Author's Note
Hello ladies and gentlemen. Crow T R0bot here. As a fan of The Walking Dead, and the fanfic KJay and BRBeverage have been writing, I was hit by inspiration to do a side story involving Christa, Omid, Gilda, and Trixie. After running it by them, I got their approval and this was the result.
Of course, their hiatus on the story likewise dampened my enthusiasm for it, but since it came to light they were bringing it back, I pushed to finish it and this was the result. Hope I have you hooked, and hope you're ready to fight the dead...and fear the living.
Without further ado, I present The Trotting Dead VG: Carrion.
Menu of the Forest
“This is your fault, you know!”
“I’m not the one with the horn!”
“Trixie’s prehistoric ancestors did not eat yours and develop instinctive reflexes to react accordingly. What did you think would happen?!”
It had been going that way for five minutes. Dirty talons scraped at one patch of dirt, a blue hoof scraped at another as their respective owners’ eyes burned at each other. The hot, muggy air around them catalyzed their growing fury. It was pitch black, but they could see each other’s grinding teeth just fine.
“I think you need to start by telling me what you were doing in the basement,” Gilda hissed.
“And Trixie assumes you were supposed to be there? Perhaps you could tell her first?!”
That at last broke the staring contest. The griffon huffed and looked away, resting on her haunches to cross her forelegs.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” Her eyes returned to Trixie’s, but she relaxed despite still simmering. “But since I’m pretty sure that was your teleport spell that sent us here, maybe you could enlighten me on where you sent us.”
“Trixie knows exactly where we went!” The unicorn raised a foreleg ostentatiously. “Onto Twilight Sparkle’s obnoxious little trail!”
Gilda’s brow rose. It wasn’t the answer she was expecting, but this raised a few ideas.
“I was trying to find out what happened to my...” Gilda’s statement petered out as she realized a less loaded set of words were probably in order “...bunkmate from Junior Speedster’s flight camp. I heard she disappeared with Princess Sunbutt’s teacher’s pet. Don’t know you suppose anything about her trail?”
“Trixie thought you said that wasn’t any of her business,” she smirked, a smirk that badly needed getting pecked off her face.
Sadly, courtesy prevailed in Gilda’s head, forcing a mere “blow it out your flanks, you big blue dweeb!”
“The Great and Powerful Trixie is no dweeb! She’s ten times the pony you’ll ever be!”
“I may not have always paid attention in math class, but I’m pretty sure you can’t multiply anything by zero.”
“Trixie would love to be blasted in her face with more hot air, but perhaps it would be more constructive if we got our bearings,” she gestured to their surroundings.
For the first time, Gilda at last took in the world around her (not that she’d ever admit taking that long. Griffons took pride in paying attention to detail in the wild). Trees and half-grown bushes crowded around them, and although the canopy above was thick, it was obviously night time, just as it was when she broke into the Ponyville Library.
“Well, we’re in a forest...” she mused. “Don’t suppose it’s the Everfree?”
“Trixie has braved the Everfree’s dangers,” the unicorn smugly returned. “This is not exactly the Everfree. It’s seldom this muggy this time of year.”
“Well,” Gilda snorted. “At least we know two places where we’re not.”
Her head darted to and fro. Not much to see here but more green and brown, so she picked a direction and started walking.
“And just where do you think you are going? Trixie is not done talking.”
“Well The Great and Annoyed Gilda is done listening.” She padded onward through a gap in some bushes. “Don’t you think we should find our way out of these woods and then yell at each other?”
“Bah, Trixie was going to do that anyway.”
With that, the blue mare followed suit. Her hooves clipped a decent clippity-clop behind her...then faltered.
Gilda sighed and looked over her shoulder. “And what’s slowing you down now?”
“Nothing,” the mare suddenly stood rigid. “Trixie was only getting her bearings...” she stumbled, despite not trying to move beforehand, only to straighten once more.
“Did you just...” one of Gilda’s eyebrows rose, “...almost trip while standing still?”
“Of course not,” Trixie huffed once more, raising her nose at the griffon impetuously. “Our unexpected trip simply disoriented the otherwise graceful Trixie.”
“Well, you’d better get over it,” Gilda huffed back, “because I ain’t holding your hoof all the way out of this forest.”
“Bah,” Trixie sneered. “Fret not, it will pass...”
...
...
...
Flump
Trixie’s legs fell out from under her and sent her crashing into the soggy dirt and leaf litter. Her eyes shut in sudden unconsciousness.
Gilda did a complete about-face at the unicorn’s fall. She sauntered up and waved her talons in front of her eyes. No such luck, they were closed.
Whatever that machine did, it must have taken a lot out of her, or at the very least she wasn’t as prepared for what had happened. Maybe she was just scared of what went down and was too proud to admit it before she got hit by some dopey fainting spell.
Ah well, she was on her own then. Gilda wasn’t going to waste time dragging her sorry plot out of the woods.
Rotating back to the arbitrary ‘forward,’ Gilda took a few steps toward leaving the mare behind her.
Then a few more steps...
She must have been a good fifteen feet from her.
Then she didn’t make it to foot sixteen.
Oh for pluck’s sake.
Trixie’s limp form spun back into Gilda’s broad field of vision. She started walking back across the ground for her. This unicorn got her into this mess. Best to keep her around so she could get her out. Besides, the showmare was right, her ancestors could pluck ponies right off the ground for a nice quick meal back in the day. It wouldn’t be any trouble to haul her out of here.
Just had to find a place where the canopy opened up, but one problem at a time.
