The Infected

by YetAnotherBrony

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark
Length: 3670

After the initial repulsion of changelings their was peace, until it was deemed contagious.

The good news is not many ponies are paranoid about all their friends and neighbors being changelings. The bad news is this is primarily because their aren't many ponies left. At least that's how it is in Canterlot. I can't speak for the rest of Equestria as there is no way out of Canterlot.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-10-28 01:30:01 UTC

Chapter 1

Canterlot’s night air was as dark as a changeling’s leathery hide and about as easy to see through. Having recently lost my only shelter to a horde of infected, I was constantly on edge waiting for one to trundle down the dark alley. It was hard to say why I bothered though, as even if one came, the odds of seeing it before it was right next to me weren’t great. My best bet for survival was probably to sleep and hope for the best until morning.

Yet it was an insurmountable task, knowing they were out there, just outside of the narrow sliver of city that was visible from within the alleyway. Despite their continuous activity just yards from where we lay they had only twice in our week of being here made their way down our alley. Maybe it was because the infected in this part of the city had been far more recent additions, and weren’t fully indoctrinated yet. Whatever the case, we were safer here than in the inner city and my pillow was currently my greatest enemy.

I blew a few rogue gray mane hairs out of my eyes, as I turned my head back briefly to look at our supplies. The one rotten slightly eaten apple, and four canisters of vaguely translucent water did not bode well for my now constantly rumbling stomach. To make matters worse this was somehow not only going to feed me but also the stallion sharing this alleyway with me.

My cousin Tedd was not somepony I had never been terribly close to before a few weeks ago, but being the only family left, we had grown close rather quickly. He was the sort I would have thought would have done well in a hypothetical zombie pony apocalypse. He even had the red coat, that any leader in a dangerous situation would kill for. He would be able to keep up the spirits of the entire resistance by showing no signs of weakness, such as bleeding.

At least he could if we had come across any ponies other than ourselves who hadn’t eventually been infected, and if Tedd didn’t practically vomit every time he so much as saw a changeling. Given the pampered life he lived I shouldn’t really have been surprised, but his suave demeanor had always made him seem too cool for such mundane things as fear.

Not that his upbringing could excuse him too much. Though my family wasn’t nobility we had still lived in Canterlot as well. We even lived in the good part of town even if only barely; occasionally we heard somepony getting stabbed on the other side of our fence.  Whenever my life goal of eventually moving away from the slums seemed beyond reach, I’d pretend that somehow I was more down to earth than the elite of the elite because of it.

Thankfully, there were enough decorative weapons, fences, and such that my blacksmithing did eventually afford me to move further away from the streets. It took me a while because I wasted countless hours trying to make sharp useful weapons like the legendary weapon smiths in fantasy novels, but I eventually accepted the skill set I had. Decorations didn’t need sharp edges anyway. Though anymore one might mistake the red hot knife on my flank as representing a talent for stabbing and slitting throats. At least they would, if it wasn’t primarily luck that kept us alive.

The streets that I had only recently finally gotten away from were now my haven. Since the outbreak had started in the castle, these alleys and ghettos were the safest place in town. Of course, that wasn’t saying much. If it weren’t for the force field containing the infection and us, I’d leave this town without blinking. With our dwindling supplies and Tedd’s constitution its hard to say if we’d make it, but we’d have a better chance.

“The first symptom of infection is hallucination. These hallucinations will generally start off minor but will get progressively worse. They will often include the victim believing in the existence of a fictitious family member. If you see anypony talking to somepony you can’t see, please report it immediately,” said the generic female voice.

More to the point, the spell that had been cast specifically to give advice like that to the population of Canterlot was as useless now as it had ever been. I had come across many who have been infected, but have never once seen any of those supposed symptoms. Their transformation into changelings was always so rapid, who could pick up on symptoms?

I guess, the princess’ wanted to be able to say they are doing something. Sure, they had somehow managed to repel the initial onslaught, but it was the infection the initial swarm of changelings left behind that was the real problem. Their attempts to solve the later problem had all been equally stupid as the vague voice giving useless advice. Were they even still alive anymore? It was difficult to say if their were any other alive ponies in Canterlot.

