FoE: Out with the Old: Those Who Stayed Behind

Chapters

The Captors
The Sick
The Lost
The Lovers
The Hunted

The Captors

The wind whipped through the town of Ponyville, piercing an eerie silence at long last. Smouldering fires were at long last ceased, leaving charred remains of cottages and shops. Rotting corpses and skeletons, partially eaten and plagued with flies, were strewn about the entire town, mostly in the streets, where blood had been freshly spilt long ago, but was now left to dry, traces still visible even after a rainstorm or two had passed through the ruined place.

Whatever stores hadn’t been destroyed in days past were long since picked clean by looters. Wherever one looked, windows were shattered, some bits and pieces of broken glass still strewn upon the ground. Outside an old supermarket, a skeleton was hunched over an overturned cart, which had already begun to rust.

Bullet holes were visible in places, but if one searched the remaining corpses, they would find no gun nor bullets, sometimes even clothes were stolen from the piles of dead. Flies had infested the whole town, and when there was no wind, all one could hear was the faint buzzing of thousands of flies infesting any body not already reduced to bone.

Three figures walked down a dirt path into the destroyed town, all bearing gas masks which covered all but their tell-tale antlers. Caribou, by the looks. Each one carried an identical assault rifle, and their backpacks were mostly alike, containing all manner of equipment, but mostly food and spare ammunition.

“Dainn be damned, the bitches did a number on this place.” One spoke in a tone muffled by their mask.

“From a survivor of the Battle of Canterlot, I’m surprised you’re still shocked.” Another spoke.

“Almost… poetic to go where it all started, isn’t it?” The first one responded.

“I guess. Not much different than Manehattan or Baltimare, except this time it’s smaller.”

They were quiet for a while as they looked fruitlessly for anything of value, turning over bodies and digging in piles of rubble for so much as a scrap of food. They never separated, always staying within sight of each other, now and again one of them would stop and make sure the other two were still there before continuing to scavenge.

“I doubt anyone is set up here, it’s too quiet. Looks like flies have been here for a while, too.” The third finally spoke, turning over the recently-dead corpse of a earth pony mare, her coat pale from death. Her ribs shone through her skin, and one could even see her innards if one looked hard enough, but the most notable feature was her eyes.

Droplets of dry blood remained on her face, right underneath her eyelids. Flecks of blood and pieces of torn skin were stuck to her teeth, the mouth stuck in a smile solidified by rigor mortis.

“Bloodshot bitch. Looks like she starved to death.”

“Maybe all the other ones are starving too.” The first caribou spoke, his eyes darting as much as the limited view of his mask would allow him, his rifle raised.

“The ones in the destroyed towns, maybe, but not the ones up north. From what I heard, They’re being kept fat and happy on a steady supply of soldiers sent by Dainn to hold them off. Heard this massive line was drawn from Vanhoover to Manehattan, trenches and everything, shit you not.” His tone seemed a bit more excited.

“Like something out of a history book. Barbed wire, concrete blockades, and sandbags for miles. A guy I met back at Fillydelphia told me that once soldiers were turning up thin, the line fell back to the Crystal Mountains, where they’re holding out now.” He sat on the remains of a bench.

“Haven’t heard anything about it in a week. Maybe they’re coming to save us now, or maybe we’re the last men alive.”

A few hours passed before they realized that their searching was in vain.

The sun began to lower in the distance, casting shadows over the ominous scene of the town. Now and again, one of the caribou saw a rat or two scurry in between buildings or piles of bodies. If they passed a group of corpses, one would now and again swear that he heard squeaking.

The group set up camp in what used to be a bank. Small coins were scattered along the floor, long since useless. Only a few bodies were in the building, but the most notable feature was a long pair of marks along the floor, leading out of the building. They brushed debris away and one made a small campfire from scrap wood, as the others shoved furniture and other bits of waste to block off the main entrance and some of the windows. Soon enough, the sun set, and the campfire was the only thing keeping the building lit, the electric lights long since ceasing to function.

As they took out their bedrolls, they removed their masks. Aside from the occasional cut or their eye color, their faces appeared mostly the same.

“I’ll keep watch.” The curious one spoke, retrieving a revolver from his backpack, opening the cylinder and snapping it back into place. He noisily pulled a heavy metal chair towards the barricaded door, his companions annoyed at the loud grinding noise it made against the floor.

The night passed quietly, now and again the awake caribou would toss another piece of scrap wood onto the fire to keep the room lit. Tiredness pulled at his eyes, and days of walking started to catch up to him as he struggled to stay awake. Now and again his vision would seem to shake if he blinked, and even in the dimming light one could see that he looked almost as bloodshot as the ponies he was keeping watch for.

In that moment, they struck.

What must’ve been two dozen mares suddenly thudded against the barricade, the silence of the night now shattered by maddened screams and the sound of flesh hitting wood. The caribou jumped from his chair, adding to the sound that woke his comrades, who jumped from their bedrolls to their backpacks upon seeing their assailants.

Mares of all different shapes, species and colors were grabbing, smashing, and ripping at the barricade. The only trait they all seemed to share were a pair of bloodshot, bleeding eyes, like many of the bodies outside.

