Max bellowed.

Kate half-snarled, half-slurred a mocking parody of Max's instruction, and climbed back in the window. "Why're you so uptight over the paint job on this thing?" she grumped. "You act like somebody's gonna give you a hard time if you return it with a scratch on it."

"Just - don't scare us like that," Max said, his anger deflating.

Ultimately, after a few minutes to allow everyone to settle down, the three of them found themselves in yet another place devoid of life.

"This is getting depressing," Duncan observed.

"Oh! Hey, you know what we need to do? Make signs," Kate said excitedly.

"Signs?"

"Yeah! In case somebody does the same thing we did, after us. Imagine if we got here and there was a sign that said-"

"But we're not staying here," Max pointed out.

Kate huffed and rolled her eyes. "You didn't let me finish," she said. "Let's put a sign up that says "Survivors head south to Chicago."

"Paris."

"Whatever. I mean, that will tell people that we were here, and how to get to us. If we put the date down, they'll know how long it's been, and if they have any chance of catching up."

Duncan looked to Max and shrugged. "Can't hurt, I guess," he said.

"Yeah, probably not a bad idea," Max admitted. "So what do we do, get some plywood?"

"No," Kate said, a grin spreading across her muzzle. "I got a better idea."

Several minutes later, she was on one side of a chain-link fence which separated the road from the airport tarmac, with the stallions on the other. The pavement on both sides was plainly visible from either direction.

"Okay, so now what?" Max asked.

"Well, on the off chance that a pegasus is among the ponies that come across this, it should be visible from above," Kate said. She had a can of spray-paint, liberated from the nearby construction site, gripped precariously in one hoof, in that peculiar manner that allowed them to manipulate items without fingers. "Probably gonna use all of this up, but here goes. Step back!"

She took off and used a stick she'd wedged into the nozzle to start dispensing bright day-glo orange paint onto the pavement. First a large arrow was drawn from the road towards the fence, and over it onto the tarmac. Then she began to start drawing a number of words.

SURVIVORS WERE HERE

OCTOBER 29 2015

HEADING SOUTH

PARIS, ILLINOIS

ALL ARE WELCOME

LOOK FOR THE RED SEMI (FIRE) TRUCK

The words took up a space about 30 feet to a side. She finished off by drawing several more arrows from different directions, as if pointing a viewer from above to her message.

"There!" she said, and laughed as the spray can sputtered its last just as she finished one last thing - a stick figure pony beside the word 'WELCOME'. "What do you think?"

Both stallions were trying to read the text upside-down and from a very shallow angle. Eventually they deciphered the message. Duncan nodded.

"Looks good to me," he said.

"Yup," Max agreed. "Good idea."

"Thanks," Kate said, grinning, and discarded the spray can. She kept the stick, and headed back to the construction shack.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Getting more paint," she said over her shoulder to Max. "We'll have to repeat this every time we stop, right?"

"I know where I want to stop for the day," Max said when they got into the truck again.

"Oh?"

He nodded to the GPS which already had a route programmed. "Found a big truck stop. It's close to the highway, and is bound to have plenty of supplies." And maybe we'll finally luck out and find somebody else, he didn't add.

"Fair enough," Duncan shrugged.

"I'm cool with it," Kate supplied.

And so, twenty minutes after leaving the airport, the truck rumbled into the lot of the Road King truck stop off Barlow Trail. Very few vehicles were in the lot, but if their theory that occupied machines were 'disappeared' along with their occupants was right, it made sense.

There was one thing resting in the lot that caught Max's eye, but he put it aside for the moment and allowed for the usual search and scavenger hunt.

"Radios," Duncan said, coming out of the main part of the store after his hunt. "Little handheld ones. Hoof-held? Whatever. We can keep in touch with one another when we're searching."

"If you can find headsets, they're probably VOX capable," Max said, not bothering to explain the term, as Duncan simply turned and dashed back into the store once again.

"No food," Kate said dejectedly, coming out of the restaurant plaza. "It's all gone way bad."

"We'll find stuff," Max said. "What about water?"

"Yeah, got a whole bunch of that. Everything from single-serve bottles to the big water-cooler barrels."

"Awesome."

The trio helped one another jam everything into the nearly-bursting-at-the-seams trailer, but Max had an idea on how to relieve some of that pressure.

"I need to find something called a dolly," he explained, gesturing reflexively with his hooves while he described the contraption. It was a set of two semi-truck axles on top of which sat another fifth-wheel plate, allowing a second trailer to be hooked to the primary. The front of the dolly had a hitch that could connect to a hookup on the back of a semi-truck or straight truck. Or, in their case, the back of a trailer that was already configured to accept a second trailer.

"Is that one?" Kate pointed towards a corner of the lot.

"Yes," Max exclaimed, hurrying to the truck. He drove it, trailer and all, near to the little connection appliance, then climbed back out.

"Need me to guide you back to it?" Duncan asked.

"Nah," Max said, "'cause I'm gonna do this." He put his head down and shouldered the back of the dolly with all his might. Even though the brakes were still set, the dolly inched its way toward the back of the red fire truck trailer.

"Want help?" Kate asked.

Max didn't answer - he suspected that neither of them had the umph to assist, anyway. A few more shoves and the dolly skittered into position, the pintle hitches latching on the dolly's tongue bars.

"Hook up the air lines if you wanna help," Max said, panting between every few words, even while he pulled on an electrical cable. Each of the other two ponies took a coiled air hose and, without much trouble, figured out how to connect them to the 'glad hand' connectors on the back of the trailer.

"Outstanding," Max exulted as the dolly's brake lights came on and the rush of air filling the brake system could be heard.

"What does this do for us?" Duncan asked.

"This is part 1," Max said. "That over there is part 2." He gestured, before scrambling back to the semi cab and pulling the truck, trailer, and dolly over to where he'd been pointing.

He skillfully backed the combination up to the flatbed trailer combination that Kate and Duncan had gone over to look at. The dolly allowed the first trailer to pull the flatbed - two flatbeds, truth be told, which were already in a 'double' or 'super' configuration. The truck would now be an astounding forty-six wheels and nearly 140 feet of machinery, but they would be able to pick up any of the bigger pieces that were on Alex's 'shopping list'.

"Guide me back into the fifth wheel pin," Max hollered out the window. Duncan used a flurry of hoof signals to indicate left, right, back, and even some other things Max couldn't figure out - but ultimately he felt the resistance caused by the new trailers locking in to the dolly's fifth wheel and holding firm.

One more set of air and electrical lines, and the machine was fully put together. Max left the engine running so that the air compressor would have time to fill the reservoirs on the dolly and the new trailers, giving him braking capability on those pieces.

"So I guess this place wasn't a total bust," Duncan mused as they built a little campfire on the gravel parking lot, sitting around it for warmth and to heat up some coffee and soup.

"Nowhere near as big a result as I wanted, but I'll take it," Max agreed.

"Once we're done eating, I'm gonna draw another message," Kate said. "What road are we taking out of town?"

"Route 2," Max said. "Just say to go south."

"Where's tomorrow's stop?"

"Not sure yet," he said. "I'll figure that out after we eat." After a pause, he said, "Thanks for your support today, guys. I know I was an ass for part of it, but-"

"You had your reasons," Kate said. "Don't sweat it."

"Just remind yourself that we're all in this for the same reason," Duncan nodded. "We'll get through it."

Max nodded back and fell silent, sitting watching the flames tickle the pots containing their meal.

Boiled Over

OCTOBER 30
07:58 AM

They'd not been on the road for an hour when Kate's latest bright idea came forth.

"You should teach me to drive the truck," she told Max.

"Ah ha ha ha," he said, deliberately making the laughs sound forced. "Not only no, but hell no."

"What?! Give me one good reason why not!"

"Do you even have a learners' permit?" he said to her.

She sneered, "When you guys picked me up, you said the law didn't matter any more."

Duncan snickered. "She's kinda got you there," he said.

"You're not helping," Max said.

"No, seriously, tell me why this is a bad idea," Kate insisted.

"Kid, I'm driving a truck that's now longer than your home town," he began.

Kate delivered a jab to his ribcage for calling her 'kid'. "All the more reason for me to learn how to handle it properly. For both of us, really," she added, indicating Duncan.

"Hey, I'm happy to just passenge the whole trip," he said, holding his hooves up in a defensive posture.

Kate pressed on. "What if you get sick? Or too tired to go on? Wouldn't you like to have a rest once in a while?"

"If I'm tired, we break for the day," Max stubbornly said. "If I get sick, help me get better enough to drive."

Kate sat back down in her usual spot, hmph'ing. "I still think it's a smart idea," she said.

"Kate, this isn't a snowmobile or dog sled or whatever you're used to- ow!"

"Keep it up, smartass!" she snarled at him, lowering her hoof again.

"Dude, that one was uncalled for," Duncan acknowledged. "Hell, you come from even further north than either of us. In fact, only jolly old elves live further north than you did. Did either or both of you need to stop and make some coffee, or take an anti-cranky pill maybe?"

The truck was silent for a few moments, except for the road noise and the engine. Finally, Max broke the ice. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Calgary was a real letdown for me."

"I get you," Kate responded just as sullenly. "I'm sorry too."

Duncan's eyes wandered until they settled on a blinking light on the satphone. "Hey, there's a message waiting." He snatched up a pen and turned on the display.

Feeling dangerous, do not approach under any circumstances! Indicates presence of hostile entities.

"Nice!" Kate said sarcastically. "Perfect timing."

"What the hell are 'hostile entities'?" Max wondered aloud.

"Well, y'know..." Duncan said, shrugging. "Bad guys."

"With this few people left in the world, how are there any bad guys left?"

"Do you think no gang members came back?" Kate suggested. "Criminals?"

Duncan shuddered. "Criminals locked in cells coming back... that'd be a bad end."

"Or people in hospital," Kate said, before remembering they'd brought up that very issue the day before in Calgary.

"It's all behind us," Max said. "Literally. Let's try to keep looking forward."

"Right," the other two agreed, nodding.

The truck blew through a town that straddled the middle of the freeway, literally - the southbound lanes were separated from the northbound by about three blocks of 'downtown' Nanton. Max was tempted to stop at the Flying J at the south end of town, but their tanks were all but full still, having only left Calgary an hour before.

"What else is on this road?" Max asked, more out of curiosity and filling time than anything else.

Duncan scrolled on the GPS display with a pen. "Let's see. Stavely. Claresholm. Granum. Fort Macleod. Oh, hang on, gotta zoom out - this road dead-ends at Fort Macleod."

"What? I thought this went right to the border."

"Hang on, I'm lookin'. Oh! Ha, we could turn left right now and go to Vulcan."

"Seriously?" Max leaned over to look.

"It'd be illogical to lie to you, Captain."

"Yeah, they have a spaceship there and everything," Kate chimed in. "Spock visited, too. The actor, I mean."

"I have to update that list of attractions to come visit once we get settled," Duncan mused as he continued to scroll. "East is better than west, right?"

"Absolutely," Max said.

"Okay, so at Fort Macleod, turn east onto route 3, then you get to a city called Lethbridge after a few dozen miles. Then we..." Duncan trailed off yet again as he scrolled. "Aha, there we go. Route 4 brings us to Montana via a bunch of little towns on both sides of the border, and you can go down the I-15 to Great Falls."

"How long to Great Falls?" Max wanted to know.

"Let me put that in." Duncan fiddled with the controls for a few moments. "About four hours."

"Do you want to stop in this Lethbridge place to see if there's anybody around, or some supplies, and shoot for Great Falls for tonight?"

"Sure," Duncan said.

"Fine by me," Kate piped up.

"Okay, then," Max said. "Lay in a course, Number One, and make it so."

"That's 'engage'," Duncan smirked, tapping on the GPS.

"Whatever."

"You ever think of changing this over to biofuel?" Duncan asked a while later.

"What, like french fry grease?" Max responded.

"Yeah. Eventually it's probably going to be easier to find that than diesel."

"Plus, you have french fries," Kate supplied, smiling.

"We'd need a metric buttload of grease, I think, wouldn't we? I mean, I put 300 gallons of diesel on the truck every time we stop. I can't imagine you would get near that amount of grease unless you cleaned out every restaurant in a town."

"Just an idea," Duncan said. "Like I said, it might become worth it in the long- whoa!"

Max and Kate looked over to where Duncan was pointing, to their left. A ball of flame was erupting from a farm just off the highway.

"Holy shit," Max cursed. He let his hoof off the accelerator, and then after an instant, switched it to the brake and decelerated hard.

"Do you think there's somepony over there?" Kate asked, leaning forward onto the center console to see.

"Things are probably stable enough to not spontaneously explode," Duncan nodded, wrapping his forelegs around the seat belt as Max put the truck into a hard left turn at the next cross road.

It took them a few minutes to double back and stop on the side of Highway 2. Rather than work their way to yet another cross road and navigate down sideroads and the frontage road, they just parked the truck and leapt two or three fences.

Kate was the first one to the scene, seeing as how her travel was unhindered - she just leapt from the truck's window, as usual, and flew directly to the still-burning propane tank. It was a large tank, or had been, before it exploded in flames. The house, barn, outbuildings, and several vehicles and pieces of farm machinery were all heavily damaged and burning.

Max and Duncan came to an abrupt halt in the farmyard, having leapt the Texas gate that led from the frontage road, but now being held back by flames. It was impossible to tell if there was any overt cause for the blast.

Max felt himself slipping back into the job he'd had wrested from him two weeks previous. He silently berated himself for not slipping into turnout gear before leaving the truck, so he could at least have some protection from the flames as he searched.

He didn't need to do much searching, though; it was handled for him. "There's a pony over here!!" came a shout from above. The two stallions looked up to see Kate frantically gesturing between the house and the barn.

"We gotta go through," Max said to Duncan, facing the clichéd wall of flames. He looked at the other pony. "I won't blame you if you stay back here. Actually, that might be better. Gives me a voice to backtrack to. Okay?"

"If you say so," Duncan said with a wild, frightened look on his face. "Be careful."

Max nodded and looked up at the pegasus above. "Which direction?!" he yelled.

"To your right a bit!" she called back. "Yeah, there!"

Max lowered his head and ran forward. In all his years on the job, he'd been in genuine burning buildings three times, and every time, he was encapsulated head-to-toe, with protective gear and breathing air, a partner, and the protection of a hose line. Never had he found a victim during one of those 'interior attacks'.

Now he was going to a person in definite need of rescue, with none of that equipment.

He leapt as he reached the wall of flame, feeling it sting him briefly as he passed over it. The smoke obscured his vision, so he got down to the dirt and crawled on his belly.

"Almost there!" he could barely hear over the noise of the items still burning, hissing and creaking and crackling as they off-gassed and combusted.

