Chapter Two — New Rules
It’s easy to tell someone to be strong, but to be strong when you are broken is not.

At some point, the heavens had opened. I wasn't quite sure when the drizzle had started, honestly. Truth be told, my head was aching so much already from the terrified thoughts which zipped about with abandon that any other depressing realisations had only added to my panic. Nothing was clear in my mind right now and I certainly couldn't pinpoint any one particular distress. All I knew was that there was nothing at all good about the situation I was in. In a word, everything looked hopeless.

If I had been rational enough to think about it properly, perhaps I would have realised that in truth, there were a few positives. Relatively speaking, of course. Thorn was still alive, even if he was another pony to watch out for, and my injuries could have been a lot worse. On which note, we had not been caught out yet, either. Though I found it hard to accept and appreciate at that moment, it was genuinely a lucky escape.

As I said, everything was relative.

We travelled for a long time, though the hours quickly merged together. All I knew was that I was cold and hungry and in pain. Thorn, too, seemed to be coping miserably; with each cold droplet of water that exploded on his back he seemed to whimper even louder. By the time the carriage had pulled to a stop, in fact, he was completely nestled underneath my body for protection.

My head shot up into the air and my ears flicked about rapidly. We had stopped. Through the entirety of the icy downpour we had not once faltered in our progress. What could be so important that we would stop now?

I elbowed Thorn quickly and he squirmed out from underneath me, but thankfully did not grumble. Before I could explain anything, though, a voice—the pony who I had heard earlier on, if it was even the same day still—rung out over the roar of the rain.

“Listen up, Pack! This ‘ere package is our biggest deal o’ the month. There's a shitload o’ caps in it for us lot, so don't any o’ ya play with the goods, if ya get my gist.” A laugh rung out, but I couldn't quite understand the pony’s words. Or, at least, not at first.

And then I realised.

Caps, stupid though it was, had replaced hard currency out here. I never knew why, but it had been mentioned more than once by the explorers of the village; as it would turn out, my scepticism was for nought. These ponies truly had a package to exchange for caps.

And what other reason was there for them to be hauling around a cart full of dead bodies?

I stifled a whimper and instead drew Thorn closer, my injured hoof absently stroking his rusty mane. It hurt to do so, but I couldn't quite interpret that pain right now. All I knew was one thing; we were supposed to be dead. We were meant to be dinner.

“Now these here fancy guests don't know what sorta food they’re eatin’,” the pony continued, his voice gravelly, “and we sure ain't gonna lose us a paying customer by snitchin on ‘em. Not if they’s got the caps for us, eh. ‘Cos we're good ponies, ain't we!”

There was a pause before the crowd of psychos replied, “We’re good a’ what we do, boss!” After the cry, a quiet applause travelled through the masses, lasting a good few seconds before the initial speaker coughed and it fell away.

“Damn right we are!” he replied, chortling. “So, time’s ‘bout four PM on ma Eyrecolt, lads—” I frowned, the name ringing a bell somewhere in my mind, but I couldn’t quite place it. “—and ya know the drill. One charge a pony, an’ no fightin’ over them light ‘uns. Ya can kill each other when the job’s done, an’ do Ah need ta remind ya cunts what happens if somepony blows the cover?”

A low murmur sounded through the crowd. I could only assume it was one of understanding, but couldn’t really tell for sure. It didn't sound good, though.

I was right.

After a brief pause during which I so desperately hoped the words were just a joke, hoofsteps began to sound. They were not, however, continuing the journey onwards as before and the carriage was not yet moving; the familiar pain which came as my hoof was bashed when the wheels hit a snag did not come. Which meant one thing alone.

They were coming—and I had no time to run.

“Klip!” Thorn whispered quietly, but his voice shook in terror. I could feel him trembling beneath me; shaking myself, all I could do was tell him to keep quiet and stiff.

I couldn't tell him that I would protect him; I had no doubt that I could not.

I almost whimpered as I felt the first body be pulled from beneath me, but I did not know whose it was. All I could tell was that it was a pony’s; none of the village griffons were on this carriage. It was probably for the best, though I would not live long enough to find out the truth of the matter.

All around me, psychotic mares and stallions tugged at corpses in a mannerism not so different to how the hens would have torn apart the giant roaches that they were fed. A bitter thought struck me then, one that I could not unthink. This was karma.

Continually my fellow villagers’ bloodied bodies were thoughtlessly flung from the cart, heaved out of the way without so much as a pause or a falter. Each pony struggled to grab the lightest load, fighting so frequently that I feared for myself more than once. Every now and then, I would see out of the corner of my unmoving eyes—to close them would've seemed like too peaceful a death, compared with the horror of my peers’ demise—a stray head be thrown about recklessly. It was a nauseating, macabre game of football.