Now that a changeling could not only look like old Joe from down the street, but could actually be him, or what was left of him anyway, it was difficult to know who to trust. The smell of new holes being eaten into their legs could be a useful indicator, but it was difficult to go by now that the whole city reeked of rotten flesh.

“Smith, I’m scared,” said Tedd, lying only a few feet behind me. He was shaking but that was nothing new.

Tedd’s constant neediness was tiring yet he didn’t deserve my anger, so I said nothing. I kept reminding myself that given the circumstances his reaction was normal, and he’d probably come around eventually. Honestly, it came as a surprise to me that I wasn’t reacting the same way. Maybe it was because I couldn’t remember. I knew facts about my life, yet it was as if I had read them out of a book. It had only been about a month, but life before the infection was as easily recalled as what I dreamed last night. I had never been much of a dreamer.

If there was a time before the knife strapped around my right front hoof bleed, it was just a ploy by the infected to stop us from doing what needed to be done. Of course looking your son in the eye and having to remind yourself he’s just a ploy is unfair. Thankfully, muscle memory triumphs over cheating.

Tedd hadn’t developed that form of memory though. Those whose first encounter had been with their families scarcely stood a chance. Yet somehow Tedd escaped with his life. He was dead weight despite this, but I needed a pony I could trust. It was a personal weakness and one that may well get me killed, but though I’d never been much for dreams, for once I had found one I was going to hold on to a scrape of. After twenty years of dreaming a pony is entitled to a single momento, and though he wasn’t the one I would have picked, I damn sure wasn’t going to let go of mine.

“Smith please. I want to live!” he cried. Tears were dripping down his face and he began to shake more violently. I started to think he had finally snapped, but then I noticed the unmistakable clop of a hoof behind me. Tedd never could just simply tell me there was a monster behind me. Being the shell of a pony he now was he could only voice his own fear and hope I caught on.

I jumped to my hooves, lifted up my front hooves, pivoted on my hind ones, and swung my blade around all in one motion. It was crazy to try to do so many things in one motion. I liked crazy. Sadly the feeling wasn’t mutual. Doing the above simultaneously only actually happened in my mind.

In reality, one of my hooves tripped on the other as I attempted to spin, and I landed flat on my face. The only thing I managed to do right was not land on my knife. Looking up, I saw the changelings long razor teeth preparing to eat my brain. For some reason it didn’t move though. I didn’t waste time questioning my reversal of fortune, but instead got back to my hooves, and slit its throat. All zombie pony lore I knew said that wouldn’t work, but for some reason it always did.

It was only after it’s head began dangling from its shoulders I realized the changeling had been disguised the whole time. Before it’s face faded back to its usual black, I caught a brief glimpse of who it had been before being another lifeless mass. Before me fell the corpse of Donut Jane. She had been the wife of the beloved Donut Joe but more importantly, she had been Tedd’s sister. It had been at least a week since last I slit the throat of anypony I knew. I was somewhat used to it, but I doubted taking less than a minute to silently mourn my cousin would make me any less likely to survive.

I let out a yawn, and my mind instantly became even more hazy. Where before it had been gently but insistently begging for rest, now it was taking hostages and making demands. But even if I had to somehow teleport out of the alleyway and  blink all the changelings too death, I had to check.

Poking my head out briefly, it seemed as though no changelings were headed my way. Not wanting to draw any attention to my tasty flesh, I promptly withdrew my head. Their leathery skin stood out more than I had expected. I was able to see the presence of changelings was as continual as ever it had been, but I couldn’t afford to pick fights with all of them. It was bizarre that largely they ignored us in our current hiding place; maybe they smelled the flesh of someone more appetizing. Regardless one of the less glorious keys to survival was picking battles carefully.

Despite my tiredness, since my fears were confirmed mere minutes ago, it would take forever to find sleep. I repeatedly reminded myself that their presence here was the exception and not the norm. Yet If my mind’s demands were not met it would inevitably force sleep upon me whether changelings were in the middle of attacking or not.

