Dead Trotting

CHAPTER 2: Law of the Land

AMBER:

Run. That was my plan, and it was a great plan too. I’d make a crappy scavenger, and I don’t see how I alone was supposed to save an already doomed city. The cool, desert night air brushed against the sides of my face, condensing the sweat I’ve collected on my cheeks. The harsh winds battered against my fur and weaved their way to my skin. Under normal circumstances, I’d believe I was freezing. However, coupled with the intense galloping I’ve managed to pull off, it more than nullified the effect. The sand offered water like resistance, and slowed my pace down to that of a trotting filly. I bent and resumed my already rapid breathing. The sudden intake of cold air burned my lungs, though it was pretty low on my list of concerns. Was I far away enough? I didn’t know. Though I could still pick up the cries of screaming ponies and their groaning undead attackers.

I’ve never been outside in the last two years. Sure, I’ve scanned along the desert floor over the wall that surrounds the city more than enough times, but regulations state that if you venture beyond the walls without being branded first, they would deny you access back into the fort to “ensure public safety.” The night lit up with the fires of the fallen fort. Glowing ashes cascaded down the wall in a shimmering avalanche. The smell of the dense black smoke has reached far beyond where any reasonable yet cowardly fish-hook would go. Occasionally, a leaking oxy tank would shoot off into the night sky and make its presence known through a dazzling display of dancing lights accompanied by a chest thumping boom. It’s amazing how even the most well-built structures can still collapse over one mistake. I still don’t understand, though, how a lumbering corpse would start a fire. It didn’t make sense to me, and it shouldn’t.

The desert hasn’t changed much. That’s for sure. From where I was standing, I made out a large billboard painted with an advertisement for Sweet Apple Acres Cider. Heh. I remember trying out their cider once. I’m telling you, nothing I’ve chugged down so far has managed to beat this legendary refreshment. I relished in the thought of obtaining such a drink just to remind myself that there were better times. Well, better may be stretching it.

How long have I been walking? 9 minutes, and I’m already half conscious. The sand’s resistance against my hooves proved to be a very proud hinderance. I’ve already ingested the last of my Appleseed Speed. So far, I haven’t notice anything too much of an effect, other than it probably stopped me from taking a nap in the middle of victim territory. I strained to recall the two-year old memories of when I first reached the fort to retrace my steps. The only real thing I remembered was my dad dropping me off here.

“...is she bitten...”

“...get a doctor...”

“...please...”

Those were the words I’ve successfully extracted from my less than decent memory. Not very much, but it did paint the image of a dirt road. A rough, beaten dirt road with a sign that had “E.S.A. Pass Required” printed upon it. When I took the scenery in for a bit, I could make out what my memory had seen. There was a rusted sign with E.S.A.’s ornate logo plastered on it just a couple of yards away. If the sign is directing me towards Fort Howard, then the opposite direction must be into town; a town called Ponyville. At least that much I could figure out. Something was off though. The formal introduction to Howard’s dystopian shelter had been defaced with ludicrous amounts of graffiti that I don’t remember being there in the two years before, and as far as I know, the undead aren’t very good artist. Written in graffiti, the words were similar to those sprayed upon the fort’s gate:

“STAND ALONE; STAND TALL.”

The saying would usually pass on a more positive note, but with the absence of law, who ever that pony is must have a whole world to herself, assuming it’s a mare. That’s probably something she wouldn’t give up that easily. I know I wouldn’t.

Showing no real incentive of going back, I powered through the snow like sand to where I caught a glimpse of the last sign you would see before you enter the desert. In front of it, small plants and low hills began to form. Set on the road, a small battered station occupied by a one cart train. The lights above the station remain lit, meaning that it at least had power. Talk about a lucky break. I’ve already made up my mind on where my destination is.   Releasing a gasp of relief, I made the mistake of putting my 9mm into the holster it came with. Ensured with my safety, I galloped away the last remnants of my energy. The rest goes along for the ride.

The engine bellowed and roared throughout the night. The glow and heat from the coal filled the front, and I was forced to shift back to the caboose; a whole 5 steps. I needed to kill some time before I arrived at Ponyville, so I spent it staring into the dark, blue, eventless abyss of the desert, which had slowly changed into a poor colt’s grassland as the train scrolled by. The wind was relieving the tension I had built up through my mane as it curled around my muzzle. The rumble and thumping of the train, however, encouraged me to hang on to some. I’ll assume one of the key aspects of survival revolve around being aware of your surroundings. Seeing as how there was nothing TO see, I drew myself back within the caboose. The inside had similar etchings across its walls; namely several rushed drawings and stock political slogans. Small comments also managed to be scratched in. One I found rather strange was “Note to self: Never place tripwire without marking it on a map.”

One thing's for sure: I was tired. Shifting through that sand, wind, and withered brush drizzled away most of my consciousness. I couldn’t sleep though.   just couldn’t. I’ve just escaped an army of hungry corpses from a dystopian city. I still had no idea about what would come next. I’m not even entirely sure what Ponyville would look like after all that time I spent in Howard. Has it suffered the same fate as all the other towns. I’m pretty sure I already knew the answer to that.

A small light cut through the darkness within the train. It sailed across the ground to stop at my face. It caught my eye just in time for me to witness the majesty of its source. Looming over the small hillside, towering structures presented themselves proudly in the night. The glow lit the dreary backdrop of the sky, changing it to compliment the sparkling display. Strong streams of shite shot from the ground to emphasize their accompanying architecture. It laid its hands upon the tallest of them all.  A skyscraper with the words E.S.A. fixed upon the roof in glowing elegance. Was it a... City? How is that possible? I wish I had more time to collect my thoughts, but the engine had other plans and sped past the spectacle.