The caribou didn’t wait, taking out some sort of firearm and shooting. Mares who were thrashing and pulling violently suddenly fell silent and limp, some falling outside while others draped themselves over the barrier. As some died, others took their place, sometimes pulling a body off of the barricade to make their way through. Now and again, one would retch violently before projectile vomiting blood at the caribou, leaving a large splatter on the tiled floor, blood and spittle dribbling from their lips as they grabbed futilely at their prey.

Even as the crowd grew more violent and large, the holes in the barricade did not become large enough to let any of the infected mares in. The tide turned in a split second as one of the mares fired a crossbow into the building, hitting one of the other caribou in the stomach. The bolt had pierced him entirely, the bolt sticking out of the front and back of his body. His adrenaline is too high for him to register it for a moment, but in the next he’s doubled over and coughing up blood onto the floor, dropping his rifle.

“Dainn damnit!” The caribou with a revolver cries out, taking another sidearm from a holster on his side and firing into the crowd, managing to kill the mare with the crossbow.

The surviving caribou ran further into the bank, leaving their ally to die in a pool of his own blood. They both managed to quickly climb over a counter just as the barrier was finally brought down, the caribou with an assault rifle loaded in a new magazine and opened into automatic fire into the crowd that had begun sprinting into the building. He managed to kill the ones who were after him and the other survivor, but a group of infected mares had managed to grab onto the injured caribou, at least five of them dragging him across the floor, out the door to be consumed.

As suddenly as the swarm arrived, they left. The only sound was distant giggling outside, along with the dying throes of the caribou they managed to capture. The sound of some sort of slashing blade hitting meat and bone was present, but the caribou within the building didn’t dare peek their heads outside, not wanting to tempt fate.

"Why didn't they take both of us..?" The one with an assault rifle asked.

The caribou with a revolver was silent, shivering and panting as his revolver rattled in his shaky grip.

"Oh Dainn... no no no..." He said, holding his head in his hands.

"What." His friend said, still recovering from initial shock.

He soon violently grabbed the frightened man and shook him violently.

"What the hell is the matter with you!? Spit it out!!"

"They got their fill..."

"Their fill!?" He shouted, angered.

"What the hell do you mean they got their fill!? What the fuck do you mean!?" He shook him again, causing the man to shiver.

"We're nothing more than livestock to them!! Don't you get it!?" He screams, falling to his knees.

Soon, the screaming and laughter ceased, and the crowd left, leaving the two survivors alone as they were when they first came to the town, the only sound being the distant buzzing of flies or the scurrying of a rat.

The Sick

Thud.

Cheerilie woke again, with a gasp, from the splitting headache. She could barely sleep as it were with the itch in her eyes, but it seemed that her headache got worse every day now. She rose from where she was sleeping, surrounded by other mares who had either managed to fall asleep peacefully, or simply passed out from exhaustion on the floor. She thought hard to remember where she was.

School.

That was it, school. Ponies learned here. Learned to think.

Think, think.

She suddenly had a violent coughing fit, cupping her hands around her mouth. When the cough subsided, she looked to her dirty palms, finding fresh blood sprayed onto caked dirt. She looked around her. Others.

Other mares began to rise, in the same sour mood she had gained. They coughed as they woke, in deep, scratching tones that wouldn't come from a healthy mare. Sometimes, one of the mares would vomit on the floor, even on one of the other sleeping ponies, but they were simply too sick to care, apologize, or even speak about the matter. The smell of blood and vomit had embedded itself into the room, and one could smell it from far behind a closed door.

Thud.

Cheerilie growled, pawing at her temples with her fingers, as if trying to dig through and pull the pain out. Every now and then, the pain in her head would spike, like all of the blood kept within was suddenly trying to force its way out of her skull. She heard the small jingle of the red collar upon her neck. She tugged at it for a moment, but lost focus after another coughing fit. She looked around again. In her dulled mind, she remembered schools differently than this. They were much cleaner, and the chairs with four legs were straight, they were kept clean and there were lights and-

Thud.

She growled in a much angrier tone. She used to remember a remedy for this, but was too tired to do so right now. She walked slowly around the crowded building, occasionally bumping into a wall or closed door until she made her way outside, into the blinding sunlight.

The sky was clear, the sunlight was strong, and Cheerilie covered her irritated eyes as they began to leak fresh blood. A few mares around her did the same as they roamed around the ruined place, some stumbling over and falling in pain. She looked around when her eyes could bare it.

She saw places that made memories materialize in her mind. Laughter. Smaller ponies. Happiness.

Thud. Thud.

She walked toward what her mind told her was a playground. She sat upon a swing that was still strongly chained, unlike others that had rotted away or were too rusted to use. She remembered more vivid things.

Applebloom. What a sweet young filly. She would play here with friends... friends would walk and play...

Thud.

Caribou. Caribou took them.

Thud. Thud.

They RAPED them. They raped her.

Thud. Thud.

They took everything. They made her an object. They made her think it was okay to be used.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

She smacked her forehead against a wall of the school, and the bigger thoughts dissipated. after she fell to the mulch, she looked up at the sky, as dazed as she was. She remembered to stand up...

Thud.