Then he saw a red pony limb materialize out of the haze. A stallion, smaller than him, but still of adult age, lay on the ground, unmoving. His coat was indeed red, but it was hard to tell what was colored fur and what was injured, burnt flesh. His blond mane and tail were also singed.

"Buddy! Can you hear me?" Max said, crouching down and shouting in the pony's ears, coughing from the smoke as he did so. The pony remained still and silent.

Max made a decision and put his head down to the dirt, trying to wedge himself between the stallion's belly and the ground. Holding on to the pony's hooves, he forced his head forward, and managed a quadruped version of a fireman's carry, the unconscious stallion draped over his neck and withers.

"He's got them!" he could hear Kate holler. "Dunc, shout out for him! Max, turn almost completely around!"

"This way, pal!" Duncan was calling. "Back my way!"

Max turned to put Duncan's voice right in front of his nose, and staggered forward, moving slower as he tried to avoid dropping his patient.

"I have an idea!" Kate shouted, swooping lower. She beat fearsomely with her wings, and managed to push some of the flames aside with her manufactured breeze.

Max staggered up to Duncan, and then began to pass him. "Max, I'm right here-" he began.

"This guy needs the stuff in the truck," Max grunted under the added weight, continuing towards the highway.

Between the three of them, they managed to get the unconscious pony all the way back to the ditch, ultimately crossing the fence, and going not to the semi, but to the first trailer - the fire/rescue wagon.

"I checked what I could of the house while you were rescuing him," Duncan said breathlessly. "Nobody else is around."

"Oh god, he's hurt bad," Kate cringed, hovering over them.

Max did a quick survey of his patient, frowning. Indeed the pony was fairly decently injured. The burns were bad enough - appearing to cover somewhere between a third and two-fifths of his body - but the fact he was unconscious probably meant that something else was going on. Either respiratory arrest - no, his chest was rising and falling - or perhaps traumatic injury.

He needed immediate medical aid.

"Looks like you get your wish, kid."

"Don't call me- wha?"

Max pulled open the door of the trailer and started making a path to get the injured pony in to the medical section. "Get us turned back around and to the nearest hospital. And be careful. I'll be standing up in here trying to help this guy."

Duncan helped Max lift the patient inside the trailer. "Do you want help?" he asked Max.

"You don't know where stuff is or what I need. I can do it quicker on my own. Just help her get moving and pointed towards an emergency room. When we get there, it'll be all hands on deck to get what I need to stabilize him."

"Gotcha," Duncan nodded.

Max looked at Kate, who was still hovering there, surprised at the turn of events. "Think about how big the truck is and try to avoid sharp turns. It's thirteen feet ten inches tall. Get Doc to figure that out in meters, and stay away from any bridges that read that height or less. And drive smoothly - like I said, I'll be on my feet back here."

"Hooves," she automatically corrected, then blinked and shook her head. "I got it. I can do it. How do we talk to you if you need us to stop?"

"Hang on, I can handle that!" Duncan said, rushing around. He extracted some of the handheld radios from one of his recent scavenger hunts, and passed one to Max. "Channel 1."

"Let's get moving," Max said, reaching out to grab the door handle in his jaw. "Ee hairful."

"We will," Duncan said just before the door slammed shut. "You too."

"Okay, so do you have a driver's license?" Duncan asked Kate when they were seated in the cab. "And I'm asking because I want to know if you can drive at all."

"I've driven everything from quads to a one-ton," Kate said, looking over the dash as she sat behind the steering wheel. "I'm sure I can do this."

"Okay then," Duncan said. "Select D from this panel over here, that's the transmission. You have to have your hoof on the brake to get it to shift."

"Got it," Kate said, shifting the truck into drive. After releasing the parking brake, they started to roll forward.

"Find another crossover road and take it real wide - don't forget the second trailer. Then get us going southbound again. I'm going to see if the GPS has a hospital listing."

"Okay," Kate nodded, hooves resting on the wheel, focusing on the road.

After a few minutes, Duncan grabbed the other handheld radio he'd dug out of his stash. "Max, we're about 35 miles from the nearest hospital. It's in Lethbridge. 35 or so minutes. You good with that?"

"Gonna have to be," came the answer after a moment. "He's stabilizing, but he's still gonna need a lot of help."

"Okay, just call us if you need anything."

There was no response; Max had just set down the radio, being too busy to continue with pleasantries.

"All right, Kate," Duncan said. "In a couple minutes, Route 2 will dead-end at Route 3. Take it east towards Lethbridge, and then find the 5, and then follow the signs to Chinook Regional Hospital."

"Highway 2 to Highway 3 to Highway 5, to Chinook Regional," she said. "Got it."

"How you doing?" Duncan asked. "Got the feel of it yet?"

"I'll manage," she shrugged.

Duncan was looking over at her and he leaned in, reaching out to touch her wing. "Is this... did you get burned?"

Kate shrugged again, and Duncan noticed she winced when she did so. "It was a little warm over the fire," she said dismissively.

Duncan tch'ed and looked over the pegasus, noticing her singed and discolored coat and wings, on primarily the side which would have been facing down. "As soon as Max has this guy dealt with at the hospital, you're going to get checked over yourself."

"It's just a little heat," she protested. "Haven't you ever accidentally burned some arm hairs? It's like that."

"We don't know at all what it's like. We have no baseline for what a healthy pony is. I'm hopeful that Max's skills in treating humans will translate over well enough to keep this poor fellow from dying."

Kate put the truck into a gentle turn to follow the ramp from Highway 2 to Highway 3. "How about this - if I start to feel bad, I'll ask for help. If, like you say, Max's going to have a challenge with saving this guy, he should focus on him and not me."

Duncan looked less than impressed. "I guess I'm going to have to accept that," he sighed.

Half an hour later, Kate had the truck on Tenth Avenue - mostly; the rear trailer was partly on the curb at the intersection of 19 Street. The hospital in the city of Lethbridge loomed before them.

Duncan opened the door of the trailer, having finished supervising Kate's shutdown of the semi. Max was still in the medical suite, with the unconscious pony now partially covered in gauze. Sickly-colored fluid covered the floor, some of it slopping out through the doorway.

"Yuck," Kate said, hovering her way to the door.

"It's just saline and a little bit of blood," Max said hurriedly, as if it was of no concern. "Rinsing off his burns. Can one of you see if there's a gurney in the ambulance bay?"

"On it," Kate said, zipping off.

Duncan stood by the door, noticing for the first time the horn protruding from the patient's head. "A unicorn?" he blinked.

"I didn't notice either, until I started my assessment," Max said. "Guess we were all too busy to notice."

"Is he gonna make it?"

"Probably," Max said. "I'm thinking he just has a pretty severe concussion. I can't see any legit reason for him to be out cold otherwise. He's had some blood loss from the burns, but he's getting that back." Max nodded his head to a hanging bag of fluid, leading to a tube and needle in the pony's foreleg.

"You managed to put in an IV?" Duncan asked.

"God knows how," Max nodded. "Horses don't line up with humans as far as I know, biologically. But I was able to find a vein."

A squeaking and clattering sound heralded Kate's return with a hospital gurney. Max and Duncan carried the pony onto the bed while Kate steadied it, and then they wheeled their charge towards the medical center.

"No lights in there," Kate warned.

"One of you will have to come back and get a tripod light after we get him inside," Max said. "How'd you get in and out?"

"That door there," Kate said, pointing to a 'man-door' beside the roll-up ambulance bay doors.

"Okay. Let's get him inside and to the trauma bay."

Only a few words were exchanged while they moved the pony indoors. Kate dashed back to the truck once the gurney was inside.

Max and Duncan managed through the dim light provided by windows to maneuver the gurney into an exam bay in the emergency room.

"Spooky place," Duncan observed, looking around at the completely empty hospital ward.

"Just an empty building with some supplies we need," Max said, kicking at the latches on the wheels of the gurney to lock it in place. "Find me stuff that looks like this," he directed Duncan, indicating the plastic bag of fluid on the IV. "Probably in storage that's marked 'normal saline'. The more the better. Then I need all the gauze you can carry, preferably sterile."

"Okay," Duncan nodded, dashing off.

A few seconds later, a bright light came in from the ambulance bay, the beam awkwardly shifting back and forth as Kate carried it inside, turned on. "Where do you want this?" she asked.

"Anywhere in here with it pointed at him," Max instructed.

"Okay," she said, and set it up.

Max thanked her as he continued his work, especially when he could suddenly see the patient much better. The burns appeared to be stable and not as horrific as they were initially thought to be, though they were still serious. The lack of consciousness mildly concerned Max, but there was little he could do about that. Normally, he'd insert an airway to help the patient breathe, but if he thought he was lucky getting an IV in, he knew he had next to no chance making a human-sized airway fit a pony.

"What can I do?" Kate asked.

Max was frowning at the efforts he'd already done. "We need to carefully remove this gauze. I shouldn't have put it on in the first place, but I wanted to protect the open wounds. Once the burns are exposed again, we'll flush them with saline and cover them with sterile gauze. Doc's getting that stuff now." Max grimaced. "I'd like to give the poor guy morphine, or something else that will kill the inevitable pain when he wakes up, but I have no idea what a proper dose is for a pony."

"I wonder if I could get some information from a vet?" Kate asked.

"What?"

"You know, I could go find an animal hospital and get some textbooks or something."

"Let's hold that thought in reserve for now," Max said.

Duncan came back just then, dragging a crash cart behind him. "Couldn't carry it all by myself, so I just piled it on this thing."

"Good enough," Max said, rooting through the materials. "I didn't ask you for this, but you didn't see any antibiotic cream, did you?"

Duncan shook his head. "Sorry. Want me to go look now?"

"Sure," Max said. "But don't spend too much time - I'm going to dress the wounds as soon as I get them cleaned up."

"Okay," Duncan said, again departing.

Max turned back to see Kate gingerly peeling a strip of gauze off the pony's leg. "Good," he said. "Like that. Make sure it doesn't get any debris in it. And try not to open the wounds agai-"

"I'm trying," Kate said quietly.

"Okay. Thanks, you're doing great."

Max helped her work on the pony while they waited for Duncan to return.

"Is he gonna wake up?" Kate asked.

"I don't see a reason why not," Max said. "His body might be keeping him out to get past the stress of the burn injuries. We'll see once we get them dressed and get his fluids up." He looked to the IV bag. "I should change this one out. Keep doing what you're doing."

"Gotcha," Kate nodded.

Max used both his hooves and his teeth to manipulate the drained IV bag out of the end of the tubing, and open a new bag and 'spike' it. It took him at least five times as long as it would have had he had hands.

"I think I have what you need," Duncan said, coming back into the exam room. "I'm not up on my medical terms, but it does say 'antibiotic' on it, and it's a cream."

"Let's see it here," Max said, letting the IV bag hang from its pole again. He took the container Duncan offered, and looked it over. "Yeah, this'll work. At least, it would for humans. Let's hope ponies aren't allergic to it or something." He thought on it a little more and added, "I just realized I'm not gonna be able to spread this with my fingers. I hate to send you off again, but I need some tongue depressors."

"That one's easy," Duncan said, walking across the room and tapping on a metal container. "Looks like about 60 in here."

"I hope I don't need that many," Max smiled.

"Is that it?" Kate asked an hour or so later, standing in a small pile of used bandages and empty saline bags.

"Pretty much," Max said. They had the pony cleaned and dressed - as in, covered in bandages - and lying still, using up fluids at a quick but decreasing pace.

Max commented on that last part. "That's good news, I think," he said. "Means he's probably back up to a decent volume. I'd check his blood pressure, but I haven't the foggiest idea of where to measure it. Maybe it'd be wise to go see if you can find some horse texts, but I'm not sure I want you to go alone."

"I'm good," Kate said. "Don't forget I was by myself forever before you guys came along."

"Not in a big city," Max countered, but shrugged. "Just so long as you be careful and don't take any risks. Especially if you get that feeling we did in Calgary."

"Okay, dad," she quipped, trotting out of the exam bay. Her hoofsteps went down the hall, past a resting Duncan, and stopped as she got to the door by the ambulance bay.

"Umm," she said.

"What?" Max called out.

"What's up?" Duncan asked, sitting up.

"There's... a pony out there, kicking the living shit out of the truck..."

"Come on!"

The pony punctuated her plea with a buck to the door of the trailer, causing the whole thing to rock on its springs somewhat.

"I know you're in there!" she hollered, turning around to pound on the door with a foreleg. "I know you're realI!"

She whirled around again, her black mane whipping in an arc, and shifted her green body forward to let her pick up her hind legs and lash out again. "Open up!!"

"She reminds me of somebody," came a voice from in front of her, and her head shot up. A creature like her, but male, colored orange and with red and yellow hair, stood there smirking beside a pink and white girl pegasus thing, who looked on with a surprised expression.

"You..." the truck's assailant said, setting her feet - no, hooves - back down on the sidewalk. "You..."

"Thanks for stopping that," the male said. "We might need to get in there later, and I'd prefer it not be damaged."

"Max! She's obviously in shock," the girl said. She stepped forward. "I'm Kate. Are you okay?"

The pony stared at Kate and Max. "O-okay?" she asked.

"I know how you're feeling right now," Kate said softly. "Max found me in the same shape a few days ago. Yes, we're real. Yes, you're safe. Can you come inside with us? There's somepony in there we need to keep an eye on, and it'd be easier to explain things to you while we do that."

Duncan diverted his attention from watching the unconscious unicorn to the door, which was opening to let in Max, Kate, and the female earth pony.

"Everything okay?" Max asked him.

"No change," Duncan shook his head.

"Duncan, this is Angela," Kate said. "Angela, Duncan's our other friend. The red guy we don't know yet, but we found him hurt earlier today."

"H-hi," she stammered to Duncan.

"Shall we all have a seat?" Duncan said, indicating the couches he'd moved to within sight of the pony lying on the exam gurney. "Let's get to know one another."

Angela went over to one of the couches and tried to sit down like a human would. The other three sat in a more anatomically-comfortable position, and Angela eventually copied them after studying them for a moment.

"How long have you been out here?" Max asked.

"One hundred and sixty days," Angela said. "May twenty-third at five-thirty-seven AM."

"Oooh," Duncan winced. "Sounds like you've been in it for the duration."

"Duration?" she echoed. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe it's better if you let them tell you the whole whacked-out story from the beginning," Kate suggested. "And trust me, it's a doozy, but it's the real deal."

"I don't intend to go anywhere until this guy at least wakes up," Max said, nodding towards the exam bay. "We should know if we're taking him away from something important here before we get on the road again. I'll text Alex later and explain."

"Something important here?" Angela scoffed. "There's nothing here. The world is dead. I don't know where you all came from, but you're the first ...people I've seen in almost half a year."

"About that," Duncan said. "Let us tell you what happened before you write the world off."

Angela wore an incredulous expression as she made a forced laugh. "Fine. Fire away."