And then a jaw clamped down around my rear hoof and I gasped and stiffened. The pony who had grabbed me seemed most pleased by my response; he laughed horridly as he heaved my from the cart and then used every ounce of his strength to hurl my body like one would a javelin. Through the air I flew, but I was not weightless; the sheer terror of the situation pushed down on me like a sack of bricks, and it was not helped when Thorn’s small body was hurled towards me afterwards. He landed a few metres further from me, in the end, with an awful thud. It made me cry out just to up hear it—but then my body registered how beat up I was, and I could not contain the scream then.

I wailed as I tenderly inched towards Thorn and nudged him gently; he only cried out in pain when I did so and turned his head to me slowly, shaking and groaning. His face, poor foal, made me gasp and gag once more; the side which had landed heavily on the rocky ground was torn to shreds in places, half covered in blood and small flaps of torn skin. His bright pink eye was no longer so sweet; now, it was only a menacing shade of red, though it was so often clenched shut. The occasional time he tried to open it up, he only yelped and shut it once more.

“Ha!”

An explosive shout sounded somewhere behind us and, though I could hardly contain my screams, I dragged my broken body over to Thorn’s side. I wrapped my hoof around him quickly—that pain was frankly pitiful in comparison—and pulled him close.

His blood coated my hoof immediately. It was enough to make my stomach gurgle and groan and, almost right away, I gagged slightly—but forced myself to sit tall despite this when a large stallion drew closer. He was by no means nervous about coming close to the psychopaths he presumably called his allies. Rather, he carried himself with a sloppy air of authority. His chest, covered by what looked like pieces of welded-together scraps of metal that were held together by half rusted wire, was puffed out with pride and determination; his eyes shone with vicious glee.

“Well, Pack,” he began before he paused to send a smile my way. His yellowed teeth were bared in a grin, of sorts; I cowered a little and clutched Thorn to my side tighter. “Ah think we’ve got us a pretty penny with what we’ve got already. Who ‘ere’s up for a little… bonus, hmm?”

A cheer rang out through the crowd immediately and my eyes widened, but I couldn't do anything. Even if I'd been able to, though, I wouldn't have managed; instead, my body, still clutching onto Thorn, was grasped in an electric and unstable sort of magical aura which bit at my sides and made me yelp. But worse was the pain which came when we were roughly thrown from pony to pony, each bucking at our bodies with a pleasured laugh so as to keep our propulsion. And then, finally, we landed with a small crash back in the old carriage. Blood beaded on our skin from the hardened hooves which had struck so carelessly; the bruises which had sprung up almost immediately, deep purple but rapidly turning black, burned even worse.

“Somepony watch ‘em!” the stallion yelled with glee as he heaved a body onto his back. I knew that black mane well: it was my neighbour, my best friend. But I couldn't be in any more pain right now; that realisation, countered with the bile in my throat and the convulsing world before me and the pain so severe that my body couldn't even stand up to the brush of a breeze against it, was nothing.

And I couldn't even think of his name.

Thorn had passed out by now, at least. He was allowed relief—but I had already used that get-out-of-jail-free card, it would seem. Fate… Fate was cruel like that. No, not cruel. No, it was downright evil.

I don't know how long I had been there until the delivery was taken care of. Some part of my mind knew what was going on; my heart screamed out at me to fight, to help, to save the ponies from one last, final indignity. But I could no longer think, I could no longer see, I could no longer feel; there was nothing but the high pitched wail of a whistle, ringing endlessly in my bloodied ears, and pain.

Pain was everything.

But, as the time laboured by, the pain began to dull. I kept still and moved only to let the cool, unnatural air into my lungs, even if to do so meant searing pain. That was a secondary concern by now, though; I was alive, at least.

If anything, I owed my life to my dead village comrades, and ought to honour that precious gift by keeping Thorn safe—if I could. I tried not to think of anypony in particular as my mind slowly, slowly began as to function properly once again. They were simply a group, a name. They're were the villagers—they did not get any individuality.

Because to have given them that would inevitably just break me.

If I was to survive out here, I needed to know what I would actually be up against. I’d heard tales, of course—claims of vicious beasts, of giant mutants and of bloodthirsty ferals—but didn't know what, exactly, the truth was. Surely those tales had just been that: make believe.

Because while overgrown roaches were certainly feasible, giant trout seemed a bit far fetched. Why, I didn't know. They just seemed… unbelievable.

Focusing solely on the need to survive, and hence the need to learn more about this strange new world, I flicked my bloodied ears slowly until I found a conversation nearby to single out. I then put all of my effort into blocking out the surrounding gossip and chatter, much of it quite disturbing, and listened intently to what was being said.

“What?” one whispered in disbelief. Her feminine voice carried not-so-subtle hints of viciousness, a tone that made me shudder

“I know! I read a book, I swear! Like, a good few pages at least!” The second speaker paused for a moment before he finished with, sounding even more impressed with himself than he had done before, “It had words an’ everything, I tell you!”