Hungry.

The mares within the building who hadn't died from their illness in the night had gotten up and began moving in a group. A few of the less delirious, Cheerilie not being among them, had picked up weapons strewn across the ground. Sharp rocks, lengths of broken wood, even the occasional knife or shiv armed the more intelligent group members. Cheerilie simply walked at a brisk pace where other mares seemed to go. The group seemed less like a pack and more like a mob. They were too sick to hunt for their food, like the other mares, but something within them was driving them into Ponyville, possibly a smell or some noises, nothing she could remember. Cheerilie looked around, seeing piles of rotting, dead corpses.

Among them, mares, some like her, some not. Some had horns, or wings, clipped or cut as they were. Some had bloody eyes, others seemed mostly normal.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Stallion.

She began sniffing rapidly, peering deep into the piles of corpses. She saw the body of a stallion. Fresh, young. Couldn't have been an adult for long. Couldn't have been dead for long. She broke off from the group, a few mares following her. As they neared the stallion, the smell of meat filled Cheerilie's nostrils, and she suddenly moved as quickly as her tired legs would carry her, much less a sprint and more of a hurried gait.

She and the mares who moved with her pulled the body off of the top of the pile, onto a dirt path. Without waiting, they immediately began tearing into the body, their more well-armed peers moving further into the ruined town.

After a moment, the thudding in her head ceased. Cheerilie's eyes managed to focus. The stallion was wearing something shiny. She looked at herself in it.

Her eyes were bloody, the sclera being more velvet than white. Droplets of blood had caked below her eyelids, giving the appearance that she was constantly crying. Fresh blood dripped off of her chin, from the stallion she had just been eating. The headache began to lessen as meat and blood slid down her throat, settling in the empty pit of her stomach.

She tore into the body more.

No more thudding.

Not long after, Cheerilie and those who fed with her had caught up with the other mares, who had also found fresh corpses, as evidenced by their once sour expressions turning into toothy, sickening grins. That was it! That was the remedy. Cheerilie was finally able to remember. If you were sick, you ate meat. Deer and rabbit didn't cut it, though. Had to be a pony. Had to be fresh.

She looked around more. She remembered what was lost. Happiness. Laughter. Love. All had been taken. There was love, the Caribou turned it to lust, and now she mostly felt hatred. It was exciting to kill, no doubt. The chase, the hunt, getting first bite, it's all an exhilarating experience for her, now. Far more than sex, anyway. In the end, however, when it was all said and done, she hunted and killed who she did because she hated them. The caribou, the stallions who raped her, it had become her goal to find them and eat them all. That seemed to be the goal of the mares around her, too.

A mare at the front of the group came to a halt, putting her hand in the air, waiting for the others to stop.

"Stop... Walk. Need... sit." She spoke, sounding as if she was choking on something.

The group moved into a small bakery, with torn decorations and little crumbs of pastries strewn around the floor. Rats scurried away in a panic as some of the hungrier mares leaped at them, though to no avail. Cheerilie sat in a corner as the mares around her began to sit, some even able to speak with one another, albeit in broken sentences.

"No more food." Cheerilie thought aloud.

"What?" The mare from before stood again, hunching over from another coughing fit.

"Need... move." Cheerilie rubbed her head, trying to maintain her focus.

"Find...living." She snapped her fingers, trying to remember the word, growling in frustration.

"Living... stallion?" The leading mare spoke.

"Yes... Dead ones.. not... good." Cheerilie stood, relieved that her words made sense.

The leading mare was quiet for a moment.

"Hmph." Was her only response. She turned, slowly walking over to a chair and sitting down again.

Cheerilie sat back down, look at the group around her again.

She remembered horrible things as she sat, swaying lightly. She remembered being strapped to a wooden device and forced to watch as mares had their horns sawed off, their screams of agony making her grab at her head, as if the screams were real again. She remembered an orange filly... Scootah... Aloo... Something like that. She remembered watching as a caribou grabbed the tiny filly and took her wings away with nothing but a pair of dirty scissors.

In that brief moment, she remembered why all she felt was hate.

Footsteps.

In a moment, she looked out of a window in her daydreaming, and she noticed a shape in the distance. Somepony wearing a white cup on their face, a mask? She peered closer.

Stallion. Pegasus stallion.

He walked away, apparently not noticing her. She saw that one of his wings was bandaged with a piece of soiled cloth.

Easy.

She quickly let out a shriek, and the group snapped to attention. She pointed at the stallion, who had turned rapidly to see the source of the scream.

Mares grabbed weapons and came barreling out of the building, causing the stallion to break into a sprint. Cheerilie was near the front of the group, all running at full speed with teeth bared. Cheerilie could make out the sound of dozens of hooves thudding along the dirt path, the sound of shrieking laughter and teeth snapping at the terrified stallion. The running pegasus produced a small pistol from his pocket and fired into the crowd behind him, some bullets whizzing past Cheerilie's head while others cause some mares to tumble back. The mare Cheerilie spoke to earlier had been shot right in front of her, spattering her face with blood. She managed to get around her body before tripping over it, now at the front of the pack.

Eventually, the stallion slowed, breathing heavily as he forced himself to run.