"Well," Max said, "First things first, we learned all this from another pony in Illinois called Alex..."

Author's Note

Like most of my chapters, this one started out weak and unsure of itself, and then picked up steam as it went along, writing itself through the big, dramatic part.
And the names pulled from Share a Coke bottles continue.
Next time, Dr. Horse tells us it's not lupus.

Stalled

"Max?"

The pony in the room stirred, while the one at the door sighed.

"Max."

"Nnngh," he responded not at all eloquently.

Hoofsteps came up to the couch Max was asleep on inside an office of the hospital.

"Gaaah," he blurted out, as a lit penlight was put up to his face, by way of being held in Kate's mouth.

"Sorry," she said plainly, moving the light away. "You weren't waking up."

"What is it?" he moaned, stretching. "Did he wake up?"

"Not yet," Kate said. "But it's after eight. Thought you might want some breakfast."

"Thanks," he murmured. Kate turned around and propped the door open on her departure. Max sat up, rubbing his eyes with his forehooves - then sniffing at his forelegs and recoiling. "Yeesh." I wonder if I can get some water moving in here to get a shower.

He stepped out of the office for the short trip down the hall to the emergency department. Eight o'clock in the morning? He'd slept solidly, then, at least twelve hours' worth. Guess I must have crashed hard when the adrenaline wore off.

In the waiting room of the hospital, Duncan and Kate sat, while a coffee table had been repurposed as a buffet. The earth pony they'd 'rescued' the afternoon before was doing something to the food on the table.

"Morning, sunshine," Duncan smiled. "Your patient's still out, before you ask."

"He already asked me," Kate said with a smile.

"Morning," Max said. "Is that coffee?" It took him a moment to realize the lights were on in the waiting room. "Wha...?"

"You're not the only one who can run the generator," Duncan said. "As a great man once said, you can observe a lot from watching. And yes, it's coffee; it's about 30 minutes old."

"Don't care," Max said, sitting down in an empty space at the table. "Coffee's coffee." He found a mug and began to pour, then looked up at the female earth pony - Andrea, if he remembered correctly. No, Angela.

"How do you want your powdered eggs? Scrambled or scrambled?" she said, fiddling with a pan on a hot plate.

"Wait, what? Eggs?" Max said, looking down at the pan.

"Angela showed us where there's a Costco," Kate said. "We should clean it out before we get back on the road. It's not far from here."

"Not going anywhere 'til the other guy's good to be moved," Max reiterated.

"Sorry for yesterday," Angela said, dishing out some eggs onto a plate for Max. "I was pretty desperate - I hope you understand."

Max watched the plate slide into position in front of him, gripped by a green hoof. "I just didn't want you to break the door," he admitted. "If you can kick like I can."

"I haven't seen you buck, but I presume it's a qualified 'yes'," she said, smiling and sitting down with her own coffee. "I seem to be a lot stronger than I was before all this."

She'd taken the tale of how humans came to be ponified fairly well, all things considered. Her stress and shock over having been alone for nearly six months may have actually had a benefit in allowing her to believe it, Max figured - something that unbelievable was the only thing worthy of being the explanation for such a traumatic affair.

"This isn't half bad," Max commented while chewing.

"Thanks," Angela smiled, putting down another plate for herself and sitting across from him. "It's what I do. Or did before all this went down. Not fake eggs, of course - I mean I was a head chef at a restaurant downtown."

"That explains your mark, I guess," Kate said.

Angela shifted a little and looked over her shoulder. Max could see that she had a knife and fork emblazoned on her hindquarters. "I figured this was some kind of branding by whoever or whatever did this to us," Angela said.

Max blinked and commented, "Didn't notice if the unicorn had a mark or not."

"Come to think of it, neither did I," Duncan mused. "If it hasn't been burnt off."

"I'm gonna check in on him after we eat," Max declared. He didn't expand further on the point, since Angela flinched when Duncan simply mentioned the pony's injuries.

"I'll go with Angela to her place and get her stuff," Kate said.

"I had decided to join you, if that's okay," Angela said to Max. He nodded in response.

"Can I take the tr-" Kate said, but was cut off by a firm shake of Max's head.

"I have a cart; it's fine," Angela smiled to Kate. "I didn't bring it last night because I was in a hurry. I was so surprised by your showing up."

"I'll stay here with you in case you need help," Duncan said. "But once they get back, I might venture out to see if there's anything on the list I can get here."

"Do you have this list written down?" Angela asked. "I could tell you if I know of anything that might be of use."

"Sort of," Duncan said, standing up and going over to his duffel to extract his tablet computer. "We can copy it down if that'll work for you."

"Fine by me," Angela nodded.

"Is there anything we can get for you? Either for the unicorn guy or for you yourself?" Kate asked of Max.

Max shook his head. "Anything that will help him, I can find someplace in here. Leave me some food and I'll be fine. Think about our route out of town for when we're ready to move - we'll need to hit a truck stop to pick up some diesel and stuff."

"There's one right out on Highway 4 just as you leave town," Angela piped up. "What do you do, siphon the fuel out of the tanks?"

"Running the generator," Max said. "Just takes a little bit to power everything up and cheat the computers in the shop into believing we've paid for it."

Kate gasped. "You're stealing all this fuel?!" she blurted out, then grinned as Max began to retort.

"I know you were joking, but the truth is, the world is our oyster," Duncan said. "We take what we need to survive. Even when other people return, by then, all this stuff would be long past its best-before date."

Angela nodded. "If there was anybody else to offer my property to, what we're not taking with us, I'd be happy to share it. I'm leaving my shop unlocked for that reason."

Max finished his meal and stood up. "Don't forget we have plenty of room to stow stuff now, with the extra trailer. So we don't necessarily have to leave anything behind."

"Duly noted," Angela said, then smiled. "But I don't think my clothing or pocketbook will be coming along. No reason, right?"

Duncan piped up, "Obviously identification is useless, and so's money. If you have anything in, say, a safety deposit box, it'd be wise to try to go get it if you can. Otherwise, yes, there's no point." He looked at himself and the others. "As for clothes, we all seem to have come to the same realization that there's no benefit to wearing something over our own fur coats."

"Just gets in the way," Kate added with a flap of her wings.

"Fair enough," Angela smiled and nodded. "Soon's you get me that list, then, I'll be off."

"Just finishing it," Duncan said, taking up a pen in his mouth and scribbling on a notepad.

"Good luck," Max said to the women. "And be careful."

"See ya," Kate said, heading for the door.

Max left Duncan exchanging notes and words with Angela, and headed into the exam room to check on his patient. The crimson pony lay as he'd left him, on his side, covered in bandages and with an IV poked into one leg. The drip bag was not quite half empty, meaning the fluid replenishment had done its job, and the IV was now there just 'TKVO' in medical terms - to keep the vein open, in case Max decided to deliver some medication to the patient.

I don't even know if morphine is the right thing to give a horse, Max said to himself. Nor the correct dose. Fentanyl was probably closer to the right thing, but it was such a dangerous drug that he wanted to avoid its use if at all possible.

Max lapsed back into paramedic mode again and checked what vital signs he could. Heartbeat was measured with a stethoscope that didn't fit Max's head very well but did the job well enough to confirm a pulse. Respirations were good as indicated by the rise and fall of the pony's chest. Blood pressure, as mentioned before, was not detectable and Max didn't know what a 'normal' BP in a horse was anyway. Oxygen saturation percentage... who knows? O2 sats in humans were measured typically with an infrared sensor clipped to a finger. Max didn't have one large enough to fit over a hoof, and it probably wouldn't respond the same way anyway.

He lifted the eyelids and shined a flashlight at the orbs within, getting reaction from the pupils, which was good. The reactions were equal - even better.

"So, right now you're just sleeping it off," Max murmured, sitting on the edge of a chair, surveying the patient as a whole.

The pony didn't respond; he just lay there breathing deeply.

"So where are you from?" Angela asked, walking east along the road.

"Hinton," Kate said, hovering alongside the earth pony. "Max and Dunc almost ran me over."

"What??"

"Well, in all fairness, I tried to get their attention by flying at them."

Angela shook her head. "That still sounds a little crazy."

"Says the woman who was trying to kick over a tractor-trailer to get our attention," Kate smirked.

"I can't help it if I don't know my own strength!"

"I know, I'm just jokin' with ya," Kate smiled.

"Sorry," Angela said. "I'm still getting used to having people around me again. I was all like Tom Hanks in that movie."

"Talking to volleyballs?"

"Well, not that bad." Angela indicated to turn right as they neared a main road, and they did. "Did you have anybody with you in Hinton?"

"You mean, before everybody vanished? Yeah. My dad."

"I'm sorry."

Kate shrugged. "I was down about it before we left, but hearing that he will eventually be back lifts me a little. I'm still gonna miss him, and I hope he comes back sooner than later." She floated along in silence for the equivalent of a couple of steps, then said, "How about you?"

Angela shook her head. "Single, no kids, my parents would have been in a home in Burnaby when it happened, so either they vanished or they didn't and..." She winced a little "...probably wouldn't've gotten out of there. My mom had severe dementia and my dad stuck with her to watch over her."

Now it was Kate's turn to be sorry.

"Don't worry about it. If they're coming back, great. If not, they're in a good place together." They crossed an empty road via a dead crosswalk signal. "Costco is two more blocks down," Angela added.

"I can see it," Kate said. "Where's your place?"

"Over in the Tudors, near Scenic," Angela said, pointing almost due west. "I figured we can go back that way. That's where my cart is too."

"Okay," Kate nodded.

"So what's on your 'shopping list'?"

"Oh, not much that I expect to be able to get. The ponies we talked to in Illinois had a bunch of things on their wish lists that we might try to detour and find eventually, but they're for sure not things you can find in a store, even a Costco. But the stuff that we can get here, like food that's still good, bottled water and drinks, tools, first aid gear, I'm supposed to grab all kinds of stuff like that. Oh! That reminds me, is there a vet's office on the way?"

"Hmmm," Angela said, thinking it over. "I think I remember there being one out on Highway 4 near the south end of town. I don't have pets, so I never bothered to look."

"That's the route we're supposed to take out of town, so maybe we'll check it before we go," Kate said.

"Fine by me."

They started crossing the mostly-empty parking lot, heading for the front doors of the wholesale club store.

Max was jarred awake by a peculiar sound. After several moments, he realized he was in the chair in the exam room, and the sound was his patient's body thumping against the bed as he went into a full-body seizure.

"Dammit," he cursed quietly, jumping up and rushing to the pony's side. However, other than watch and make sure he didn't fall off or otherwise harm himself, there was little Max could do for the unicorn.

"Max? Is everything okay in th-" Duncan began, coming around the corner to find Max trying to keep the pony from falling off the bed. He hurried forward and assisted as best he could.

"He's gonna pull out this IV," Max grumbled. He was trying to decide if that was good or bad; the patient didn't need any more fluids, but it'd been such a lucky strike that he was loath to let it go to waste. In a flash, it was decided for him; the needle wiggled free and dropped down, landing on the floor at the end of the IV tubing.

"Gimme some gauze," Max asked of Duncan, clamping his hoof over the site temporarily. After he got some bandage material in his hoof, he put that in place instead, trying to staunch the seeping blood.

The seizure abated, and eventually Max and Duncan were left lying partially atop a restful pony again. They both backed off down to the floor and regarded the unicorn.

"Is that a bad si-" Duncan began, but was cut off when the red pony opened his mouth and let out a weak, pained groan.

The two of them stood and stared in silence as the pony writhed, moaning, and began to consciously move a limb, but before he could position it wherever he was planning to, he halted its movement and whimpered.

"Can you hear me?" Max said, inching closer. "You were in an explosion and you were burned. You're probably going to hurt for a while. We've done what we can to dress your injuries. If you can understand me, can you talk to us?"

The unicorn shivered and whimpered again. "Where... am I..." he said, eyes still squeezed shut.

"You're in a city called Lethbridge," Max said. "We were driving by and saw the explosion that hurt you. We brought you here, about 35 miles from where we found you."

"Where'd... you... come from?"

"A long way away. We're driving to a place where there are more..." Max paused, then used the word, even though it was technically incorrect. "Survivors."

The pony bared his teeth as he fought to move his legs under him. He ignored Max and Duncan's urgings to take it easy, and, trembling, got up to his hooves, standing on the hospital gurney. He opened his eyes and looked around.

"Hospital," he realized.

"Yes," Max said, stepping around so he was in front of the pony's face. "I'm Max, and this is Duncan. I was a paramedic, and Duncan a university professor. We're both from Alaska."

"Hello," Duncan said with a smile. "Do you want help down from there?" He started to move a chair closer to use as steps.

"Be careful," Max interjected. "You're bandaged up pretty much everywhere."

The pony took careful steps down from the stretcher to the seat of the chair, and then brought all four hooves onto the chair before venturing down to the floor. "Thanks," he grunted. "I'm Sean. Sean Gibson."

"Good to see you up and about, Sean," Duncan smiled. "We have two ladies that are part of our group, too, Kate and Angela. They're out-" He smirked when he realized what he was about to say. "They're out shopping, actually."

"Great, make them sound like stereotypical girls," Max said. "How do you feel, Sean?"

"I hurt everywhere," he said, wincing, but stretching nonetheless.

"Do you know what happened? Near as we can tell, a propane tank blew up in your face."

Sean's green eyes widened and then squeezed shut. "Idiot," he grumbled to himself. "I think I did that, actually."

"You blew up a propane tank?" Duncan said, blinking. "What for?"

"Not on purpose," Sean said, with a tone of aggravation in his voice. He looked at some of the bandages on his forelegs. "You said you were driving when you saw me? I guess I was trying to signal you." He touched a bandage with the other leg's hoof, and whimpered in pain on contact. "Guess I did that, but not the way I wanted to."

"Dude, what were you thinking?" Max asked.

"I was trying to send up a magical flare, like, shooting fireworks in your direction," Sean said. "Obviously I have bad aim."

"A magical flare," Max said flatly.

"Yeah. You know, a burst of magic from my horn." He looked up at them, and a ribbon of green energy rippled along the protrusion atop his forehead, dissipating into sparks as it reached the tip.

Max blinked and turned to Duncan, who was staring wide-eyed. "Wow. We can do that, huh?" He tried to look up at his own horn, and looked as if he was concentrating, but nothing happened. "Sorry, I got nothin'," he sighed.

"How did you learn to do that?" Max wanted to know.

Sean looked away and might have reddened more if it was possible. "You wouldn't believe me," he said.

"Dude. We're all ponies. Try me."

"I saw it in a dream," Sean blurted out, staring at Max pointedly for a reaction.

Max shrugged and nodded. "'Kay," he said, gesturing with a hoof at Duncan. "You need to teach him what you dreamt about."

Sean tilted his head a little. "You don't find that odd?"

