Next to the dumpster was a recycle bin, full of beer cans and bottles and wasps. So many wasps.

Some of the beer bottles had sheets of paper rolled up in them, and after waiting a few days for a beekeepers suit to arrive from Amazon. It did not come with gloves, which caused a few more day’s delays.

Luckily, the wasps were a deterrent to anybody considering taking the bottles for recycling.

Suited and gloved, and in a rental U-haul, all the bottles were transported to a secure location and examined for pages of manuscript.

The Wizard of Whitetail Woods II: The Lost Chapters
Chapter !2b: What’s In A Name? And Why Are There Zombies Now?
Admiral Bisquick

There were things a young, foolish filly did which she regretted later in life. Things that at the time seemed smart and sensible, and which turned out with the benefit of hindsight, were neither. Such as agreeing to quest with a questionable Wizard, sign a NDA, rob a Kum and Go. . .

KitKat paced around her cell restlessly, once again itemizing the poor life choices which had led to this. There was little else to do—she’d already used her shoe to scratch another tally mark on the wall.

The barred window offered a tantalizing glimpse of a sort of freedom, but looking out the window too long was depressing, largely on account of all the zombies. It was better to focus on what she had.

A bed, for one. With cotton sheets, a wool blanket, and two pillows. Three meals a day, delivered by pneumatic tube. A large supply of tea and beer, also supplied by the very same pneumatic tube.

Plenty of reading material, too. (You won’t be surprised to learn that books fit in pneumatic tubes . . . at least, trade paperbacks do.) There was a stack of Daring Do novels available to her. Unfortunately, she’d been a voracious reader of the series as a filly. That was another thing she would have told her past self to not do, had she known how her future self would be yearning for something to pass the time.

There was a telephone book which would have been more useful if ponies had invented telephones, and if it had pony telephone numbers in it instead of Pfafftown NC.

She had her saddlebags, chock full of spellbooks and in a little pocket on the side, two wheels of emergency cheese. And her bedroll which could serve as an extra pillow.

There was also a potted plant she’d been tending to. That wouldn’t last much longer; she’d given it so much attention it had nearly overgrown the pot. Maybe if she asked nicely, the warden would give her another. Small plants fit in the pneumatic tube.

Pacing distracted her at least briefly from one other complaint past KitKat hadn’t considered—she really had to pee. There was plenty of beer and tea, and in her boredom. . . .

Her ears perked as the bathroom lock clicked open and the Wizard walked out.

Her hooves dug into the plush carpet—that was another thing to be thankful for—and she galloped to the bathroom.

•••

She glared at the wizard when she was finished. “How come it takes you so long in the bathroom anyway?”

“I was doing research.” He held up a spellbook he’d nicked out of KitKat’s saddlebags when she wasn’t looking.

She reached for the magazine with her mouth, though better of it, and knocked it down with her hoof. “Well, stop. That’s what landed us here in the first place.”

“It’s not my fault.” The Wizard folded his arms across his chest.

“Of all the things you could have got at the Kum and Go, why’d you have to get a case of Corona? It’s totally your fault we’re locked up in quarantine.”

“Because your beer is terrible.”

“So’s yours. It tastes like piss and has stupid names.”

“You’re one to talk about piss beer . . . what’s Kirin Beer made out of again?”

“Kirin piss. But it doesn’t taste like it.”

“And why are the names so strange?”

“They’re not strange, they’re perfectly cromulent pony names.”

“This coming from a pony named for a candy bar.”

KitKat stomped her hoof. “At least it’s a good candy bar, or so I’ve been told. You’re named for . . . you’re not even named at all. What is your name, anyway? Your parents didn’t just name you Wizard in the hopes that one day you’d fuck a unicorn and fulfil your destiny, did they?” She turned her head to the phone book. “Almost everybody in there has two or more names. Like Smith Mary or Cunningworth Clarice J or Qdoba Mexican Eats.”

The Wizard sat down on the armchair (which was an odd piece of furniture for a pony hotel to have) and his eyes got unfocused as he philosophized. For just a moment, KitKat got a glimpse into what actually made him a Wizard (because it sure as hell wasn’t his magic).*

“What’s in a name? Some names have cultural significance, or ancestral significance, or Biblical significance, and most societies assign them at birth. Some people change their names as a rite of passage, whether it be attaining the age of majority or getting married or some other ceremony. Some people choose to change their name to better reflect who they are as an adult. Some people get nicknames from friends, or they make up their own pseudonym for online chats and forums and sometimes they become that person when they’re wearing that name.