Gilda had just made it back to Trixie when the bushes to her left shuddered.
Gilda watched the bushes for a few seconds. Nothing.
Bah, everything in a forest moved anyway, and if it were a predator, it wouldn’t have been so clumsy as to make the bush shake—
Something leaped out of the bush and pinned Gilda to the dirt.
“Holy!—
Gilda twisted and kicked as the weight on top of her struggled to get a grip. A hoarse moan sounded above her and she thought she saw two faint pinpricks of white hovering above her...and rancid yellow teeth.
She rolled and broke free of the clumsy grip of whatever grabbed her and backed away, looking up to face her attacker.
Her eyes weren’t built with night vision in mind, but after the initial shock passed, she didn’t know what to make of the creature that had just pounced her. It clumsily tried to stand up, and for a moment, she thought it was a minotaur, but she could just see that its head was too small and hornless. It hissed as it lumbered toward the griffon, who backed up as it advanced on shuffling feet.
Looking side-to-side as much as she dared, Gilda took care to remember the first rule of dealing with predators: Fly away.
Nope, too much forest canopy overhead. She’d be lucky not to knock herself out on a tree branch she didn’t see coming.
All right: Rule Number Two...
She snatched up a rock and flicked it at the creature’s face. It stumbled, grunting, but didn’t seem fazed. It kept moving forward, undaunted. Gilda kept backing up, but noticed it was barely keeping pace, clumsily shuffling. She probably dazed it. Good, now to turn the tables.
Gilda coiled like a spring and then leaped, headbutting her attacker square in the chest and knocking it on its back. She expertly pinned the creature by its shoulders and lowered her head to stare it down.
“All right, creep! What’s it gonna b—
She raised it just in time to pull her head away from snapping teeth.
“Holy—
Cold leathery fingers dug into her back, trying to drag her down. The small head under her rose, snapping like a bear trap, inching over closer to her neck. Gilda strained, but even pinned this monster was hissing to get a bite out of her.
Well pluck that!
Gilda raised her talons, balled them into a fist and hammered down. Once, twice, thrice. A startled groan punctuated each pounding and Gilda thought she heard a wet crack hit her ears on the sixth punch.
Yet it still dragged her down.
At her wits end, Gilda tried one more trick, a last resort measure dear old Grandpa Gruff once demonstrated on a particularly ornery bear. Extending her index and middle talons, she lined them up with the whites of the monsters eyes and plunged.
Splorch!
It then had no eyes.
So why was it still trying to eat her?!
Gilda was on the verge of panic now, but her talons were lodged deep into its eyes, almost stuck like they were in gooey quicksand.
“Why. Won’t. You. Die?!”
She twisted. Its mouth drew perilously close to her free foreleg. Gilda tried to push, keep pushing, until her talons pushed in deep and flexed.
She drove through something a lot harder.
Then the creature stopped.
Its fingers dropped away from her barrel.
And in one burst of energy, Gilda tore her talons loose and stumbled back, marveling that her persistent attacker had suddenly stopped.
She stood stock still. How long? A minute? Two? Ten? However long it took, she started taking in every detail she could in the dark.
The creature lying spread eagle was wearing some kind of button-up denim shirt and matching jeans. She almost didn’t see it through the dark stains spilled over half of it, but it was a strange sight on something that attacked her so mindlessly. The creature itself looked like someone had put a monkey’s head on a minotaur and shaved the whole thing for good measure, save for a greasy mane of some kind.
Of course, she almost didn’t notice the resemblance to monkeys until she had taken a cautious circling of the fallen creature. Half of its face was gone. As in: Bits of gore and congealed meat had been stripped away to show off rotting teeth and gums. The part still covered in skin showed off a reddish beard, one that, judging by its more sandy-colored mane, wasn’t naturally that color.
Gilda was fairly certain she hadn’t done any of that to it.
Whatever this thing was—had been—it must have been sick when she put it down.
Ah well, at least she knew how to handle herself if she ever saw another one. Whatever it was.
Satisfied that the creature wouldn’t be getting up again. Gilda returned her attention to the still fallen Trixie when another sound hit her.
Gruuuumble.
Oh...right.
In her haste to learn of Dash’s fate, Gilda had foregone eating on the home stretch to Ponyville. Now with the adrenaline rush gone, she was paying for it.
She scanned the environment again. Nothing looked edible in the darkness. She couldn’t see any edible plants, and she didn’t trust the mushrooms growing on a nearby log. She certainly wasn’t going to eat the fallen dweeb (she’d probably give Gilda Diabetes or something, given how saccharine all ponies seemed to be).
What was she going to do?
A fresh wave of rotting her nostrils and she turned around once more.
She carefully padded up to the fallen creature. It hadn’t budged at all when she had her back to it. But just to be safe, she came up behind it and placed talons on its throat. Wrapped tightly, and then...
Riiiiip.
Just like that, its windpipe was now in her clutches.
Hard times had befallen Griffonstone. Among many, many other problems, this meant you had to take what you could get when food was involved. Some griffons would hunt for their meat like the good old days, but if they were too lazy, they’d just tail another predator and eat their scraps. Even if a kill was starting to attract flies, no biggie, a griffon’s stomach was nature’s garbage disposal. No griffon ever got sick from food poisoning.
That said, she licked the windpipe just for a taste test.
Well, it was...wet.
She took a bite.
Kinda like rotting pork.
She liked pork.
Gulp
Satisfied that it met her low, low standards, Gilda decided the showmare could wait til she had her midnight snack.
Gilda dug in to the sound of crickets and distant moans.