"Sure I do," Max said. "But the 'odd' column's gettin' kinda full. Just throw it in with the other 'odd' stuff."

Sean didn't know what to say to that.

"I wonder," Duncan said. "Have you ever seen a pegasus?"

"A pe...?" Sean said, turning to Duncan. "You mean a real one?"

"Yeah, one of the girls is a pegasus," Max cut in. He turned to Duncan again and said, "Come to think of it, I don't know if we ever asked her how she learned to fly."

"Sounds like I have a lot to learn," Sean observed. His legs, the other two stallions noticed, were starting to tremble.

"How 'bout you lie down and have something to eat?" Max suggested. "You've been out for the best part of 24 hours and got nothing but fluids in you."

"Good plan," he nodded, and allowed himself to be led to a couch near the food table.

"We're not gonna feed you like an Egyptian prince," Duncan joked. "Having said that, do you see anything you want? I'll make up a plate."

Sean boggled a little over the choices available, but eventually decided on some items and had them delivered to him on the couch. "Thanks," he said.

"No problem," Duncan nodded, retiring to a seat of his own.

"Don't feel you have to stop eating to answer," Max said, "but can you tell us your story? Tell you what, while you're eating, we'll go first. I'm a firefighter-paramedic from Prudhoe Bay, Alaska. I woke up like this in the middle of the month, with nobody else around. I decided to start driving south, figuring I would find more people where there's more population."

"I'm a professor of engineering at UAF - University of Alaska at Fairbanks," Duncan said. "Or I was. Now I'm a passenger on a crazy ride to Paris."

"Paris?" Sean asked.

"Illinois," Max said. "We discovered another group of survivors, kind of by accident, by contacting them on the satellite phone. They had all the details on what happened to us. They have a colony underway down there, and that's where we're heading."

"They know what happened?" Sean echoed. "Do tell."

Max looked to Duncan. "Your turn, I think."

Duncan nodded, smiling a little at Max. "Fair enough," he said, then turned to Sean and began the tale.

"Hey guys!" Kate called out a couple of hours later as she came in the door. "We're back-"

Angela nearly bumped into Kate, who froze in midair as she spotted the three stallions conversing in the waiting room.

"Oh! He's awake!" Kate said happily, flying forward and coming into the room. "Good news, I hope?"

"So far," Max smiled. "Kate and Angela, this is Sean. Sean, Kate's the pegasus, and Angela we found here in Lethbridge."

"Hello," the red unicorn nodded. "Excuse the bandages; I'm told you're the reason I'm around to wear them, though."

"Me? Nahhh," Kate said, waving a hoof dismissively and looking away. "Max is the one who got you to safety."

"I was able to do that because you found him," Max pointed out.

"Anyway," Duncan interjected. "Sean is from Granum, the town where we found him. He's a farmer."

"Was," Sean commented. "If what you told me is true, my farm is destroyed."

"Sorry," Max said to him. "There wasn't anything we could do - it was all over before we got there."

"It was over long before that," Sean said. "I had no stock left, no way to get them food, no way to get me food, no way to plant, tend, or harvest, and no way to get that to market... a market that you say doesn't exist any more." He looked up at Max. "Your showing up when you did probably saved my life."

"You guys up there had a bad couple of years for harvest, didn't you?" Angela spoke up. "What with the fire in '13 and the early snow in '14."

Sean looked to her quizzically, then nodded as he remembered that they'd said she was local. "I've been tempted to eat straight grain, but there's not even much of that left in my silos."

Angela nodded back. "Seen your guys' trucks a lot less lately. Before all this went down, I mean. Oh, by the way, I ran the Third Street Café."

Sean pointed a hoof at her. "I've been in there before! I recognize your voice now."

Angela smiled. "I'd play the good restaurant owner and say I remembered you, but it's been so long since I heard any voice..." She shrugged.

"Not you," Sean said, shaking his head. "I don't mean this in a creepy stalker way, but I knew I recognized your voice. It was always a pleasure to come in and hear you talk about your day."

Angela blushed. "Well, I'm glad I could put a smile on your face, sir."

"Anyway," Kate spoke up, "We got some good haul down at Costco. We left a lot of it down there - we'll need to pick it up with the truck. And Angela says there's a vet on the way out of town, we can probably raid it while you're filling up at the truck stop."

"Good," Max said.

"Is he 'ready'?" Kate asked.

"I think so, but he hasn't been asked," Max said, then he faced Sean. "How do you feel? Health-wise."

"I hurt everywhere," he said, holding out his forelegs to indicate the bandages. "And they itch. The burns, that is."

"That hopefully means they're healing," Max said. "The next question: Do you want to come with us?"

"There's nothing here," Sean said immediately. "No reason to stay. And if those ponies in Illinois have a colony started, that sounds like the place to be. If you've got room for me, I'm in."

"I agree," Angela nodded. "That there's nothing here. Except us. We take everything we can and get going."

Duncan nodded.

Max looked to Kate. "Did you line up enough medical supplies to replenish what we used? We'll need to keep enough to change Sean's dressings and bring the stock back up in the truck."

"There's a medical clinic in the Costco," she said. "I think you can top off in there and then some."

"The vet place you're talking about will have a lot of stuff we can use, too," Sean said.

"Are you feeling good enough to travel in the morning?" Max asked.

Sean nodded. "I don't got any more lying-around left in me."

"Truck cab's gonna be crowded," Duncan observed.

"We're not gonna turn anyone away on that account, ever," Max insisted. "If we have to have people hanging off the sides like an Indian commuter train, so be it. We can move stuff out of the rescue box and put it on the flatbed trailer to make room - we need to do that anyway, to put weight over the flatbed's wheels."

"I can help with that," Angela said. "Plus I have my cart to unload."

"Fair enough," Max said. "We'll rearrange stuff tonight, and if there's time, go hit up the Costco. Then we'll get on the road at first light. Okay?"

Everyone nodded and affirmed.

Max smiled. Things were looking up again.

Author's Note

Slightly shorter than previous chapters, but there was only so much I could do with the hospital scenes without requiring them to stay more than one chapter in the hospital; also, a lot of what transpired happened 'off-screen' and is stuff the reader has already hashed over at least one or two times so far. Plus, postseason baseball is distracting.

Next time: The end of our crew's time in Canada, and finally into the lower 48 via Montana.

Cry Havoc

NOVEMBER 3, 2015

Dawn on the third of November found the truck and crew finally back underway. Reshuffled cargo and repaired equipment complete, the medical and command cabins in the rescue trailer were now open and available for use, though the five of them still chose to ride in the truck cab as one group.

US-87 was partly snow-covered, which had almost prompted Max to urge them to turn around and take I-15 back southeast with hopes of a drier route. He'd driven in worse, though, and the other 'student' drivers - Sean was presently learning the ropes - would have no better chance to get experience. If they could drive in slush, bare pavement would be a cakewalk.

The plan was to take US-87 across the state and then down to Billings, where they would pick up I-90 and take it east, almost all the way to Chicago, and then another interstate south to Paris. As plans go, though, they were always written in wet sand, it seemed to Max.

"We should have picked up some board games," Kate said, lying in the sleeper, Angela on the bunk below her.

"We could play I Spy," Duncan quipped from his usual place in the passenger seat.

"Don't you dare," Sean and Max stereoed, smirking at one another once the words got out. The ladies laughed in turn.

"It was just a suggestion," Duncan shrugged, smiling nonetheless.

"I'd rather listen to 99 Bottles of Beer," Max said. "And that's not an invitation, Kate."

"Aww," she replied, faking disappointment.

Their travel and their banter continued for several hours until they were onto the interstate and heading southeast from Billings. They'd stopped in the city for a brief rest, resupply, and search for ponies, and to change drivers. Everything except fuel and some canned goods had been a bust, so they were underway again relatively quickly, with Kate behind the wheel this time.

Max felt little need to supervise Kate, as much experience as she already had, and with the road conditions improving as they had been ever since they reached the interstate. So he turned his attention to Sean, who was sitting on the upper bunk, above Angela, tending to his false injuries - or at least the few he was pretending to still have.

"Let's check those dressings again," Max said, playing it up. He waited for Sean to obligingly magically peel the taped gauze pads away from his hide.

"Looking good," Angela said, twisting and craning her neck to look above her bunk. "You heal pretty fast."

"You think?" Sean said, carefully, but with a casual tone that hopefully didn't sound too forced. "I hadn't noticed."

"Really?" Duncan called out from up front. "I had."

"What?" Sean and Max stereoed.

"Well, from the way you've been moving, it's clear you haven't been hurting for a while," Duncan said.

"That's right," Angela said with realization, looking up to Sean.

Max realized the only one not looking at Sean (and him) was Kate, because she was keeping her eyes on the road. "Okay, so as far as we can tell, Sean has some kind of healing ability."

"Did you know that before?" Angela asked. "The fire, I mean."

"No," Sean said, removing the other bandages, dispensing with the charade.

"He was pretty messed up when we got to him," Kate pointed out.

"That he was," Duncan said. "It definitely wasn't an immediate response." He looked at Max. "Can we trade places? I never did get a chance to look him over."

"Did 'him' give his permission?" Max asked, an eyebrow raised.

"It's fine," Sean said. "Might as well."

Max shrugged, then got up and climbed onto the center console, waiting for Duncan to vacate the seat, then squeezed past him into the seat while the white-maned professor took his place in the front of the sleeper. Max resumed his seated position - like a pony, not a human, thus not bothering with the seat belt.

"How's it going?" he asked Kate, looking to her.

She gave him a shrug. "Meh," she replied. "I'm just keepin' it between the ditches."

"Exactly," Max grinned. "Don't fall asleep on us, though."

"Bah, we could put the Club on the wheel here and let this thing go if the roads were straight enough," she said, cracking a smile in return.

"Let's not," Max said, turning to look out the windshield. "Wish we could get some weather forecasts, though."

"Yeah, we're missing the prognosticators to do that," Kate countered. "You don't think those ponies you've been texting could give us some details?"

Max shook his head. "I doubt they're in any better of a situation than we are," he said. "Besides, I don't want to seem too..."

"Too what?" Kate said a moment after Max trailed off.

"Look up ahead," he said, nodding forward.

Kate peered into the distance on the flat, expansive interstate highway. At least a couple miles away, in the opposing lanes, was a tiny dot which disrupted the level horizon. As they watched, the dot began to migrate into the center median, evidently moving to be on their side of the road.

"Slow it down," Max ordered, waving a hoof towards Kate. "Bring it to a stop. Hey, Doc, do we have any binoculars up here?"

"In my bag, in front of the seat," Duncan called forward. "What do you see?"

"Tell you in a second," Max said, bending down to pick up the satchel and open it.

"I can go for an aerial survey," Kate offered, beginning to lower the driver's window as the truck ground to a halt.

"Not until we know what's up," Max insisted.

"When was the last time we came across something bad?" Kate scoffed, though she brought the window back up again.

Max was busy sighting through the field glasses at the figure on the road. "Let's just be careful," he murmured, then spoke louder. "Okay, looks like it's a single pony."

"How can you tell their marital status from-" Duncan began to quip, but got shushed immediately.

"Wearing some kind of coat, and carrying a bag," Max said. "Running right for us. Keep the doors locked for now."

"Is this how you responded when you came across me?" Sean asked.

"No," Kate said. "We pointed the truck right at the fireball and-"

Max tried to tune them all out as he continued to assess the situation. A grass-green pony - as far as Max could tell, with the heavy cloak draped over its form - was galloping at full steam towards the truck, blond mane and tail chasing behind him.

Max set down the glasses, which were instantly snatched up by Kate. Max, in turn, grabbed a microphone from the dash, tapping a couple of buttons on the control panel before speaking. "That's far enough!" he said, and the cab vibrated lightly with his amplified voice emanating from the loudspeakers on the front bumper. "Stay where you are."

The pony seemed startled at the loudspeaker, stumbling a little and then coming to a gradual stop. He - it was obvious when he spoke - hollered out, with an unusual accent, "Hello! I need your help!"

"Stay here," Max declared to the occupants of the cab. He opened the passenger door and stepped up, so he could be seen above the doorframe. "What's your matter?" he queried.

The stallion looked frustrated and stomped in place somewhat. "I need to get to a town called Forsyth!"

"Does this look like a taxi to you?" Max said, raising an eyebrow.

"Max!" came a scolding voice from the other side of the truck. He turned to see that Kate had ignored his instructions and exited the truck, climbing onto the hood. "Where's Forsyth?"

"All I know is north of here," the pony on the ground shouted out.

"I'll check," Duncan told Kate and Max, coming forward to the passenger seat to check the GPS.

"Why are you so wary?" Angela asked Max.

"Everybody just shut up a second," Max demanded.

"Can I come closer?" the pony pleaded.

Max looked over to him. "Yeah, sure," he said. "What's in Forsyth?"

"My traveling partner," he said, and it became obvious that his accent was Australian. "I hope."

Kate fluttered down to the ground to meet him as he approached. "I'm Kate," she said, offering a hoof. "This is Max, and there are more inside the truck."

"Bryan," he said. "Listen, there's something you should know... there's a good chance she's being held captive. By, um..."

"By who?" Max asked.

"Erm, not exactly who," Bryan said. "More like 'what'."

Duncan popped his head out of the cab. "Forsyth is up on I-94, about 85 miles away. We could be there in 90 minutes."

Bryan fixed Max with a desperate gaze. "Please help me, mate. She's all I got left, after all this stuff went down."

"We're gonna help you," Kate said. "Right, Max?"

Max looked between the two of them. "Yeah," he said. "But we need to move some people around to make room."

"I'll take care of that," Duncan offered, ducking back inside the cab.

"And we need to know more about... 'what' we'll be up against," Max said, turning back to face Bryan.

"I can explain it, but I'd prefer we do it on the road," Bryan said, his voice still anxious. "Trust me, I'm not stringin' you a line."

"Do you want to drive?" Kate asked Max.

He nodded. "Help him up into the cab after Duncan has everybody else sorted out. If Duncan hasn't done so already, put a route to Forsyth into the GPS."

"On it," Kate said, hopping up and flitting back to the cab.

As it turned out, Duncan moved himself, Angela, and Sean into the rescue cabin, leaving the truck cab available for Max, Kate, and Bryan.

"Thanks," Bryan said, setting down his bag and then shedding the overcoat, revealing a pair of wings and an icon depicting a golden shield.

"Pegasus?" Kate said, fluttering her own wings. "We could fly there in probably half the time it'd take us to drive."

"Just two of us can't stand up to them," Bryan shook his head. "There were two of us before, and look where it got us."

"Is your friend a pegasus too?" Kate asked.

"How about we discuss 'what' we're facing, first?" Max cut in.

Bryan frowned. "You're not gonna bel... ah, screw it. Dogs."

"What?"