Cheerilie jumped at her first chance, tackling the stallion to the mud.

The other mares began to crowd around him, but Cheerilie shrieked in response.

"STOP!"

Her voice echoed through the empty town, and the mares around her began to back off. The stallion underneath her shivered violently, his hands around his face.

"Knife." Cheerilie spoke to the crowd. A mare threw her a machete, which she picked up off the ground. It was just recently sharpened.

She looked at the cowering stallion on the ground, quickly grabbing his broken wing, pulling it out sideways. The stallion yelled out in pain, his other wing extending in response.

She brought the blade down on the bandaged part of his wing, lodging it in the bone. The stallion screamed out again, trying to pull away, but another mare took his hand that was trying to drag him away and grabbed it, hitting it with a rock until it stopped making cracking sounds.

Cheerilie kept ripping the machete out and chopping at his wing, taking sick pleasure in his torment as he screamed and writhed underneath her. Surrounded by other mares, all he could do was scream and cry out as Cheerilie hacked off both of his wings.

When she finished, she looked at the group.

"Carry it." She pointed to the stallion with her blade.

The stallion in question was looking at the ground, his face smeared with mud. His eyes were open in sheer horror, too stricken by shock to do much but shudder. The mares in the group lifted the stallion into the air as Cheerilie stood up, following her as she began walking.

"Why..." The stallion got out between shuddering breaths.

Cheerilie turned around, rage in her bleeding eyes. She remembered a very particular word. One that was often used against her in the past, but one she found all-too-fitting for this moment. She screamed directly in his face, loud enough for him and any other being in Ponyville to hear.

"PUNISH!!!"

Thud.

The Lost

The sound of hundreds of hooves beating against asphalt resonated throughout the city of Baltimare. The noise echoed down a cluttered street, partially blocked by old concrete barricades, and the occasional pile of smoldering bodies, the stench of their burnt flesh still strong in the air. A single mare sprinted out of an alleyway onto the road, her red collar and backpack clattering as she did. She turned tail and began sprinting down the road, doing her best to hurdle over obstacles or going around them when she can.

A moment later, dozens of mares emerged from the same alleyway, blood flecked underneath their eyes. Some in the group trip over each other, leaving some trampled on the road. As soon as they catch wind of their prey, they pick up their pace, though they seem to be losing ground on the dark blue mare.

She seemed rather capable, or at least experienced, at running. Even as the chase began to prolong, she only seemed to outpace the mares that were chasing her. Even for a red collar, a mare once taught to only sit and obey, her body showed signs of growing muscle as she sprinted down the once empty street.

As she ran, infected mares began to emerge from the empty buildings around her, sluggish and tired. They took to the chase, only adding to the growing swarm pursuing her, which had now seemed to flow over the street like a flood as opposed to a crowd of mares. The horde lept over cars, sometimes simply pushing them out of the way if they were too tall.

The dark-colored mare didn't look back for a second, her eyes constantly forward as she sprinted towards nowhere. She had simply been searching for food or a master earlier, and now a crowd of what must've been over a hundred mares was now chasing her at full speed. She had seen what had happened to other slaves, the ones who 'went Bloodshot' and betrayed their master. All it took was a single touch and you were a monster.

She hated the thought of this, how this sickness made so many slaves betray their owners. She hated the thought of becoming like them, a killer of masters and a traitor to her way of life. She would find a master and keep from becoming like those other mares if it would kill her.

None of those thoughts mattered, now. All she could think about was running. Even as her lungs felt hot and her legs began to burn, she knew she had to keep running. That's what had kept her sane so far, right? She kept moving, she stayed the way she was. She knew that if she even slowed down a bit, it'd be all over. Other mares that had escaped from the Baltimare Brothel with her had all suffered the same fate, only because they stopped running.

"Hey!"

A muffled noise broke her concentration and she looked in the direction of it. A stallion!

A stallion on the roof of a nearby apartment building waved at her, pointing towards the door of the building. He took out a rifle and began firing at the crowd, killing only a few mares. It was enough to distract them for a brief second, and they soon started running at him, some going in the alleyway near the apartment complex and clawing at the brickwork of the building, a few smart enough to grab a drainpipe and clamber their way up it.

The mare wasted not a split second. She mustered what energy she had left in her and ran for the doors of the building. She bashed her way through the unlocked doors, not even looking at the interior of the building, except for the large set of stairs. Her legs felt like they would burst into flames, but she kept trying, tugging at the railing slightly to ease the strain on her legs.

A few mares had run into the building, quickly seeing the dark blue mare scrambling up the staircase, and began to chase her again. As the sane mare ascended the staircase, she began to wheeze as she ran, but kept her pace as best as she could, hearing thundering hoofsteps from the stairs below her. She closed her eyes and kept sprinting, tapped a wall at the top, turned and ran again.

As she neared the top, she struggled to keep a straight line and her vision began to fade. Her sweat made her look like she had been sprayed with a fire hose, but she fought as hard as she could, dragging herself in a desperate bid to keep from being touched by the sick mares, who were closing in.

She heard even louder footsteps from above, but her blurred vision could only make out a vaguely pony-like shape. Was it the stallion?