The mare presumably gasped at this point. She then whispered, “Geez. Never knew you had it in you! What was it ‘bout?”

“Ah, it was a funny thing. There was this guy called ’Zeus’, but I didn't get much further. I mean, it was probably some cunt tryin’ to rip off Boss, right?”

The mare snorted. “Too right. Who wouldnt want to be our— Oh!” The mare squeaked and was quiet for a moment before she cried out, though I couldn't be certain I’d heard correctly, “Boss Zay-Oos the Slanderer!”

Though humour seemed to be akin to pain right now—to smile made my bruised cheek curse and complain—I was only just able to contain my snorts. What had she said? Zay-Oos the Slanderer?

Needless to say, any notions I may have had arguing that these ponies were slightly sane went out of the window right then and there. They were nothing more than sloppily-armed, sadistic idiots.

I shuffled slowly to the side of the carriage. I had to bite back numerous whimpers and wails as I did so, of course, but it gave me a good look at the so-called boss of this less than civilised herd.

“Hey, now, Blades,” he said with a chortle as he thumped her with a heavy hoof. “Ya know Ah ain't here ta kill ya. Ya’d be on the ground already if ah was.”

The mare laughed nervously. “Sorry, Boss. It's habit, don't you know.” She grinned a little more, showing her putrid yellow teeth off. “We was just sayin’ ‘bout how you’ve got yourself some fans, eh?”

The boss stood taller and pricked his ears forwards. His tongue licked his lips as if hungry.

I sure hoped he wasn't.

“Fans, huh? Why d’ya say tha’?”

“Well, Hoofnail here was reading a book and—”

The boss stiffened and looked down at the smaller, less armoured stallion. His eyes were wide and his mouth opened and closed a few times before he then said, “Ya read a book? With actual words ‘n’ all?”

The smaller male stood taller and said, “Yep! Didn't get far, though, ‘cos I saw that it was just a rip off of you, Boss. Some dumb fucker tryin’ to pass off their character as somepony completely different, but they were obviously based on you! I mean, their name was Zeus and everything!”

Zay-Oos the Slanderer stood taller and grinned. Were those fangs in his mouth? “Wicked. Think that calls for a lil’ celebration an’ all, don't ya? We’s makin’ our name out ‘ere, after all!” He paused and began to stroke his chin gently, his eyes then turning towards me after a moment’s hesitation. When they met with mine, they flashed a bright yellow.

I yelped and fell down from the edge of the carriage, scarpering back to Thorn’s side with quiet whimpers and whines, each movement sending jolts up my spine—but, to my genuine surprise, no attack came. Not yet. Thank the stars; I didn’t need any more pain.

It took a while, but eventually I managed to push the pain away once again. If I only kept still, the fates seemed to take pity on me. And it was as such that my previous determination to find out more disintegrated and I opted instead to simply lie there. It was cold, and it was mind-numbingly boring. With my wolf fur coat confiscated, the chill went right down to my bones. But, despite that, at least it didn’t hurt. Not so much, anyway.

At some point in the next few hours—the sun had begun to set, I noticed with dismay—Thorn had awoken from his not-quite-restful sleep. He, just like me, was in a shoddy state of repair. His wounds no longer bled, thankfully, and he could now at least open his injured eye properly. Not that it made me feel any better, though; nopony had bothered us since being attacked, but looking into his bloodshot pink eyes was undeniably unsettling, to say the least.

We talked in hushed voices for a little while, though mostly he listened as I told him about my role in the village. There was nothing else to really discuss, other than our current situation—and that was horrid enough as it was without working ourselves up even more.

And so I told him of the day I’d ended up in the wolf pen, and admittedly felt slightly smug at his apologeticness immediately after. I explained my role in the village, tending to the hens, and filled him in on every little detail I had ever picked up on them: how Myrtle would sometimes refrain from eating with the others so that she could be fed by hoof; how little Fannie, bless her, would rub against your leg every time you entered the coop; how big Mama Wanda always seemed to pick on the other girls but would run away squawking if a pony came near. And, last but certainly not least—and easily the most painful of all—I spoke of my family.

He listened quietly, lapping up everything I said with enthusiasm. Perhaps it was sheer boredom that drove him to listen so intentively, but I would argue that he was genuinely curious. The way his good eye lit up at the mention of the birds was heart melting; his sorrow at my grief was so genuine.

And then he told me of his family. He spoke of his father, who had never seemed able to make time for him and instead spent every minute with his younger sister. And then he went on to discuss his mother with me, beginning to tear up as soon as he spoke the word. But he persisted, whispering to me tales of her kindness, her love.

And then we both broke down in blubbering messes, laying at the back of the carriage and sobbing. Thorn trembled in my hooves yet again; I could hardly control myself enough to reassure him.