"Yeh," Bryan nodded. "I said dogs. Big ugly mothers. I'm not talkin' 'bout the kind we used to domesticate, either. I mean, like you and me." He fixed Max with a stare. "People who've turned into dogs."

Max had the truck turned around and was backtracking on northbound I-90. He glanced over at Bryan, seeing a serious expression. "I gather they're hostile," he suggested.

"Well, they didn't invite her in for tea," Bryan lashed out.

"Hey, guys," Kate said, leaning forward on the center console to look between the two of them. "Let's remember we're on the same team here."

"I'm just trying to get a feel for what we're heading into," Max said, trying to defuse the situation. His eyes flicked from the highway to Bryan's newly-exposed icon and back. "You by chance in law enforcement?"

"Yeh," Bryan said. "New South Wales Police, Rescue division."

"You're a far ways from home."

"We were on holiday, all right?"

Kate tch'ed and stepped up fully onto the center console, physically insinuating herself between the two. "Bryan, tell us more about the dogs."

He blinked and got back on focus. "Right. There were four of 'em. Two - I'm gonna say it all and you can decide how crazy it sounds after. Two looked like Doberman Pinschers. They were in charge. The other two were mutts or other breeds, I don't know."

"And they were ex-humans?" Kate asked.

"I didn't exactly sit down and get their life stories, but yeh, all signs pointed that way. They talked, at least." He paused for a moment, and then carried on. "We were camping in Yellowstone National Park, when we got ambushed. I was, shall we say, away from the campsite tending t'business, when they came in and captured Lindsey. I at first tried to rush 'em, but they..." He grimaced. "They said they'd tear her throat out right there if I didn't back off."

"Don't beat yourself up over it," Kate said softly. After a moment, she added, "What happened next?"

"They wanted all our belongings. Anything that had value. They said they'd add it to their 'stash', like they were a bunch'a hoarders or something. When we gave up what we had, they decided it wasn't enough. They were gonna do us both in, before Linds spoke up and told them ... told them about her grandfather's shop."

"In Forsyth," Max said, connecting the dots.

"Yeh," Bryan answered. "Linds's granddad runs... ran I guess nowadays... a watch'n'jewelry shop. Linds saw the gems these mutts were carting around, and figured they would let us go for that kind of haul." He sighed. "But they wouldn't take her word for it that it was there. They said they'd take her with them, as 'insurance', and I could pick her up once they got done with'er."

"And how long has it been since they headed north?" Max asked.

"A day and a half," Bryan said. "They hit us at daybreak yesterday."

"Odds are good we'll catch them, then, right?" Kate said to Max.

"Probably," Max agreed. "But I don't want to go roaring up on them, or they're likely to harm her." He turned to glare at Kate pre-emptively before she could propose her next idea. "The same goes for doing a pegasus surveillance run."

"I could get in there silently and see what's up," she insisted.

"And if they're watching the skies? It's not like you have lots of birds and aircraft to cover your approach. The moment they see anything moving, they'll know it's coming right at them. That's the way of the new world - we have no means of hiding in plain sight any more."

"Much's I wish we could get a high eye before we go in, he's right," Bryan told Kate. "They'll spot us forever away."

"We're going to stop the truck about five miles out of town, maybe a little further back," Max said. "When we move in, it'll be on foot. Er, hoof."

"I'm sorry to say I don't know a thing about the place," Bryan said. "I only met Linds a week before the incident. The big one, I mean, what did all this." He gestured to his chest with a hoof.

"So she's not from Australia like you," Kate hazarded a guess.

Bryan shook his head. "We were just camping in the same general area when it all went down. She's from 'round here somewheres."

"How'd you meet?" she asked.

Bryan looked like he wanted to protest the question, but decided there was no harm in answering it. "There was one campsite left in the campground when we got there, so the attendant let us put two tents on it if we each paid half price. Linds was on a backpacking holiday, and I was going by hire car."

"Hir-"

"Rental," Max explained before Kate could ask.

"Yeh, sorry," Bryan nodded. "Anyway, the storm what started all this drove us out of the tents and into the car-"

"The storm?" Kate queried, an eyebrow raised.

Bryan looked at them for a second, then shrugged. "I guess I assumed somethin' I shouldn't've, maybe. We had a hellacious thunderstorm over the park the night all this happened, back in May. I guess I figured one had to do with the other. I gather they didn't?"

"Probably not, but who knows," Max said. "We do know what caused this, though." He - aided by Kate - proceeded to retell the story he'd learned and told several times over already.

"Wow," Bryan understated when all was said and done. "That explains why the campground was deserted. Doesn't make it any less spooky, though. We thought we'd both gone round the bend somehow."

"Where were you heading? When you came across us," Kate said.

Bryan turned around and looked at her like she was crazy. "You been listening? Forsyth."

"No, I mean before that."

"Oh," he said after a moment when he realized her meaning. "Sorry. We were still in the park when the dogs ambushed us."

"You hadn't gone anywhere? For months?" Max asked.

"What's the point?" Bryan shot back. "We searched around the park the first few days, but there was nobody there. We took some supplies and food from other campsites and park buildings, and had plans to move in to a holiday cottage for the winter. We figured the best chance at getting found was to stay put, as big and famous a place as Yellowstone is. Or, was."

"Still is," Max said, a moment of desire to see his country's history preserved washing over him.

"True enough, then. So. You know all our story now. How about's the lot of you?"

"The pony we talked about in Illinois, the one who explained all of the 'origin story' to us? We're heading for her colony. It seemed like the best chance for survival, with the population as low as it is now."

Bryan pondered it a second, nodding approvingly after a moment. "Sounds about right," he agreed. "I don't suppose there's room for two more once you help me rescue Linds, is there?"

"I think we can work something out," Max smiled.

The truck chugged to a stop on a bridge at the last interstate exit before the city of Forsyth, according to the map.

Kate had used the walkie-talkies during the intervening drive to fill in the other passengers on what was happening. Max and Bryan stood by the rescue trailer, while the former looked through the stashed equipment.

"Did you bring anything with you?" Max asked the police pony. "I mean, a weapon we can use."

"I didn't exactly bring my kit all the way from Australia on holiday, if that's what you're asking," Bryan replied. "I carried a big stick until I came across you lot."

"Did you talk softly?" Max smirked, then continued rummaging.

"Duncan and Angela said they'll stay with the truck," Kate said as she approached, answering a concern Max had raised while they were enroute. "So it's you, me, Bryan, and Sean."

"Four on four; sounds fair," Max murmured, nodding. "If they choose to fight, fall back to the truck and we'll come up with plan B."

"No guns?" Sean asked as he arrived with the threesome.

Max looked over at him, not wanting to admit he'd misplaced where the guns he and Duncan had taken from the border station back on the Alaska-Yukon border had gotten to. "A, haven't found a need for them so far, and 2, how would we pull the trigger?"

Sean smirked and let his horn flare a little. "Some of us are more dexterous than others."

Max shook his head. He extricated a pair of body armor vests from the compartment full of junk, letting them fall to the asphalt. "This is about the best we have. I'm hoping we won't have to rely on them."

"Me too," Bryan agreed. "Frankly I don't care if they rob the whole city blind, so long as they give up Lindsey."

"Let's hope for that but prepare for the worst," Max said, picking up one of the vests and offering it to Bryan. "I know this isn't the best fit these days, but it should protect the vitals."

"Is it stab-proof?" Bryan asked, wrestling to put it on around his upper torso and forelegs. "Those dogs had some mighty sharp claws."

"Let's hope we don't find out," Max said. He looked at the other vest and then the other two ponies before him.

"Give it to somebody else," Sean said. "I can take care of myself."

"I don't plan to be flying low enough to get hit," Kate said.

Max nodded, and was about to put it on, when he got another idea. He picked it up in his teeth and carried it over to where Duncan and Angela were chatting.

"One of you keep this," he said. "If they circle around behind us and come after you, you might need it."

Duncan looked down at the vest and then back to Max. "You'll probably need it more than us."

"I don't plan to leave you unprotected," Max said. "We have one, you keep one. Simple as that."

"Just think of it as insurance," Angela suggested to Duncan. She was of a size that it wouldn't fit her, and probably didn't offer much additional protection to her tough hide anyway.

"You guys be careful," Duncan said after a moment.

"We will," Max nodded. He held up a radio. "Listen for us on channel 5. If anything bad goes down, call us on that, or run the siren up."

"You bet," Duncan said, nodding, and then patted Max on the back. "Come back in one piece."

A hundred or so paces up the road, they came across a sign telling them that the main exit for Forsyth was in 1 mile.

"Let me go up and take a peek," Kate implored from her position hovering beside the three earthbound ponies.

Max chewed on it for a moment. "Be inconspicuous," he said, trying not to think of how bright her pink mane would shine in the afternoon sky. "Stay as much out of sight as you can. If you're spotted, we may only be quick enough to recover a body."

The caution had the desired effect on her. "Got it," she said, adopting a serious expression, and then shot into the sky with a silent flap of her wings.

"Safe flight," Bryan said quietly, watching her depart.

"Let's hope she doesn't get seen," Max said. He wasn't about to admit that the first time he blinked, he virtually lost sight of her.

The three of them remaining began a slow, cautious approach to the town. They moved to the grass of the center median, to diminish the sounds of their hooves on the road. Nothing was said between the three men for several moments.

Suddenly a pink-and-white blur zipped down from the heavens amongst them. "Whew!" Kate breathed as she folded her wings. "Okay, good news. There's a coal train stalled in between us and the main part of town. We can get down beside it at the interchange and cross over it when we get close to downtown."

"Did you see anything moving?" Max wanted to know.

"Nuh-uh," she shook her head, falling into step with the trio. "But there's obvious signs of somebody having been here recently - doors kicked in, debris disturbed, and so on. And I think I found your friend's store. Only watch store in town, far as I can see."

"Was it broken into?" Bryan hurried to ask.

Kate nodded. "Door's completely gone. Like somebody not only kicked it off its hinges, but kicked the hinges out of the wall. No signs of anybody there, though - but I didn't get too close."

Bryan sighed.

"We'll find her," Sean said with determination, trying to cheer the pegasus up.

"I know," Bryan said. "It's just hard to keep my spirits up."

"We'll sort that out quick," Max contributed, leading them down the slope off the interchange towards the rail line.

The threesome followed him in single-file, keeping as quiet as possible.

"Where's the store?" Max whispered after they got to the tracks.

"'Bout another half-mile that way," Kate hissed back, pointing with a wing at about a 30 degree angle compared to the railway.

"Keep sharp," Bryan said. "They got the jump on us easy back in the park. Made no noise whatsoever."

Max kept the group off the graveled rail bed, stepping softly and slowly through the adjacent grass. His ears were pointed straight up and swiveling from side to side, searching out any signs of the abductors' presence.

After a few tense minutes of walking, they heard some noise piercing the silence. They all froze in place, with Bryan holding a hoof upraised by reflex. They shifted their eyes to one another, listening to the sound.

Indistinct voices carried across the empty town center, from someone who evidently didn't care if they were heard. Boisterous laughter occasionally punctuated the conversation, but otherwise, the chatter was indeterminate.

Max began to try to climb over the car couplers between the nearest two hopper cars, but found they were too high, and didn't want to risk the iron pieces clanking loudly if he climbed atop them. A "ssst!" noise from behind him drew his attention to Kate, who was indicating Sean and Bryan, already partway under the car, crawling between its undercarriage and the rail bed.

Max joined them, and shortly all four peeked out from under the bottom of the rail car on the town side, peering around to find the source of the talking.

Four creatures sat on cinderblocks around a bonfire inside a ruined supermarket, which put them out of view of Kate's earlier overflight. Two were lean, thin beings coated in black and dark brown fur. Both of them sat silently and appeared irritated at the volume of their colleagues. The other two appeared to be anthropomorphized versions of an English bulldog and an oversized pug.

"Are you kidding me?" Kate whispered, looking at the last two.

"Sssh," Bryan hissed. He focused on the four dog-men intensely.

"Is that them?" Max wanted to know.

Bryan gave one slow nod.

"Don't see any ponies anywhere," Sean commented. "Where's the store?"

Kate pointed, again with a wing, at one of a number of storefronts on the far side of the street. True to her description, its front was caved in, like all the other places nearby.

A shrill chuckling laugh came from the dogs, and the ponies shifted their attention towards them once more.

"Sounds like that dog from the cartoon," Sean whispered.

"What do you want to do?" Max asked Bryan. "Take them and interrogate them? Or go look for your friend in the shop?"

Bryan answered by sliding out from under the rail car like a cat on the prowl, eyes fixed on the supermarket.

Max winced and mouthed to the others, Let's go. He followed Bryan's lead, staying behind him to minimize the amount of visual disruption in the dogs' field of view.

"What do you call a cow who's a comedian?"

"I dunno, what?"

"Laughing stock!"

The pug gave a thin, high-pitched laugh again, through clenched teeth. The bulldog grinned at the reaction to his joke.

The dobermans had clenched jaws, too, and in reaction to the joke, but not in the same way as the pug. One seethed to the other, "These fools are grating on us."

"They are," the other agreed. "Maybe it's best to review our partnership."

"Aw, don't be like that!" the bulldog complained. "We make a great team! Look at all our haul!" A big meaty paw waved at several duffel bags of random treasure near the group.

The first doberman sighed and shook his head. His partner grimaced, then spoke aloud again.

"That's close enough, horsebeasts!" he snarled.

The other two dog-men looked confused, until the dobermans turned their heads - as one - to focus on the four ponies trying to enter the broken front of the store. The bulldog and pug leapt to their hind feet and bared their teeth, growling and snarling.

"Where is she?!" Bryan hollered at the dobermans.

One at a time, they peered at Bryan, eyes narrowing to slits, finally recognizing him. "Unharmed by us," one said.

"We let her go once she delivered on her promise," the other intoned.

"'Promise'?" Bryan angrily countered.

Max tried to calm Bryan down, putting a hoof on his side. "What did she promise you?" he called out to the dogs.

"All this shiny stuff!" the pug crowed, reaching down to lift up a hockey bag virtually bursting with all sorts of gold and silver and other materials.

"Sit down and be quiet, Douglas," one of the dobermans said tiredly.

"You too, Nigel," the other frowned.

Everyone paused for a moment. Kate, of course, was the first to blurt out, "Wait. Doug... Doug the pug?"

The pug shot to his feet again and began to charge at the ponies, but was stopped by his partner Nigel physically, along with a sharp bark from both the dobermans.

"Can we start over?" Max cut in, waving a hoof. "What did you mean, you let her go?"

"What we said to your friend back in Yellowstone was true," one of the dobermans said.

His partner continued: "She led us to what we asked for, which she no longer needs. When she fulfilled her role, we allowed her to take her leave."

"What she no longer needs?" Sean asked. "What're you going to do with all this jewelry?"