She exhaled a plea as her eyes closed.

"Save..."

Everything went black.

Andromeda was her name. She had a dark blue coat, with maroon eyes. Her hair was long, but as well kept as she could afford, it seemed. It was magenta in coloration, though her previous master most likely had it dyed that way, as opposed to it being natural, one could see tiny patches where the hair just didn't seem like the proper color, but it was hard to tell what it truly was.

Now she was unconscious on a stairway as diseased mares drew close.

When she woke up, she was leaning against something firm. Her eyes slowly peeled open, and at first glance, all she saw was the night sky. She turned her head slightly, and saw some crates, and some dirty pillows in her peripheral. Her legs ached badly, almost too sore to move. She used her arms to push herself up into a sitting position, and quickly shielded her eyes from the light of a campfire.

The pony she saw earlier was sitting there, hunched over like a homeless man, watching a small pot of water boil over the campfire, held up by an assembly of sticks.

"Sir?" She asked meekly. As her senses caught up to her, she coughed, parched. She remembered that she hadn't drank much for at least half a day.

"Don't call me that." The pony said back.

She blushed and giggled. She loved when they reprimanded her, even just a harsh tone.

"I'm sorry, master." She cooed.

The pony turned and drew a sawn-off shotgun on her.

"Don't call me that either."

Andromeda looked close at the stallion.

Is that a mare?

Is that blood!?

She immediately tensed, but couldn't muster a scream.

"Calm down. I'm not gonna touch you." The heavily-clothed mare sat down again, holstering her shotgun.

"You're a mare?" Andomeda asked, still tense.

"B-but, you saved my life, you touched me and-"

The other mare stopped her with a wave of her gloved hand.

"Gloves. If I can't touch you, I can't turn you, right?"

Andromeda nodded slowly, her instincts screaming for her to run away from her, but her and her legs were far too tired to do so.

"Why did you save me?" She asked.

"Do I really need a reason?" The armed woman chuckled.

"You're not crazy. Well, not as crazy as the women who want to turn you into one of them."

Andromeda simply accepted the answer at first, but pondered on it for a brief moment.

"Wait, why were you shooting them? Don't you want to help them?" She asked, shifting in her makeshift bed.

"Used to. Then there were no more guys for them to kill, so they just turned on any women that weren't as mad as them." She shrugged, watching the campfire before throwing a few toy letter blocks onto it.

The contents of the unmarked can above the fire began to steam, and the infected mare took them off with a pair of metal tongs, setting them on the concrete. Andromeda hadn't smelled anything like that in a long time. She didn't even know a name for it. All she knew is that when she was well behaved, her master used to give it to her as a treat.

"You hungry for peaches?" The infected mare spoke up, emptying some of the aforementioned fruit into a plastic bowl and pushing it over to Andromeda, along with a plastic spoon. She immediately backed away from it, as much as her strength would allow.

"This will make me sick like you!" She cried out.

"No. It won't. Did I spit in it? Did I take my glove off and stick my finger in it? Eat the damn fruit." The mare hissed at her, causing her to shield herself, as if expecting a blow to the head.

"I'm not gonna hit you." She said simply, eating the rest of the peaches straight from the can.

Andromeda waited for a moment, then sighed.

"I'll take some water too, if that's alright."

After eating, Andromeda fell into a dreamless rest.

As daylight shone against Andromeda's eyes, she woke to a cloudy sky. Slowly, her eyes scanned her surroundings. The campfire set last night had burned to mostly ashes, a few coals still barely holding the fire they once burned within. The other mare was already wide awake, lifting some long piece of metal from behind the crates Andromeda was sleeping near.

"You're awake?" The mare spoke.

Andromeda nodded weakly.

"Good. I'll grab something for you to eat from my pack in a minute." The mare set the metal sheet down, but Andromeda could not see where.

"What was that?" She asked as she brought herself up, now having the strength to get herself up, at least after popping a few bones.

"Oh, the metal thing? I use that to get places without walking on the streets." She tossed a can with a pull-tab over to the waking mare.

"You walk across the buildings? Why?" Andromeda said as she struggled with the can's pull tab.

"Easy, really. You stay off the streets, it's harder for them to see you. If I get chased out, I just get out, walk back, and pull the metal away." She explained, showing how she had already formed a perilous-seeming bridge between the apartment complex and the next building. Below, a few burnt corpses lied in the alleyway. The drainpipe had been pulled from the building, bent and crashed upon the concrete.

"How did you get those mares to go away?" Andromeda spoke up, backing away from the edge of the building after taking a look at the alleyway below.

"They may be crazy, but they're not too stupid. Throw a few bottles full of flaming gasoline at them and most of them will back off. The rest? Target practice. I'm surprised the gunshots didn't wake you up." She chuckled as she strung her rifle across her back.

"I had been running a lot.." Andromeda said, finally opening the pull tab of the can and eating the contents inside; pear halves in syrup.

The infected mare had already gotten up onto the metal, stretching out both of her arms to gain balance. Before walking across, she looked back at Andromeda.

"You're Andromeda, right?"

Andromeda looked at her curiously.

"How did you know?"

"You mumble in your sleep. Anyways, you can call me Archer." She turned her head forward, walking across.