“The second symptom of infection is paranoia. The victim may become extremely protective of food, weapons, friends, family members, or even perceived family members that are actually hallucinations. If you see anypony become extremely angry, defensive, or jealous over something trivial please report it immediately,” said the same nondescript female voice.

Tedd was staring at the dead body of the changeling. His eyes were wide with horror. He must have gotten a good look at her face at some point.

“Well don’t stare at it!” I said.

But he couldn’t move his eyes off of it. The body of the changeling was rather gross but not particularly bothersome. It certainly didn’t resemble the pony whose body it was. Yet it fascinated me that, despite his horror, he wouldn’t do himself the decency to stop looking at it.

I sigh. “Fine I’ll get rid of it.”

My hooves shove it down the alley, until I toss it down the left side of the entrance with the other twice dead corpses. Yet for some reason this does nothing to decrease my cousin’s horror. He then started to stare at me with the same wide-eyed look of abject terror.

“Please, give me the knife,” he mutters.

Were this anyone other than Tedd this may not have been a bad idea. As much as I hated to admit, my reactions were slowing and fatigue was starting to get the better of me. Giving a weapon to Tedd though was the equivalent of throwing it away, as I had found out when we found some knives on the dead bodies of changelings.

Not only did he not use the weapon when we were under attack, but he actually disposed of it. I had never bothered to give him a weapon since, and I certainly wasn’t going to give him mine.

“You know that would just get us both killed.” I shake my head.

“I deserve it. I just watched as everyone die! Please, it’s just not worth it!” He screamed before sobbing into the dirt floor.

Less than an hour ago, he whined about not wanting to die, now he was whining because of fear of death. Normally I was sympathetic to his fragile state, but he was worse tonight than usual.

Was he finally breaking? Maybe, but then I noticed something peculiar. The way he had thrust his face into the dirt had brought him considerably closer to the knife he had just been asking for. He wasn’t brave enough to try anything, but the thought still made me uncomfortable. Regardless I couldn’t take any chances. He couldn’t have my knife! I pulled back my hoof.

“The third symptom of the infection is brief intense headaches. The victim may not even be aware these headaches are happening but may instead project them onto a loved one whether real or imaginary. Please report anypony who holds a hoof to their head for more than a minute,” said the generic female voice.

Then Tedd surprised me; he actually did something. Usually even if he was in danger I had to drag him, but now he sat up and ran. If he wasn’t inviting more danger and making my life harder, I would have been impressed.

“Tedd! Get back here dammit!” I called as I darted out from the narrow alleyway. For somepony who scarcely moved without being helped he sure could run. I continued after the white blur as he disappeared around the corner.

I could no longer see him. At first I thought it was because of how dark it was, but then one of their blue eyes drew my attention; two changelings blocked him from view. Both of them held spears in their mouths and wore golden armor. There was no doubt about it; these two had once been members of the royal guard.

Thankfully they seemed to be focused on me instead of Tedd, but given how tired I was, it likely didn’t matter. They both galloped at me and closed the distance quickly. There was barely enough time for me to deflect the first spear with my knife. Needless to say I had no such luck with the second.

The metal plunged into my right shoulder. The pain however was not immediate. What was immediate was the quivering of my knife hoof. It was on the opposite side of the wound, but it was almost as if the blood that came seeping out when it withdrew the spear, carried the last of my strength with it.

True to their training, upon noticing my hesitation, the other redirected the deflected spear into my back. It was at this point that the piercing howl of both wounds caught up to me, and I fell. Displaying this kind of weakness was pathetic. Yet I was mildly comforted to know that things probably would have been different, had not my whole body resounded with a dull ache, before this conflict even began. At least my death wouldn’t be completely disgraceful.

They came around to my side and kicked me over onto my back. They then pressed the tips of their spears up against my neck. However instead of proceeding to apply more pressure, they began to make odd guttural noises back and forth to one another. They must have been trying to decide whether to kill me or make me one of them.

It was impossible to reach very far with spears at my throat, but one of them had been careless enough to be just within my reach. Their armor made it difficult but with an angled stab it seemed possible I could hit its heart. Did they have hearts? If so did stabbing it kill a changeling? Head and neck wounds worked but I hadn’t tried much else. Regardless, my moment was quickly passing as their conversation was slowing. I only had one shot.