After hours of uncomfortable journeying across the ravaged and destroyed landscape which made up a small section of topside Equestria, the moment when the carriage finally pulled to a halt was a relief. I let out a breath, still sobbing slightly, and let my eyes slip shut; my body relaxed, free from the jolting which had come with each stone the rickety cart had passed over. But, when I opened them once again to look about me, I felt my relief fall away into yet more despair.

We were now position at the entrance gates to some sort of town, though I used the word cautiously. The buildings were half-dilapidated and looked as if they had been blown together by the wind, as opposed to actually built. Some were in a better state of repair than others; even the best were missing a wall or a window, with others completely lacking a roof or sides at all. By extension, they weren’t even brick and mortar, or wood, or even mud. They were, almost literally, sheets of metal piled on top of eachother.

With the icy tongue of the wind that licked at the tips of my ears so that I had to cower behind the wooden sides of the carriage for protection, it was miraculous that any still stood. But, to give credit where it was due, I only saw one that had fallen over.

The state of repair could, perhaps, be excused. After all, production of metal sheets would certainly not be operational any more—or so I presumed, at least—and resources were surely finite. Ponies had to make do with what little they had. Even in the village, that had been the case, let alone out in the wastelands where most everything had been blown to pieces when the nuclear bombs had fallen.

Something that could not be excused, however, was the quality of the place itself. In a word, it was filthy. Repulsive, even. Grime was everywhere and the village seriously needed a good tidying. Random clumps of bright green fungus that seemed to fluoresce slightly in the dim light sprouted from every nook and cranny available, as if trying to take over in its own little way. The odd corpse or pile of bones, half-gnawed and with little bits of flesh still clinging on at the end, could be found close to the shack doors—or the ones that had doors, at least. A few mutated dogs ran about desperately, lashing out at each other with razor sharp teeth protruding from their half-melted faces.

Off-brown puddles littered the blood-splattered, lightly gritted streets; it seemed that even the rain was not pure enough to wash away the horrors which came to pass here. From what I’d already seen of these ponies, it wasn’t hard to believe such things occurred on a daily basis.

I choked back my sobs at the sight and gripped Thorn even more tightly as the ponies clamoured around us. He still trembled beneath me, poor soul, but the words that left his mouth next surprised me so much that, for a moment, I felt as if there was still some good left in the world.

“Klip?” he began, looking up at me from below. His bloodied eye was covered now by his mane. I was relieved by that, to say the least. “Klip, I’m scared. But… but I think we need to work together, or we’re both gonna…” He couldn’t finish that sentence and instead shook his head. When the ponies around us came in closer, hooves stomping against the hardened ground, he then said with a whimper, “I’ll be your friend, if you want?”

I froze. And then, as the psychotic ponies began to silence and make way for their leader, I nodded slowly and coiled my painful hooves around him protectively. I then pushed him behind me, shielding him with my body as I asked, in a voice that betrayed almost all of my fear, “What do you ponies want with us?”

A few cackled loudly, whilst others merely grinned. Their leader, now stood at the front of the group, then nodded towards us and stomped his hoof loudly.

A few clambered up onto the carriage immediately and slunk forwards, maniacal snickers escaping from their mouths. Already backed up against the back, I could not get away; even to run would have been impossible. If I had been uninjured it still would have been a stupid plan. There were just too many on all sides to escape.

I could hear my heart pounding in my chest, a drumroll of terror. I struck out blindly with my rear legs, slicing through the air in a panic. But none of my blows landed true. None but one—which was promptly captured between a heavy pair of teeth.

I screamed and thrashed about immediately. But there had never been any hope of my succeeding in escaping the jaws which now clamped my hoof; the grip was so firm that my leg had started to show little droplets of blood. And so, even though I fought with all of my might, I soon found each of my weakened legs clasped between rotting, yellowed teeth.

I cried and bucked my hips frantically, though I only managed to make my capturers stumble. I cracked my tail repeatedly, the sound making my own body shudder, but it was to no avail. I was still dragged from the carriage head first, the wood biting repeatedly at my body, and behind me followed Thorn. He was heaved along roughly by a black magical aura which clasped his tail; each time he was purposefully thrown against the carriage wall, I could only yell and cry and, through the heavy floods of tears, promise him that I would keep him alive through this.

But, not at all to my surprise, I don’t think he could find the strength to believe my traumatised and desperate cries in the slightest.

Level Up!
New Perks: Swift Learner Level One
Being thrust head-first into the wastes can be tough, but you’ve managed to survive thus far on wits—or dumb luck—alone. Experience gained from interactions permanently 5% higher.

Author's Note

Many thanks to Dagger of Winter, Word Worthy, kalash93 and AShadowOfCygnus for prereading and editing this chapter!