"Stay put. I'll be back in a few minutes. If you need my help, just call out." Archer eventually reached the other side, and disappeared into a trap door, walking down a set of stairs.

Andromeda walked over to where she had been sleeping, sitting back down. The cloth left there was still warm, so she wrapped herself up in the dirty cloth, like a child cocooning themselves with a favorite blanket before bed. She watched the grey sky, a great mass of clouds drifting high above her, almost a mesmerizing sight. As a slave, she was rarely allowed outside of her brothel, and rarely got to see the sky, aside from what she could get out of a window. Now, ever since she had fled, she found comfort in the fact that at least until she found a new master, she could see the sky in its entirety. Vibrant blues, the stars at night, tiny clouds like islands floating on a great sea.

Just as her eyes began to shut, she heard somepony trying to push open the barricaded door to the rooftop.

The Lovers

Three small shapes traveled down a decaying road. A heavily-dressed. light gray mare pushed a cart along the asphalt, now and again having to wrench a wheel from a pothole or crack. The cart itself contained mostly packaged food, Three small blankets, some water, and a set of books. A chain was connected via padlock to the cart, leading to a white mare with a neon blue mane. Having hemorrhaged blood from her eyes for some time, the white coat on her face had been almost stained red. A muzzle was locked around her mouth, with a cloth tied around it, which had been sullied with blood for some time. Her hands were bound with several sets of handcuffs, her hands tied together with duct tape.

Behind the two mares was a unicorn stallion with a dark grey coat and even darker, messier mane. He wore a black t-shirt, with a stained white tie. He looked at the road as he walked, with the face of someone who had simply seen too much horror. He and the mare both carried weapons, a machete and a metal bat, respectively. Both seemed overused, with several nicks and dents.

As they traveled down the lonely road, now and again passing a car that had either crashed or ran out of gas, they so no sign of life, beyond the occasional collapsed body, already picked clean both by survivors and crows. The forest around the road was littered with fallen leaves and twigs, as fall began to settle in, and with that, they all knew winter could not be far behind. Rain had come and gone, but the three kept moving, always alert. Now and again, the infected unicorn mare would pull at her restraints, letting out muffled screams and curses at the earth pony pushing the cart, but she seemed to ignore her, or at least had gotten used to it.

"We could always forget the cities and go west." The stallion finally spoke up.

"No. We keep going to Vanhoover. Celestia knows what's west, and chances are we'll fare no better." The grey mare spoke without looking at the stallion, still pushing the cart along the road.

"Nopony's ever been out there, for all we know nopony thought to go. We would be safer, then." He spoke, looking into the forest, that almost appeared to be dying.

"Do you even know the first thing about wilderness-" The mare stopped herself.

"Nevermind. It's off the table. We stay in the cities." She shook her head.

"Until?" The stallion questioned, moving closer to the grey mare, keeping his distance from the restrained one.

"Until we find people who know any better ideas, Neon." There was a hint of annoyance in her tone, as well as her expression.

"Octavia, for all we know, we're the only people left." Neon spoke solemnly.

"Then I suppose you had better get used to cities. I didn't think you'd be sad about that." She laughed, more out of spite than anything.

They stopped talking for a while, the only noise to accompany them being the howling of the wind, the mad-mare's rambling, and their own hoofsteps as they walked.

As the hours passed and the day droned on, they eventually came to a pass in between two mountains, like a man-made valley. Concrete barricades and sandbags were left broken and torn, and several bodies were strewn about, both mare, stallion, and caribou. Though there were no guns to be found, even among the dead that were in uniforms, Neon Lights searched a few of the bodies as they passed, usually the ones that weren't stripped of clothing. He able to find a few things of value, a packet of cigarettes here and there, a compass, even enough stray bullets to fill a magazine, although he had no gun to use them with.

Octavia only pushed the cart as Neon searched the bodies. Vinyl Scratch simply stared in some form of glee at the bodies, now and again starting to pull at her restraints whenever she saw a corpse that seemed untouched.

"Eat. Eat." She mumbled in a tone that seemed like half speech, half laughter.

Octavia tried her best to block out the madmare's voice, but she only grew louder as she became more frustrated.

"Eat... Eat CORPSE!" She screamed, pulling at her chain hard enough to begin tipping over the cart.

Octavia pulled back, causing Vinyl to get into a tug-of-war with herself and the cart, but after it was evident she wouldn't win, she eventually gave up.

"We'll feed you soon enough, Vinyl. Now keep quiet."

The red-collared mare in question glared at Octavia, then giggled under her muzzle, but kept quiet.

They continued down the road, surrounded on either side by the mountain, which had been cut through long before the caribou had arrived. These were the Smokey Mountains, as evidenced by the crinkled, torn map that Octavia looked at now and again. Vanhoover wasn't that far, but the sun had begun to set, casting a shadow on the trio of ponies as they walked through the seemingly never-ending passage. Now and again a gust of wind would blow through, biting at whatever skin was left uncovered by their clothing, but they pressed on.