Thrusting my blade into its lower exposed chest, the infected guard fell over onto the other, causing it to loose its grip on its spear. I leapt back to my hooves and ripped the possibly dead changeling’s neck asunder with my blade just to be sure.

Doing so cost me precious time though, and when I went to puncture the other’s head, it had already picked up a spear, and parried my blade. It made several jabs with its spear I barely managed to deflect. It hadn’t managed to land another hit, but it was clearly a step ahead of me. It would undoubtedly hit me long before I ever hit it.

There was a spear on the ground not far from me. There had to be a way to use this to my advantage, but having no training with it, trying to wield two weapons at once would surely only serve to distract me. I could throw it, but somewhere in the depths of my memory was a fact with an unknown source. Something about throwing weapons not specifically designed to be thrown not being a good idea.

But this was all just rumor and speculation. The only thing I actually knew about fighting was how to stab something and that was primarily learned through experience and somehow being lucky enough to survive this long. Maybe throwing or using the spear weren’t such bad ideas. As I thought this, my blade hoof was pushed away by the sheer power that the spear pushed back with. I managed to catch its next spear jab in time, but it was probably the last time I would be able to do so.

With blood still soaking my clothes, and sweat running down my face, rest sounded ever more enticing. Whether it came from victory or death it scarcely mattered. Finally the pull back for the thrust I wouldn’t be in time to catch came. Unthinking I kicked the useless spear toward it.

The changeling had apparently lifted its off hoof just slightly when pulling back, only to bring it down on the wooden cylinder, when it went to thrust the spear forward. It slipped on the spear with its own grazing my side.

The moment it hit the ground, I jumped on top of it. Staying on it wasn’t easy, but slitting its throat while I was there was. How I had survived I didn’t know, nor did I care. If I had any energy left, I would have stayed ready to fight in case there were more, but instead I recklessly slide off it and onto my back. I just layed there neither conscious nor unconscious.

There was silence for a moment. Its the only time in my life I honestly couldn’t tell if it had lasted hours or minutes. Had I slept any? When I opened my eyes to the sound of trotting hooves, it became apparent that however much time had passed, it wasn’t enough for it to be morning.

The movement must have been Tedd. After defeating the changeling I had forgotten about him. What if he got himself into more trouble? I got to my hooves and sure enough Tedd was running off again. Tiredness was getting the better of him too though as he was slower than he was before. If I could just be as fast as I had been for a moment, catching him would be easy.

Somehow for a moment I managed to go as fast as I ever had, and so quickly tackled him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I demanded.

His limbs flailed wildly as he replied with a guttural series of clicks. It couldn’t be! I only took my eyes off of him for a second... but then again maybe it had been longer.

“You’re an evil beast?!” It started out as a question. “You’re one of them!” I declared.

I slit his throat as I had many before him, and idly sat and watched as he emitted his last brutish cries. I knew this would eventually happen, but that didn’t make it any easier. There was a time where I would have ran instead of watching, but tonight I was tired.

“The fourth symptom victims usually demonstrate, is becoming very acussortary of ponies, whether real or imagined. Initially the victim will continually harp on a single pony, but the victim will accuse more as time passes. These unprovoked accusations vary from accusations of being a monster to accusations of being evil. If you see anypony accusing another of being evil or a monster please report them immediately,” said the generic female voice.

The voice for all its uselessness was usually soothing, but now instead served as daggers for my ears. Suddenly my entire head felt as if it were being crushed. I instinctively put a hoof to my head but quickly it became so intense, I neither heard nor saw anything until several minutes later when it passed. Those moments in time where completely blank to me; I could remember nothing but my pain.

“The final symptom of infected ponies, is their delusions become so intense they become violent. They will progressively perceive more and more loved ones to be monsters they call ‘changelings.’ Eventually they will perceive their last trusted source to be one of the enemy. At this point they will have abandoned all sanity and reason. There's no going back once they have reached this stage. If you see any ponies behaving violently, kill on sight.”