"Not your concern," the first doberman answered. "It's become obvious that ponies don't care for material wealth now that they are ponies."

"And we can make use of it."

Bryan grunted. "I'm gettin' real tired of Zeus and Apollo here. Keep their mates occupied while I beat Lindsey's location out of 'em."

Everyone's hackles went up except the two dobermans. One rolled his eyes and sighed again. "Why must we be so confrontational?"

"You could just ask us where she went," the other said.

Max fixed them with a stare. "So where did she go?"

"After she allowed us to relieve her family store of their excess baggage, she said she would go to her family home."

"We mean none of you any harm," the second doberman claimed. "You will see the truth when you meet up with her again."

Bryan looked like he was ready to spit. "You could be a bit more friendly then instead of being right cu-"

"Okay then," Max shouted, cutting the angry Australian pegasus off. "You've got what you want?" he asked the dobermans.

"We do," one said as they both nodded.

"We're free to go?" Max questioned.

"Are we?" the second doberman queried in response.

"Maybe after we make sure she's all right," Sean suggested.

"Where's her family's place?" Kate asked Bryan.

"I have no idea."

One of the dobermans nodded away from the main street. "She went up that road."

His partner added, "If you look closely, you might see an active chimney down that way."

"Bryan?" Kate said.

Bryan nodded and shed the ballistic vest, then unfurled his wings, taking to the sky along with Kate.

"Majestic creatures," one of the dobermans observed, watching the pegasi depart.

Max looked at the dogs, then took a step forward. The other dogs snarled, but were silenced with an upraised paw from the other doberman.

Max and Sean approached the dogs, stopping when they were within a couple body-lengths of one another.

"I'm Max," said the fire pony. "This is Sean, and Kate is with Bryan, who I presume you've already met."

"Indeed we have," one of the dobermans said.

Max paused for a moment, then said, "You got names?"

"Of course," the second doberman nodded, offering no further reply.

"...Right," Sean nodded.

"I'm Nigel," the bulldog said. "And this is Doug." He sniggered. "...The pug!"

"Hey!" Doug barked.

"I never noticed that before," Nigel laughed.

"Be careful," one of the dobermans said to Nigel. "He's not the only one without an ironic name."

"What?" he said obliviously.

A deliberately-loud flapping of wings overhead distracted all six to look to the skies, where they found Kate circling for a landing. "She's there and she's good," she told Max.

"As we assured you," a doberman commented.

"True enough," Max said. He changed tack. "What's your plans? I'm only asking because we're heading for a colony of ponies. If you want to join us, if you'll promise to not be so... hostile when coming across others, we'll bring you with us."

"We have what we need," one of the dobermans said. "We can scavenge for food and water."

"We're more inclined to join with other dogs, and form a pack," the other supplied, adding under his breath, "although that has started off poorly."

"And what about the gems and jewels?" Sean smirked.

"Still not your business," the first doberman said.

"Fair enough," Max said. "So you're not interested in joining us?"

"We will pass on your offer."

"Have a safe trip."

With answers from both of them, Max nodded. "I guess we'll be off, then. No hard feelings?" He offered a hoof to the dobermans.

One looked down at the hoof, then the other, and one at a time, they lifted a paw and shook with Max, then moved to do the same with Kate and Sean.

"Please pass on our appreciation and best wishes to the other two," one of them said.

"Will do," Max nodded.

"Bye Nigel," Kate said, cracking a grin as she couldn't help it: "Bye, Doug the pug!"

Author's Note

Sorry for the long wait. I had part of this chapter done, but needed some impetus to move on. As you can see, I found it!

Next time: Kate asks if Bryan flies upside down normally.

Deadhorse Rising

Max Morley was not a dreamer.

This is not to say that he didn't have aspirations or goals. It's what he told his co-workers at North Slope Fire Rescue, during one of their rambling conversations about anything under the sun. Protecting the region of Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, and the industrial complexes surrounding it, there was all sorts of down time, and they used that down time to chat with one another, and shoot the proverbial... stuff. And once, the topic of dreams and nightmares came up, and Max said to his colleagues that he simply went to sleep one night and woke up the next morning, with nothing in between.

At the moment, Max was not with his co-workers, shooting anything. He was watching over a tremendous plain, filled with lush, green grass. In that seemingly borderless meadow, there were hundreds - no, thousands of horselike creatures, of all colors of the rainbow. No, they were unicorns, judging by the horns on their heads. One by one, and then quicker, row by row and section by section, the creatures shut their eyes and appeared to fall into a state of deep concentration.

Then one creature's horn began to glow. Then another, and another, until a mass of shimmering light was visible over the crown of each being gathered there. It was a veritable cloud of energy, the colors merging with one another until the entire thing was bright white - brighter than the sun in the sky, too brilliant to look at, and too dazzling to dare turn away from.

At once, Max became aware of four more creatures, similar to the others, but watching - overseeing? - from the same precipice from which he bore witness. Shoulder to shoulder were a quartet of unicorns - though these also had wings spread wide from their sides. Pegasi unicorns? They ranged in size from the slightly-larger-than-the-average-creatures-below purple one nearest him, to the medium-sized pink one beside it; then a midnight blue one of an even larger size, and finally, at the end and towering over all, a giant, porcelain-white mare, with an impressively long unicorn horn, and shod and trimmed in golden accessories. Come to think of it, all the four pegasi-unicorns had various bejeweled decorations adorning themselves.

The four, and all the other unicorns in the meadow, opened their eyes suddenly, but instead of big expressive orbs full of life, every creature there had the same searing white light emanating from within. It shot forth and enveloped Max in an instant.

"Ungh," he moaned, blinking as he took in the visage of the fire station bunkhouse ceiling. Whatever I ate, I better not do that again.

Kicking the sheets free, he sat up on the edge of the bed, nearly falling over. The station was dark, probably owing to the blackout shades in the dorms. It was late May, and Midnight Sun had commenced - from May 20 until July 30, Prudhoe Bay and all the North Slope would see the sun 24 hours a day. Using thick, opaque curtains was the only way anyone could be assured sleep in such conditions.

He swatted for the light switch by the bed, but couldn't reach it and fell on his face, smacking his chin on the thin carpet by his bedside table. Cursing, he put his hands under him to raise himself up, and found that they weren't there.

He was able to support himself, though, and stood there on all fours, on his hands (wrists?) and feet, wondering how he'd gotten so hung over he couldn't feel his hands. The station chief was going to draw and quarter him.

Lifting an arm, he flailed it about until he found the edge of the bedside table and his watch. He pressed the Indiglo light button and blinked a couple times to focus on the luminescent dial.

8:37A

16 OCT

"What the fuck," he mumbled in disbelief.

The only explanation was that somebody had screwed with his watch, setting it months ahead - after they'd spiked his coffee at dinner last night. And then cut the breakers to the bunkhouse this morning so the power was out.

"Which one of you clowns did this?" he called out. But instead of the expected snickering and giggling from around the corner, he heard only silence.

He lunged back onto the bed, sitting back up again, still feeling unsteady on his feet. The feeling in his hands hadn't returned either.

"I'm gonna remember this," he shouted. "And put all'a'yer underwear outside during Christmastime." Still there was no reaction. He wouldn't really do it; temps in the minus-forties in December at the top of the world were serious business.

Fumbling to fasten his watch around his wrist, he couldn't get the strap to cinch tightly enough. Just another thing to mark down against these chuckleheads. They were definitely going to pay for all this. Finally he managed to get it to stay put, and tried to get to his feet again, once more falling forward. This time he threw his arms out to save him, and once again landed on all fours.

He wasn't about to give those idiots the satisfaction of seeing him crawl around in his shorts, so he threw himself back to a standing position and staggered to the wall at the end of the corridor, going by memory and feel. He fumbled to find the blackout drapes and tried to grip the cord to raise them, but still couldn't wrap his fingers around anything, so he trapped the cord in between his hands and pulled down.

He heard the blinds raise, and saw very faint light outside, but it was the light of pre-dawn - the light which made sense at twenty to nine in the middle of October hundreds of miles above the Arctic Circle.

"What the fuck!" he said again. It was impossible for him to have slept 5 months. Wasn't it?

Still there was no reaction from anybody in the station. He turned and stumbled the twenty-five feet to the door at the end of the hall, which led out to the hallway that connected the bunkhouse, kitchen, offices, and apparatus floor. Feeling his way along the wall, he made it to the doorway, trying the light switch there as well, and finding it out. His brain was starting to flicker to life, and telling him a couple of things:

One, he was fricking cold. Almost as if the HVAC was off too.

Two, the window had seemed a lot higher than it should have been - it was supposed to be at chest height for him, but he could barely see over the sill.

The light switch his not-hand was on was also far too high up. It was at chin-level, instead of being more in line with his elbow - or where his elbow should be.

I'm really fucking drunk, he decided. The doorway was open, as it was supposed to be during "night" hours, so that the crews leaping up in the middle of the night for a call wouldn't smack into a door on their way to the trucks. Max found the hallway, kitchen, offices, and bays all dark as well, even though there were no blackout shades in the rest of the building.

"Is anyone here?" he shouted out, now less convinced he was the victim of a colossal prank. His voice echoed through the empty building.

Not even the emergency lights are on, he realized suddenly, looking up to the battery-backup lamps he couldn't see in the dark. Something profoundly bad had happened, he was starting to believe.

In the dim dawn light sneaking in through the windows from other parts of the building, he could see his breath. So it wasn't that he just felt cold - it was cold. If his watch was right and he'd somehow missed all of summer, it was already below freezing outside. And yet he was just feeling a little chilly, standing in his boxer shorts in the middle of the dead fire station.

He fumbled his way to the kitchen, lurching to the stove and countertop for two purposes. One, there was a flashlight in the second drawer to the right of the sink. Two, lighting the gas stove would provide some warmth and some meager illumination.

Luckily, the battery-powered ignitor on the stove wasn't affected by the cold; both front burners lit promptly. He held his hands over the stove, figuring that the reason he couldn't feel them was that they were frigid. Hopefully they weren't frostbitten - he didn't know what he'd do if he lost any digits.

Looking down as he took in the warmth from the stove, he blinked and then yelled the same epithet for the third time.

"What the fuck!!"

Instead of hands at the end of skinny, hairy arms, he found himself looking at orange furry stumps.

Okay. I can adapt. I'm a quick thinker. Good on my feet.

If only I still had feet.

Max had spent the past fifteen or twenty minutes freaking out about what had happened to him. A quick stagger to the bathroom with the flashlight to shine on himself as he looked in the mirror told him all he needed to know about what he looked like.

He was convinced that he had been drugged, or was somehow in some kind of hallucination, but the senses that were reporting in were telling him otherwise.

So, standing on all fours in the kitchen, shortly after the sun came up at six minutes after 9, an orange miniature horselike creature - similar to the ones he'd seen in the dream, sans unicorn horn - with spiky red, yellow, and orange hair and a similarly-colored bushy tail - tried to catalog what was still good in the pantry.

With no power for God only knows how long, the fridge was a lost cause. It reeked the instant he pried a hoof against the door and opened it, so he slammed it shut just as quickly. It needed a stripe or seven of biohazard/hazmat tape, but he had other things to do at the moment.

The bananas the Captain had brought in the night before - at least, as Max remembered it - were withered black husks on the counter. That told him there was nothing wrong with his watch, and he'd somehow Rip Van Winkled his way through the entire summer. And seemingly the entire station had been abandoned around him, with nobody either rousing him or carrying him with them to wherever they'd gone to.

Looking at the ruined fruit on the counter, Max thought of the supply delivery that was flown in once every six weeks. Cap had had those bananas because they were fresh off the plane, brought up from CONUS - the continental United States, and he was looking forward to having some on his cereal the next morning.

Evidently the next morning never came.

Neither did the three more supply drops that should have happened while Max was sleeping. That meant that whatever happened most likely happened that night - May 22 into May 23. Or May 22 into October 16?

What would cause them to pick up and bug out? Max wondered as he rummaged through the cupboards. Briefly the scene from The Hunt for Red October played in his mind - "How do you convince a crew to want to leave a nuclear submarine?" - but there was no indication things were contrived or nefarious. Whatever happened seemed to have been orderly and just caused them to leave at a moment's notice.

Come to think of it, even the trucks are still here.

Things were steadfastly continuing to make no sense within North Slope Fire Station #3.

Into the apparatus bay Max went, to confirm his last realization. Through the faint light coming in the windows in the roll-up bay doors, two engines, an aerial ladder truck, a water tender, a brush truck, a utility truck with trailer (housing two quads and two snowmobiles), and last but not least, a large semi-truck, all sat covered in a thin layer of dust. Between the trucks he walked, going on all fours since it seemed natural to his body and was without discomfort. All the sets of turnout gear were hung on their racks as they should have been, with the trucks plugged in to their 'shore lines' - umbilical cables carrying electricity and air to them while they were parked. All of them were dead, though, having evidently sat for five months with no one to tend them.

Max went back inside the living spaces, able to maneuver now that there was some light and he was using his new form properly. The offices were dark and unoccupied, the washrooms the same; the training room and lounge were also barren. The bunkroom was as he'd left it, with no signs of life except himself.

Oddly enough, the other beds looked slept in, but the covers weren't tossed aside as they would have been had the crews jumped up in the middle of the night to run to a call. And everyone's personal effects remained in place in all the dorms.

Finding no explanations within the building, Max decided he needed to attend to his immediate needs. It was crunch time, so to speak, and he was down to the very basics necessary for survival.

First things first - he had to do something that people always think as weird for a firefighter to do.

Wrapped up in his turnout coat, over his 'top half' - that is to say, torso, neck, and forelegs - and with his Nomex protective hood over his head, at least as good as it would fit, he was standing in an inch or two of snow, shoving wood scraps under the emergency generator's engine block. The temperature was minus 6 outside, according to the thermometer stuck to the kitchen window, and the oil in the motor was surely a gooey chunk of cold sludge.

Once the wood was in place, Max managed to light a piece of kindling from the gas stove in the kitchen. Luckily, the large propane tank that supplied the station with gas was still over half-full. Three tries later (the kindling blowing out from being carried too quickly the first two times), Max had set a fire under the generator.

As the generator began to warm up from the flames underneath it, he rapped on the external fuel tank with a hoof, getting a hollow sound all the way to the bottom of the vessel. Of course. That meant that the generator had probably automatically kicked in when the power first went out, and ran until it used up all its fuel - at least 72 hours' worth.

Fifteen five-gallon jerry cans of diesel scavenged from the trucks later, and smelling of the foul fuel as he'd invariably spilled some from every can, not being very adept with hooves instead of hands, Max huddled beside the generator, watching the embers of the fire as they dwindled. Once it went out and he felt safe he wouldn't catch himself on fire from the fumes he was soaked in, he'd pull the manual start and hope for the best.