Hours passed until they eventually reached the end of the passage, the claustrophobic feeling that had begun to enter their minds had lifted as they walked through the open, albeit dark, exit. Towering buildings could be seen in the distance, mostly destroyed. One skyscraper in particular had fallen onto another, kept in place by the far sturdier building it now laid upon. Trails of smoke left charred buildings, fires long since put snuffed out.

As the sun set, they made camp. Octavia took another set of handcuffs from her backpack, attaching the cart, and Vinyl Scratch along with it, to an overturned car. The mare tugged at her restraints, and tried spitting blood at Octavia through her muzzle, but sat as the walking caught up with her. As tiredness pulled at her sleeping eyes, she sat on the cold road, looking off into the distance, swaying slightly before laying down and falling asleep, her breathing labored and wet.

Octavia took out a bedroll from the cart, unrolling it. She quietly approached the sleeping mare, gently draping it over her body. She frowned as she saw the chain connecting the mare to the cart, but went back to where she was. Neon Lights had already taken his bedroll out and made himself as comfortable as possible. Octavia did the same, although further away from the two.

Octavia was awoken by the sound of a chain rattling loudly. Her eyes opened slowly to see Vinyl Scratch pulling violently at her chain, staring at something off in the distance, towards the city. She slowly got up, stretched, and looked in the same direction.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of infected mares were walking down that road, right towards them.

She shook Neon Lights violently, causing the stallion to jump awake.

"Octavia! What the hell!?" He yelled out, looking at the frightened mare.

"Neon, we need to hide. Now!" She screamed out.

Vinyl Scratch simply pulled at the chain, and one could hear the straining as a chain was about to snap.

Author's Note

Bit of a shorter chapter this time. This is for two reasons.

A. I'm starting to run out of motivation due to RL stuff happening

B. I want this to be the last "group" to be introduced.

The Hunted

"Aronfelt, you need to get your shit together." The caribou spoke to his comrade, who was left blubbering on the floor of the bank.

"F-fuck that. F-fuck that you old shit!" He shivered as he spoke, his eyes unfocused.

"They're using us as fucking food!" He had wrapped himself in the fetal position, shaking like a kicked dog.

"Aronfelt, you have to be quiet, dammit." The bigger one said, trying to pull up the shivering caribou.

"If they are using us as cattle, then we need to leave, right? Luck have it, some more unlucky bastards come along and the cunts leave us alone." He spoke calmly.

"Now put your gas mask on."

The pair emerged from the bank, bedrolls and gas masks in tow. Dawn broke upon the ruins, upon the corpses left behind from the battle the night before. A few weapons were strewn on the ground, a few of which they carefully took. The body of their comrade was gone, or among the skeletons stripped bare of meat, they couldn't tell. The copper-scent of blood was thick in the air, enough to make the caribou pick up their pace to escape the smell alone.

"How much ammo do we have left, Vakjel?" Aronfelt asked, looking at the cylinder for his own revolver, with only four bullets left.

"I got about half a mag left. We're not fighting off another swarm." He said, looking at the magazine for his assault rifle before loading it back in.

"I guess we'll have to hope they didn't notice." Aronfelt said blankly, less focused on their discussion and more on looking around for any mare that might've been watching them.

"At least the bitches die as easy as they used to." Vakjel laughed. Aronfelt didn't respond.

Cheerilie wandered down the road, with at least two dozen mares behind her, each with a toothy grin as they walked down the street, carrying the now wingless stallion with them. Cheerilie convinced the mares holding him to tie a piece of cloth around the stumps where his wings used to be, changing the cloth now and again. The stallion himself had gone pale, and was only getting worse.

It did him no better to see Cheerilie tearing a piece of meat from one of his wings, the other being passed around by the other mares.

A shorter mare followed closely to Cheerilie. She was a unicorn, though a once beautiful horn was sawed off by some caribou in months, perhaps years past, leaving only a chalky stump. She pointed to the stallion and growled out a word to Cheerilie.

"Eat."

Cheerilie stopped, the group doing the same.

"No. Save." She said sternly.

"Why?"

Silence fell upon the group. Even the imprisoned stallion stopped shivering.

"Eat stallion, less sick. Easy." The unicorn spoke, pointing again to the pale pegasus.

Cheerilie didn't respond, eyes glaring forward, slowly moving as if following something.

"TALK!" The unicorn grabbed at Cheerilie.

She stopped when she felt her machete near her neck.

"Prey. Ahead. Eat them." She pointed with her other arm, keeping the mare at bay with a blade pressed against her throat.

All was quiet again for a moment.

Thud.

"Move."

Aronfelt breathed as quietly as he could through his gas mask, not wanting to stir any sleeping ponies that may be lurking in the buildings around them. He and Vakjel sneaked as silently as they could on the street out of Ponyville, weapons drawn just in case.

"Vakjel?" Aronfelt spoke up.

"What is it?"

"Is that an earthquake?"

Vakjel turned his head, gasping as he grabbed Aronfelt by his shirt.

"Run. Aronfelt fucking run."

The two caribou broke into a sprint, with at least two dozen mares running after them, snapping teeth and screaming at their prey. One in the front, a dark pink earth pony mare, barked out commands at the others.

"Keep up! Food! Eat!" She screamed, driving the pursuers into a frenzy, letting out shrieking laughter and snarls as they chased the two caribou down the road.

