FoE: Out with the Old: Those Who Stayed Behind

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.