Five agonizingly chilly minutes later, he trapped the pull cord of the generator between his forehooves and yanked, using his hind legs to propel himself upward and backward - where he simply lost grip on the cord when it reached its limit, and fell backwards into the snow.

Cursing, he got up, shook himself off, and tried again. It ultimately took four tries, but the machine coughed into a smoky, unsteady rhythm, and some of the lights inside the building began to come on.

Max dashed inside and lit and powered up the furnace, turning it on full blast, hovering near the stove while he waited for the HVAC to bring the indoor temps up to bearable levels.

By about 10:30, the temperature was warm enough to shed the turnout coat and balaclava; he also doffed the undershorts, because it seemed silly to be wearing them alone (and they were getting in the way of his tail). He powered up the office computer, but it refused to connect to the town's local area network, and thus there was no Internet access either.

Max wondered if there was an Internet to speak of anyway. That would depend, probably, on whether or not this phenomenon was local to him or more widespread. Figuring that out would necessitate a trip out of the station towards the town office. And I can't drive anything like this. So I guess I'm walkin'.

He fixed a breakfast of cereal, dry without milk as the milk was trapped in the confines of the fridge, probably halfway to developing language skills at this point. He was glad no one was there to see him eat straight from the bowl like an animal.

The trip outside, even though the sun would be warming things up, would not be nice. He had to figure out a means of keeping himself warm.

The turnout coat and hood was a good start, so he laid them out, making sure they were dry. For the bottom half, he'd need to make a few adjustments.

Going into the apparatus bay, he chose not his own turnout pants - the fire-resistant trousers with suspenders - but that of Royce, the shortest guy on the department. Less leg length to deal with was probably in his best interests.

Propping himself up in a semi-sitting-semi-standing position, he managed to wriggle into the pants and pull them up his hind legs. He fiddled with the suspenders for a few minutes, trying to find a way they'd work, but ultimately decided they were a hassle and just unsnapped them from the waist, letting them fall off to the floor. Instead, he cinched the hook-and-D-ring fastener around the waist as tight as it would go.

His tail would have to ride uncomfortably down one leg of the pants, he decided with a frown.

The hood went on next. Somehow, it managed to fit fairly decently. The face opening fit his equine muzzle from his eyebrows to below his chin with little hassle - and perhaps a little bigger than necessary, but he had no need for as tight a fit as normal, because he wasn't intending on going into any fires today.

Finally the coat. Shrugging it over his foreshoulders again, he took the time this time to fumble about with the hook-and-ring fasteners and then the Velcro strip, closing it around his midsection - what did they call it again, a barrel? - and protecting as much of himself as he could from the elements.

Suited up, he made sure the back door of the station was unlatched so he could get back in after his exploring, and then stepped outside.

Max tried to picture himself from overhead or afar as he walked down the gravel road, in his bare feet. Hooves. Whatever. A four-legged creature wearing firefighting gear wandering around a town all by itself.

This is like some screwed-up version of the opening to Northern Exposure. Or The Walking Dead, without Rick Grimes on top of the horse.

Max was letting his mind wander to distract himself from the mounting evidence that he was the only person - creature - left in Prudhoe. The light snow covered the normally-muddy roads, as well as everything else. Even one service truck, crew van, or rig hauler passing by would have made the road a soupy mess - the daytime temp was 28 degrees below freezing, but the friction of the wheels on the roads turned the snow there to mush.

Not today, though, it seemed. There were even drifts, despite the small amounts of snow, up against the buildings' doors, indicating nobody had tried to go in or out of anywhere.

The whole thing was starting to give him chills - far more than he could attribute to the climate he was in. Being this far from civilization was bad enough, but being alone in such a place?

This is unsurvivable. Not like this.

He began trudging back towards the fire station, formulating a plan as he walked.

Station 3 had the most room of any of the fire stations, being the newest, and had therefore extra space to store some things not typically associated to fire departments.

Because the fire department had to respond to virtually any kind of emergency without backup, this far from civilization, North Slope had a semi-truck with a custom-built trailer. Inside the 60-foot-long van, there was a portion set aside for cargo and supplies, fuel, and an onboard generator, taking the rearmost third of the vehicle. In the middle was a shower and washroom, adjacent to a rudimentary medical/exam room with storage for drugs and medical supplies. Up front, over the attachment to the semi-tractor, was a combination kitchen and dining room/conference room. Crews could subsist at a fire or other emergency for protracted periods using the full resources carried in this particular trailer.

And Max was planning to steal it.

Does it really count as stealing if I'm the only city employee left? he wondered, circling the machine, checking the air lines and attachments, as he would were he preparing it for any other trip. He certainly wouldn't be returning to Prudhoe with it, especially if this phenomenon was widespread. He would head south, down the haul road - the Dawson Highway - to Fairbanks, and then if he found the same situation there as he had in Prudhoe, keep going south through Canada and eventually into CONUS.

Surely somebody must still be alive somewhere.

With the generator at the station going, he'd tried the radio, on both the fire bands and the commercial channels the oilfield and trucking crews used. No response came back.

Fuel for only a couple of days. Supplies that were half-rotten and not getting replenished any time soon. Water probably won't last, and would be hard to get at once the genny quits again. And then there's the temperatures, going steadily down with the shorter days - soon enough, the sun would go down and not come back until mid-to-late-January.

This is a no-brainer, Max tried to convince himself. He couldn't even fly out of here like the bug-out plan in case of industrial disaster suggested; while he was literally right next door to the airport (called 'Deadhorse', he thought with wry amusement), he was no pilot, and getting a plane off the ground was exponentially more complex than getting the semi he was trained to drive ready to go on a long road trip.

He looked up at the hulking red Peterbilt 579 tractor, silently charging its batteries from the building generator's power. He had to figure out how to maneuver it with short stubby horse legs, but if he was to survive, he'd have to make it work, and fast.

The next thing Max knew, it was after 8PM. The sun had long set - he had worked tirelessly inside the apparatus bay, where the generator was providing light and warmth. He was caught off guard by how he'd worked through the day without rest or even a snack break, but pleased that he'd put together what he figured was a working solution.

A pair of 'ram extensions' - cylindrical pieces of metal - from the rescue gear, duct-taped to the gas and brake pedals of the truck, and topped off with the soles of some old boots (so he wouldn't hurt his hooves pushing on bare metal), made starting and stopping doable. Thankfully the truck had an automatic transmission - the idea of working a clutch in this fashion was something Max didn't want to think about.

The steering wheel would have to be manipulated by hand - er, by hoof. Oddly enough, he seemed to have some dexterity, more than he thought a normal horse would. Then again, he'd seen very few horses try to take up a hammer or roll of tape and manipulate it.

Pushing buttons was another task entirely. He decided the simplest thing was the best answer in that case - a hoofful of pens, pencils, and other relatively pointy items (but not sharp, so as to avoid damaging the buttons) were tossed into the center console.

The rest of the evening was spent stuffing the trailer with anything and everything Max could think of. The fuel and water tanks were full, and he put extra glycol and other such supplies on board, to ward off the below-freezing temps he'd encounter. Portable radios and chargers were put in the conference room/kitchen, along with all the edible supplies that hadn't gone bad (and some that were looking like they were on the borderline, truth be told). Spare fuel and other random junk was the last to go on, except for all the clothing and bedding he figured he'd be able to use, which was jammed into the passenger side of the cab and the cab's sleeper.

He'd wait in the station until the generator ran out again. That would give him enough time to satisfy his conscience that he'd waited long enough for somebody to show up and say 'sorry for abandoning you, and by the way we found a cure for what you've got'.

Since he'd packed everything into the truck, he decided to get in the sleeper and get his sleep there, getting used to what would become his home for the foreseeable future. So he climbed into the truck, making sure the station radios were loud enough that he could hear any calls coming in. The only other noise was the distant droning of the generator outside the back door.

He found that the easiest way to bed down in this body was to actually curl up like a dog might. So on the sleeper's bed he lay, taking up a third of the space he would have in his human form. Shutting his eyes, he hoped that he wouldn't wake up and find that it was March - or, that if he did, he'd be back in his human form again, and this whole day was just some wild nightmare.

Nearing midnight, sleep finally overtook Max Morley, and his last coherent thought was to wonder if he would dream of the unicorns again.

Home Field Advantage

NOVEMBER 1, 2015

"You look silly with that on, you know."

Kate, perched on the driver's seat of the truck, waved a hoof dismissively at Max. "Can't be a trucker without a trucker hat."

"I think it looks fine," Duncan said from the passenger seat.

Kate turned her head to grin at him, showing off the 'The Hottest Girls Come From Lethbridge, Alberta' ball cap. "Thank you!" she grinned.

Max decided to let her have the moment, even though he'd already been kind to her once by letting her drive. He turned to face Angela and Sean, who were lying behind him in the sleeper bunk, one on each side. "Got enough room back there?"

"I'm good," Angela said brightly.

"I'm okay," Sean nodded. "We'd better come up with something if we plan to pick anyone else up, though."

"Yeah," Max nodded. The truck cab was now completely full, unless a smallish pony - a unicorn or pegasus - rode in the footwell on the passenger side, below Duncan's seat, and that would be a boring trip.

The rescue trailer had been emptied out quite a bit, with most of the cargo that had been in it put in large plastic bins which were stacked on pallets and tied down on the flatbed trailer. There was no communication between the rescue trailer and the cab, though, and no seats, let alone seat belts.

"We don't even use seat belts up here," he murmured.

"What's that?" Duncan asked.

"Nothing. Never mind," Max replied.

"What's the route once we cross the border?" Kate wanted to know.

"Just keep going down the 15 until Great Falls," Duncan said, pointing at the GPS. "We'll probably want to stretch our legs by then."

Max turned to face Sean. "How you feeling?"

The crimson pony shrugged. "Fine, all things considered."

"Anything hurting? Itching?" Max grimaced, realizing his question would probably make the wounded pony think of such things right away.

"Yeah, actually, but I've been through worse," Sean said.

"Really?"

Sean pondered it for a moment, then shrugged again. "All right. I've never been burnt this bad, but I've been burnt before. Just takes some time to heal."

"You were out for a good while," Angela pointed out. "He just wants to make sure you're OK. We don't know if ponies react the same way to injury that humans do."

"I'm not trying to be tough, or hide things from you," Sean said. "I'm just not having that bad of a time." He offered a smile. "Maybe that's a testament to your skill?"

"I'm not that good," Max scoffed. "I can't heal burns with gauze and cream."

"Let me take a look when we stop," Duncan suggested. "I'm no medical doctor, but if you're doing markedly better, we should take note of it."

Sean chewed on his lip a little, unseen by the others. "Fine," he eventually agreed.

The truck thundered across the borderline at Sweet Grass, Montana, without stopping. Neither it nor the partner village of Coutts on the Alberta side showed any signs of life.

"Welcome to the United States of America," Duncan declared. "Montana, Big Sky Country."

"Sure is," Kate agreed, her head on a swivel, taking the scenery in.

"Just as flat as home," Angela observed.

"Oh crap, is this as flat as Saskatchewan?" Kate asked, feigning panic.

"Don't worry," Sean piped up. "We'll keep you awake."

"Saskatchewan," Angela explained to the Americans. "Hard to spell, easy to draw." She mimed a tall, narrow rectangle with her forehooves.

"Sounds like Wyoming," Duncan smirked. "You know, they say it doesn't really exist."

"What?" Kate laughed.

"Who would live in a state that square? It's just the empty space left over," Duncan explained.

Max had to smile and join in. "Have you ever met anyone from Wyoming? What's its biggest claim to fame?"

"Yellowstone Park?" Sean said with an upraised eyebrow.

"A fable," Duncan said, waving a hoof.

"I hope you guys see what you've gotten into," Kate called back to the two new ponies in the back of the cab.

About ninety minutes down the road, Max was interrupted from a conversation with Sean and Angela by a call back from Kate.

"Hey, Max, where are the wipers on this thing?"

He wanted to shoot back, on the windshield, fool!, but when he turned around to face forward, he saw specks of moisture all over the window, and realized she meant the controls. "Down by your right kn... hind leg,"

"Oh, thanks," she said, and after a moment's fiddling, the wipers began flicking back and forth, wiping the melted snowflakes aside.

Max looked beyond the windshield to the skies, and saw light snow falling. It was melting when it landed on the road, making the surface wet. "What's the temperature say?" he asked, nodding towards the dash.

"Twenty-seven," Duncan said.

"What's that in Canadian dollars?" Kate quipped.

"A little below freezing," Duncan clarified. "Minus two or something. Careful on bridge decks."

"Gotcha," she answered.

"You okay to drive?" Max queried.

"Pssh," Kate waved a hoof. "This's nothing. I'll wake you if it gets icy."

Max reached forward to touch a switch. "Let me just turn off the-"

Kate swatted at him. "Hooves off, backseat driver!"

"I'm just turning off the jake brake!" he shot back. "You don't want it on when you're on slippery roads or you'll start skidding."

"Just tell me beforehand," she sniffed. "Act like you trust me."

"I was trying to explain," he muttered, then sat back down after flipping the switch.

Duncan decided to change the subject. "Where's tonight's stop?" he asked.

"Here's my plan," Max said. "Depending how this weather turns out, we may not get it all in in time. South to Great Falls, check it out for people, restock and refuel. Continue south on the 15 to Helena, same deal. Then down to Butte. That might be our stop point for tonight, then tomorrow we'll go east on I-90 towards Billings. If there's still daylight at Butte, we'll make Billings our stop. Anybody got any issues with that?"

"How do you decide when you've searched long enough in a town for survivors?" Angela wanted to know.

"Depends on the town," Max said.

"Lights and siren and air horn usually get people's attention," Duncan chimed in. "We didn't do that in your town because we were kinda preoccupied. But yeah."

"Should we maybe split up and search?" suggested Angela.

Max was about to veto the idea when he gave it some thought. There were five of them now, and it didn't take the three of them to tend to the truck's needs at a stop, let alone five. "That's probably not a bad idea," he admitted. "Maybe we should put together some plans for that kind of thing."

"I can do an aerial search," Kate volunteered.

"I'm happy to do whatever's needed," Angela said. "Even if all that ends up being is running through the streets hollering. I seem to be able to run pretty well these days."

"I can handle heavy lifting," Sean spoke up.

"Are you sure you should be exerting yourself?" Angela asked.

Sean shook his head. "It's not physical," he said. "It's this thing." He tapped his horn. "TK, or magic, or whatever you want to call it."

Duncan turned in his seat again. "So tell me, what do I need to do to light my magical pilot light?"

"I don't know if I can just tell you. Definitely not just in just casual conversation. I guess the closest you can come to describing it is you have to find your center. Do you have any meditation or martial arts training?"

"Not a lick," Duncan admitted, shaking his head.

"I wouldn't peg a farmer for being into meditation," Max smirked.