The pegasus stallion, being carried close behind by one of the stronger mares, had shut his eyes tight as he was dragged through the mud. The bouncing had left him in agonizing pain, having made it impossible for him to keep his wounds still. The cloth began to unravel, revealing the dirt-crusted stump that was left of either wing. He kept his yells down to occasional yelps of pain, so as not to annoy his captors into violence.

He submitted, the only thing he could do was wait.

The caribou kept running, though tiredness pulled at them, they pressed on, trying to find a route to lose the horde. No matter which way they seemed to turn, their route was blocked, the only path being the main road down which they had already been running, out of Ponyville. The open fields in the distance didn't seem to be a promising hiding spot, and Vakjel racked his mind in search of ideas. Could they try to find a ladder and lose them on the rooftops? They'd be too quick, and one of them would probably be caught if not both. They didn't have any smoke grenades left, and even between the two of them there wasn't enough ammunition to kill off the mares alone.

Another crowd of mares had materialized in front of him, sprinting at them with the same veracity and glee as the ones behind them. The group was smaller, but seemed no less dangerous, the mare in the front wearing what seemed like a fresh pair of antlers around her neck...

"Vakjel! Down here!" Aronfelt yelled, running towards an open alleyway. With no other ideas, Vakjel ran after him, his eyes looking toward a large, upright wooden pallet. In a moment of madness, he stopped for a moment, turning and pushing the wooden pallet down before continuing. It served its purpose well enough, stopping the mares enough for Aronfelt to find a ladder to the top of the building in the alleyway.

The mares were stopped briefly, but soon pushed the barrier to the side, but had just missed their chance, Vakjel taking the ladder and pulling it up quickly before the mares could grab hold. He and Aronfelt removed their gas masks, breathing heavily as they both laid on their backs, facing the sky as sweat beaded from their bodies. The mares below growled and yelled in frustration, but couldn't do much except claw a the side of the building.

Cheerilie stopped the swarm with a loud yell, which caught the caribou's attention. Vakjel stayed where he laid, but Aronfelt's curiosity got the better of him, causing him to crawl on all fours towards the edge of the building.

Cheerilie directed the mares who followed her out of the alleyway, the other swarm also leaving after realizing the futility of pursuing the two any longer. The mare wearing antlers around her neck looked to Cheerilie, then to the stallion in her captivity.

She pointed to the de-winged stallion, and she grinned widely.

"Eat. It." She choked out.

Cheerilie stood still, slowly shaking her head.

The other mare growled, and the mares in her group tensed in anticipation.

"Why!?" She barked out.

Cheerilie smiled, a sick, foreboding smile.

"No need."

She pointed her machete at the other leading mare, who gave a quizzical look. The mares around her smiled as well, slowly drawing their weapons and giggling softly, before Cheerilie uttered a single word.

"Eat."

Aronfelt watched in curious fear as the group led by the pink earth pony suddenly charged at the other group, quickly overtaking them.

"Vakjel... Vakjel something weird is happening." He spoke, fear in his voice.

"Aronfelt.." Vakjelt spoke, still catching his breath.

"It doesn't matter."

"Vakjel, mares are killing each other down there..."

Vakjel got up, wordlessly going to the edge of the building next to Aronfelt, watching the scene unfold.

Cheerilie stood still as mares charged past her, causing her messy hair to blow in the air. Her mares rapidly overtook the surprised group, jabbing, slashing, and biting at their new, more plentiful prey with wild abandon. Blood spat out of fresh wounds and metal collided with flesh and bone, but as were most fights with the infected mares, it soon became an indefinable flurry of motion and violence.

The two caribou watched, curious but careful, until the fight ceased, retreating out of view.

The mares below ate at the dead, filling their half-empty stomachs with almost orgasmic glee. Cheerilie herself took a few choice bites from the dead, caring not if it was of her own or the prey. The victory got her in a peculiar mood; the violence, the superiority, the smell...

She felt ecstatic.

As she ate, she let a moan escape her lips, as if the taste of blood got her off. The mares around her were confused, but kept eating. Soon, all that was left was a scattering of bodies, with hunks of flesh missing, and a group of content mares.

The pegasus stallion could only watch, horrified as the infected ate, at least he assumed, their own. He had never seen something like this, even among starving groups, they hardly ever touched each other. Now, before him was a group of mares that had killed others like them, even while he was vulnerable. Why? Why not kill him? Why leave him in this horrid torment? A single word echoed in his mind, leaving him silent.

Punish.

Aronfelt and Vakjel waited for a while, peeking at the mares now and again. They noticed the stallion in their care, but thought little of it. He wasn't important to them and they probably couldn't save him anyway, they thought. They simply sat, now and again peeking, until the group left, after carving some cuts of meat from the dead mares before walking westward as dusk set in.

"Let's get the hell out of here, Aronfelt. I don't wanna see that crazy shit again." Vakjel whispered, wasting no time climbing down the ladder and leaving the town, Aronfelt close behind. They wandered east, on the outbound road towards Baltimare, shrouded by the cold and the dark as night covered Equestria, moonlight being their only guide as they carefully followed the road.