“Names can have power, especially true names. Those known but never spoken, the names given by the gods. Maybe at birth, maybe after accomplishing a great deed.”

“Wait, I can just give you a nickname? I don’t have to call you ‘The Wizard’ all the time?”

“Do not speak it aloud,” the Wizard cautioned.

Okay, Eenhorn Klootzak. She felt a chill wind blow through the hotel room and the Wizard twitched in his seat.

For the moment, the two of them were silent, then the Wizard spoke again. “You’re not a prophet or oracle or anything like that, are you? Because I just felt a chill wind.”

“Window’s still broken, dude.” She waved a hoof over at the broken window. “Besides, if I were a prophet or an oracle, do you think I’d be here, trapped in a hotel room with you, while hordes of zombies wander around outside?”

“Shamble,” the Wizard corrected. “What they’re doing is shambling, that’s how zombies move.” He took a sip of his Corona and then rubbed his chin. “Why are there zombies anyway? How did that happen?”

KitKat pointed at his light and crisp pale Mexican lager.

“Sure, I get that, but if exposure to Corona causes zombie-ism, how come you aren’t zombified?”

“I’m an Earth Pony, I’ve got strong constitution. Our chief ability is strong constitution. And great strength. Our two chief abilities are strong constitution, great strength, and a fanatical devotion to the Pony Pope.”

“There’s a pony Pope?”

KitKat nodded. “Her Holiness Pope Pontifix Presbyter Papal Proprio Pentiarch Pallium Peregrin Paltor.”

“Ponies have Latin?”

“The Pope does. It’s Pony Latin, though.”

“What does that mean?”

“All the words start with ‘p.’ Kitkat paused in thought. “Well, except for cum, because that word made Her Holiness giggle. I don’t know much Pony Latin, only some of the proclamations and the informational carvings on the Papal Palaces and on the pews.”

“That’s really interesting.” The Wizard leaned forward in his seat. “So you’re completely immune to Corona?”

“No, I’m not going to try it, I already told you it tasted like piss.”

“It’s got a lime in it.”

“Fine, like someone pissed on a lime.”

“I could order a lemon.”

KitKat huffed. “I’ll only drink your beer when zebras fly.”

“Fine, that’s more for me. Honestly, as long as I’m certain you won’t turn into a zombie and try and eat my brains, I see this as a good opportunity to rest and recharge.” He picked up one of his ‘spellbooks’ and started leafing through the pages.

“You keep going into the bathroom for an hour with your spellbooks, you won’t be recharging.” She tilted the magazine down and examined the centerfold. “Are those tits even real?”

“Doubt it.”

“I can’t believe I’m looking through this.” She snapped the magazine shut and slid it back into her saddlebags. “Or that I’m still carrying these around for you. You couldn’t have gotten a backpack on Earth?”

He shrugged. “I brought you back a phone book, you should be happy for that.”

“That’s not much of an accomplishment.”

“You say that, but back on Earth, they’re rare these days. Everyone uses their phones to look up the numbers.” He looked over at the dresser. “Well, might as well read a Daring Do novel.” He got up and went over to the stack of books. “You want me to bring you one?”

“Might as well.” KitKat took a sip of her beer.

“Huh.” The Wizard thumbed through the books. “Six Shades of Grey?”

“You’ll like that one. It’s right up your alley.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

KitKat shrugged. “I’m not going to spoil it for you. You’ll have to read it and find out on your own.”

“Fine, fine.” He picked the next book off the stack and set it on the bed for her, then laid down on his own bed.

She glanced down at the book he’d selected for her. “Daring Do and Mutunus Tutunus? Hmm, never heard of that one before.”

Author's Note

*Is it wizards or sorcerers who have the higher wisdom score? Whatever, KitKat has never played Dungeons and Dragons.

She has played Ogres and Oubliettes; while she was still in high school she and a group of friends would gather every Friday night and campaign, gossip, eat too many hay Doritos and drink too much Jolt Cola.