"I wasn't. Like I said, it's what I remembered from the dream."

"Right, the dream," Max nodded.

Sean seemed nonplussed. "You don't believe me."

Max held up his hooves. "Sure I do. I had a weird dream myself, pal."

"You did, huh?"

"Yeah," Max said, and then told his tale.

Sean blinked. "Sounds like you might have more to tell him about unicorns than I do," he quipped.

Slightly over three hours' drive time put them in Great Falls. The weather didn't worsen; in fact, the wet snow dissipated shortly before the truck arrived in the city. Winds on the highway were strong, but Max aided Kate in keeping the truck between the white lines.

They drove through the city and parked at the gates outside Malmstrom Air Force Base. A prolonged application of the air horn made for some annoyed ponies within the cab of the truck, but no one else came running.

"I can get over the gate," Kate offered. "Figure out how to let you in."

"If it's like Fairbanks, there'll be a switch on the guard house control panel, but it'll require power from the truck's generator," Duncan offered.

"I'll move it in position while you're going over the fence," Max said, climbing toward the driver's seat.

"Can I help?" Sean asked.

"I'd rather you just rest," Max insisted.

Sean spent a few moments contemplating it, then sighed. "If you say so," he answered.

Angela and Sean and Duncan sat in the truck, watching the other two go to work. Kate fluttered out the window, with Max idling the truck as close to the gates as possible. He then disembarked and hauled the extension cable for the generator up to the gates, which Kate then took. She dragged it the rest of the way, then signaled for the power to be turned on. A few moments later, the gates were swinging slowly open.

Max came back into the truck after reeling up the cable, and pulled it inside the gate.

"Just so you know," Sean said, "I'm good to drive. I've got... well, I had... a Super-B back at the farm."

"Noted," Max said. "When you're fully recovered, we can trade driving duties, the three of us."

They drove around the base for a short time, ultimately resigning themselves to the fact that there were no people present. And so, Max located the motor pool, intending to refuel and scavenge some spare parts; the others could check for any useful supplies, same as always.

Angela, Kate, and Duncan took off to the various buildings surrounding them, while Max parked the truck at a fuel island and began his oft-repeated trick of running the truck's generator to power up the pumps so he could fuel the truck and the generator some more.

Sean stood on the ground a short distance from the truck, watching with detached interest while Max went through his motions. "Need any DEF?" he asked.

"We're good, but if there's a jug or two of it lying around here, wouldn't be a bad idea to grab it," Max murmured, setting up the pump.

"What, you'll let me venture that far on my own?" Sean said with a smirk. He turned and headed off to the little service hut nearby without waiting for an answer.

Max shook his head, wrestling with the nozzle to get it into the truck's tank. The guy really wants to help, but I don't want him opening up any wounds. He's either really hiding the pain from those burns well, or he's got a ridiculous pain threshold, too.

The fuel started flowing, and Max idly watched the digits flick by on the pump's display. I wonder how many dollars of fuel I've taken and not paid for since this thing went down, he mused. Should've kept a log, for fun if nothing else.

Four gallon-size bottles of Diesel Exhaust Fluid floated into his field of vision, bobbing lazily in a green haze. "Where do you want to put these?" Max heard Sean ask.

He stared at the containers levitating in midair before him, then looked over to the smirking pony who was approaching from the service hut.

"Uh, there's a storage locker in the bottom of the sleep-"

"Got it," Sean said, the small access door in the side of the truck unlatching of its own accord - or at least with the aid of a greenish glow. The jugs of fluid floated inside, then the door shut itself.

"Never seen a magic user at work before?" Sean asked Max, turning to face him with a smile.

Max shook his head. "Duncan can't do that," he said simply.

Sean gave a little chuckle. "Took me a while to figure that out. I was trying to open a grain bin and stressing out pretty physically over it, and all of a sudden the lid moved on its own. Then I noticed it was glowing."

Max blinked. "Okay, you're definitely going to be a big help when you heal up."

Sean seemed exasperated. "Look. Buddy. That's what I've been trying to tell you. C'mere." Sean let Max approach closer, then magically peeled the edge off one bandage on his torso. The fur underneath was unblemished, except for the sticky mess left behind by medical tape.

Max was astounded again. "Did you heal yoursel-"

Sean shook his head, flattening the bandage down and stepping back. "If I did, I don't know how I did it. That's why I've been trying to keep it on the down-low for now."

"So you're gonna walk around all bandaged up for no reason?"

The crimson pony shrugged and nodded. "I guess, if I can't come up with a reason why third degree burns healed in a day or two."

Max scoffed. "Why bother? Did we come up with a reason why we can grip things with these?" He held up a hoof, wiggling it.

Sean levelled a flat gaze at him. "Look at it this way. You're a medic, right?"

"Firefighter-paramedic," Max said reflexively, "but yes."

"Do you think the others take greater risks, knowing you can deal with their injuries?"

"But I can only do so mu... oh," Max said, figuring it out.

Sean nodded. "I don't want them thinking I'm the pony pope, able to heal all wounds."

Max nodded again after a moment. "Okay, I get you. But maybe - at least for your comfort - we get rid of the bandages gradually, a day or so at a time, and chalk it up to quicker healing than humans?"

"I'll think about it," Sean said, then tilted his jaw toward the nozzle behind Max. "'Bout ready to spill over."

"What? Oh!" Max said, turning and seeing the diesel tank nearly full. He fumbled with the handle and got it turned off in time, holding it up in the crook of one foreleg while he tried to spin the cap closed with the other.

"Cripes' sake, let me help already," Sean grumbled, and the pump nozzle floated out of Max's grasp. "Which tank's next, the other saddle or the gennie?"

"You've been alone for the whole duration, too?" Angela said to Kate. "You poor thing," she added before the teenager could get a reply in.

"Thanks," Kate said, pinking up slightly, embarrassed to be pitied. "I managed."

"I'm sure," Angela nodded, gesturing to her. "Obviously, since you're here. It's just that, for how I felt spending all that time alone, I can't imagine what it must have been like for a ch-"

Duncan cut her off. "I'm not sure what would be worse," he said, sparing Angela Kate's wrath. "Waking up the next day like all of us did, or waking up five months later, like Max."

"What?" Angela balked.

"Yeah," Kate cut back in, the inadvertent slight against her forgotten. "Supposedly he slept through summer."

"Actually," Duncan said, "according to the pony from Illinois, he was sent forward in time."

"Right," Angela said. "Still having a hard time wrapping my head around that."

"Maybe they can sit us down one-by-one and explain it in short words so we can all get it sorted out," Kate suggested.

"How long do you figure it'll take for us to get there?" Angela asked Duncan.

He mulled it over for a few moments, while they continued to browse the warehouse they were in. "We've got about 1600 miles left to go. If we do 300 miles a day, that makes it between 5 and 6 days to get there. That's kind of low-balling it because we might stop for a break in a couple places, or need to pause for some reason."

"So this time next week," Kate said with realization. Their journey would be over and they'd be the newest immigrants to the pony settlement taking over Illinois.

"It's going to be interesting, seeing a whole community again," Duncan said with a tone of longing.

"Uh-huh," Angela agreed, saying nothing more as they kept walking and searching for goods.

"You know what we need?" Kate said brightly. "One more person we come across means we have to put somebody in the trailer. We need some creature comforts for the trailer."

"And a way to talk back and forth," Angela mentioned.

Duncan smiled. "Lead on, ladies."

Sean was looking around the motor pool for parts and components they could take along with them. In front of him floated Duncan's tablet, with the "shopping list" from the Paris ponies displayed, and the garage was being lit by the green glow from his horn.

The emerald tinge it gave everything made him smirk, and he wondered if they should liberate some night-vision goggles while they were on the base. Not like anyone else is gonna need them, he told himself.

He stopped to size up some tires and compare them to the numbers Max had declared moments before. They were too big - designed for military machines - so he moved on.

His thoughts drifted to the issue of his quick healing. He had no delusions that he'd had something to do with it, but surely some kind of outside force was at work. Granted, it was easy to throw everything out the window with the "we're ponies" excuse - meaning that no explanations made sense any more - but Sean wasn't a fan of writing things off without at least trying to figure them out - even though he was able to bypass the laws of nature with just a bit of concentration and focus.

He came across a set of cargo straps which he decided would be useful for the flatbed trailer, and telekinetically picked them up, then moved along to look for other prizes. Guess I get to see how many things I can control at once, he mused.

Mentally, he listed a few other things he thought might be handy. Plastic crates to carry random stuff in, rather than trying to strap loose stuff down on the flatbed. An air compressor - wait, did the rescue truck have that? Maybe some extra air lines. Chains - tire chains for as many of the wheels as he could carry. Hopefully they wouldn't encounter too many wintry conditions on the drive to Illinois, but it was better to be prepared than not. Oil and lube products and accessories, of course. Spare lights, duct tape and poly plastic in case a window broke, some tarps...

Sean shook his head. You're getting into stuff that won't be here in the motor pool, he chastised himself. Maybe when he was done here, he could join the others in looking through the supply warehouses and general storage on the base.

His ears twitched and involuntarily rotated towards the open hangar-style doors, where he could still hear the generator on the truck droning on, running the fuel pumps a few dozen feet out on the tarmac. Something sounded different, though. The generator was making a more labored sound, and then a rapid metallic knocking became obvious, growing louder with each heartbeat.

Sean, a long time user of industrial machinery, knew a failing motor when he heard it. He wondered if the fireman recognized it too.

He'd turned and made it halfway to the hangar door when the motor failed in a loud clatter and WHUMP, accompanied by a curse from Max.

Breaking into a gallop, he hurried outside to see Max leaping down from the side of the trailer as the generator compartment had smoke and flames pouring from within. The fire pony shut off the fuel pump (needlessly; it'd quit when the generator stopped producing power), dropping the hose to the ground in the process. Unfortunately, the burning trailer was between him and the large wheeled fire extinguisher parked at the end of the fuel ramp.

Sean dropped everything he was carrying, letting it clatter to the asphalt behind him, and dashed over to the extinguisher, ripping the safety pins out magically and levitating the rubber hose and nozzle. Depressing the trigger, he was surprised to get just a puff of powder and nothing else.

"Shit!" Max yelled. "Grab a fire blanket!"

Sean glanced back to the extinguisher and saw a metal sleeve bolted to the post beside it, with EMERGENCY stencilled down its side. From the bottom he pulled out a thick blanket and pushed it against the sides of the generator, through the fire, smothering it.

Tendrils of smoke wafted out of the compartment as the two men tentatively peeled back the heavy cover. The fire was out, but it had done some damage; the motor side of the generator was blackened and dripping with coarse liquids that certainly didn't belong on the outside of the engine block.

"Is everyone okay?!" came Duncan's voice as he galloped hard onto the fuel ramp, chased by the ladies.

"We're fine, but we're screwed," Max said with disgust, peering into the ruined engine. "Something blew on the motor for the gennie."

"What I don't get is why the extinguisher failed-" Sean began, but Max shook his head and cut him off.

"Powder extinguishers solidify if they're not moved every now and then," the fire pony said. "That thing's probably been sitting there for the best part of half a year. Not surprising it's useless."

"Is there much damage?" Angela asked.

"Oh yeah," Max nodded. "Lots."

"Let me see," Sean insisted, leaning in. He then whistled as he surveyed the carnage.

"But nobody's hurt," Kate said, looking for confirmation.

"We're all fine," Max replied.

"Can we get another generator?" Angela wanted to know.

"Sure," Max said. "But it'll take up space on the flatbed, and we'll have to find some extra extension cords, because we won't be able to use the ree-"

"I can probably fix this," Sean's muffled voice came from within the compartment.

"Say what?"

He pulled back his head, coughing a little from the soot and fumes. "We can just pull out this motor and put another in. If we're lucky, we can probably find a generator of the same brand and get a similar motor."

"That'll take time," Max protested.

"Probably about the same amount of time as finding a big enough gennie, putting it on the trailer, and getting all the power cords and such," Sean countered, fixing Max with a stare. "I know you want to get back on the road, but let's do this right so we're not wasting space with a duplicate gennie on the trailer. I have some ideas for loading it up a little better anyway. The other three can keep hunting for supplies, and you help me. I figure we can be back on the way shortly after supper, or morning if you'd rather not drive at night. Okay?"

Max looked at the others with a frown on his face. They were all looking back at him to see what he would say.

"Fine," he acquiesced. "I guess that makes sense."

"We can do with a little extra time," Kate nodded. "We'll check back in a few hours."

"Do you need anything from us?" Duncan asked the other two men.

"Have you seen where they keep any of the big generators on base?" Sean asked. "That's step 1."

A quarter of an hour later, the quintet were standing amongst a collection of generators of various sizes, not far from the motor pool. In fact, many of the generators were on either carts or trailers.

"Yeah," Max said, looking around one in particular. "I think this'll do. What do you think?"

Sean was assessing it as well and gave an approving nod. "Let's pull it out of line so we can get at the access panels, and we'll find out."

Both men moved to the yoke of the cart, but Angela cleared her throat at that moment. "Step aside, boys," she smiled, and strode up to the cart, taking the handle in her teeth, and backing up. Slowly, but steadily, the cart slid out of the neat arrangement with its brethren, into the aisle.

"Not bad," Duncan nodded appreciably. Kate high-hoofed the earth pony in congratulation.

"Yeah," Max said, then quipped, "and that was with the parking brake on." He was joking, of course, as he kicked the lever near the front wheels to set the brake back on.

Sean already had the side panels off of the machine and was barrel-deep in one side. "Perfect," his muffled voice came from within the enclosure. "Same motor and everything. We'll need a tool kit, though."

"I'll take care of that," Max offered.

"You guys may as well go back to scavenging," Sean said to the other three. "This'll be a while."

Max opened a compartment on the rescue trailer and sought out the smallest of the multiple tool boxes carried on the rig. Closing the compartment door again, he sighed around the handle of the toolbox, carried in his mouth. Once again they were holding back from moving forward. It was like the harder they pushed to get to Paris, the harder the world pushed back at them.

If they were going to be down for this repair, Max decided he'd make the most of it. He'd let Sean work on swapping out the motor while he did another good check over the whole rig. He hadn't done a stem-to-stern assessment of the machine since they entered northern Canada - a million years ago, or what felt like it. Every component needed to be inspected and repaired or replaced if need be. He wanted to have zero downtime after leaving the base, between there and Paris. The only stops would be for food, fuel, rest, and scouting for 'survivors'.

Let's get this done, he told himself as he headed back to Sean.

Author's Note

Good lord. Nearly a month in between chapters. My apologies. I normally like to alternate stories (writing a chapter for Highway, then one for Storm, and so on), but the writer's block kept this one on the ropes while Storm was getting a little bit of attention (and that one was suffering too).

I will try to pick up the pace again next time, where Sean curses the generator manufacturer for using metric bolts.