Are more of these cities scattered throughout Equestria? Is there still civilization? Was that the same city I saw two years ago? Is that... Las Pegasus? What have I missed in the past two years?

I remember the days I spent in Ponyville, me and my family would rent a small house to stay in, and forget about all the troubles of the world. Everyday, I’d go to school, leave it crying, and jump in to the only place I was able to let out my frustration; the bed. I remember a few friends I had there, though I think they were just tagging along to make me feel better. One in particular was a clockwork pony who worked for the mayor. I remember his spiky brown mane and hourglass cutie mark. I remember how he always wore a silly green clip on tie to fool ponies into thinking he was ‘official,’ though most saw through his ruse. The memory made me a bit teary eyed.

That Ponyville, however, was gone. This was the new Ponyville, and it consisted of papers scattered across the ground, dusty windows shattered beyond repair, grimy metal framework rusted to the point of being unusable, and filthy stores that have been stripped clean anything you would find useful or entertaining. The trees that once decorated the colorful village have withered away, and the grass was... eaten. Likely due to the desperation of a starving pony. I made my way through the ruins and observed further into the extent of the destruction, which was much more than that of a plague. It’s as if the entire village had a forecast of plucked grenades. How is it that a couple of walking corpses could do this much damage in such a short amount of time?

Crack

“Wha-?”

What was that? There was no wind blowing. Am I alone?

My head snapped to my side to determine the origin of the noise. All I could see were a couple of boxes next to a flower shop. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary... I continued to trot through the ruins and more or less tried to forget about that little intrusion.

Bang...!

A faint burst of sound traveled through the air. Somewhere in the distance, a gun was fired. Now I was worried. What reason would a shot be fired other than putting down a victim? The last thing I wanted was someone shooting back at me.

Slowly, I made my way through the decimated gravel streets. It was almost as if I was browsing a gallery of bits and pieces of the previous world. I heard a low groan emerge from the quiet of the night. I snapped backwards to catch a glimpse of the growling intruder. It took me awhile to figure out the growling intruder was actually my misbehaving stomach. Wow, I was hungry. Perhaps there would be sources of food around this shell of a town.

I took not two steps forward until my sense of balance quickly became irrelevant. A wall of pressure ate the space in front of me. My hooves lost contact with the ground as my entire being blew back. An ear numbing thump engulfed the air. The ground quaked at the sudden force it now had to endure. A momentous rushing cloud of dust and debris escaped through a newly made wall cavity, the shards shooting out and sprinkling across the beaten ground. It took me  a while to get myself back up and review what just happened. The closest store has had some type of combustion accident. I put a hoof in front of my face to shield it from any oncoming debris the wreckage might produce. The spontaneous explosion, however, unveiled another more unusual occurrence. I viciously wiped my face to be sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

As if born from the explosion, a filthy looking pegasus colt emerged from the ashes. Behind him, at least five victims on his tail. He raised his hoof, and fired a shaky burst of rounds from a damaged rifle strapped to his fore leg. His aim had been reduced greatly seeing as he nicked a window, though I doubt that would be productive in taking down zombies. With the new burst of noise and movement, the victims bleeded even more excitement for their new meal. The colt, once again, took aim at his attackers before letting out a sharp gasp of agony. He appeared to be hurt. He regained his composure to fire another burst of bullets before I somehow made my presence known well enough to grab his attention. “Wha?! Who are you?!” I wish I had the time to respond, but his attention was fixed upon the victims once again, who have now drawn closer. He hoofed his way behind an abandoned shop, and out of my sight before I had the chance to even know his name, with now eight of those things after him.

????:

Gah! Why did I do that?! Now these freaks are angrier than before! Can’t focus on that now. Just got to keep running! GAAAAH! That explosion must have wounded me worse than I thought. Maybe I could lose them around those houses. It’s probably the best way of getting out of this mess! Maybe I should have flagged down that filly. She seemed armed. NO! Not getting other ponies involved. Not today.

AMBER:

Poor colt. I wish I could’ve done more than just sit there like a scared 12-year-old and watch it all go down. Could I have done something? I convinced myself I couldn’t to heal my conscience. After another long walk, my stomach clinged to itself as I spent away the last bits of my reserved energy. I couldn't believe it. Only an hour and five minutes out here, and I’ve already fallen flat on my knees. How pathetic. Only then was I aware enough noticed a rather curious sight.

An odd silhouette lay pressed against a torn down house. The figure slumped down a bit, and stood still enough to where I could see the rise and fall of his chest. Could it be that colt I met earlier? He’s the first living pony I’ve seen since leaving Howard, and I’m not going to risk losing him again. Not wanting to get too close, I scooped up a small rock and pitched in its direction to earn his attention. The rock, instead, thwacked right against the side of his face.

“Groan...”

Of course.

The figure unveiled to be yet another limping colt with sunken, dirty looking eyes. His facial features (and skin and general) were discolored, and decaying to the point where they became non-existent, save for his sharp rotten teeth which have been exposed through more decaying flesh.  On him, he wore an orange vest stained with blood, coupled with a hard hat also drenched in sticky, black, coagulated blood. It didn’t take long for me to figure out it was another victim, and he looked hungry. Then again, what victim didn’t?

Now making its way towards me, my hunger made room for adrenaline. I fiddled with my muzzle for the glock strapped to my side. I was too impatient, however, and fumbled around just enough for the gun to fall out of its holster and on to the ground scattering the ammo it possessed within its clip.

“Crap!”

I had a hard time reloading the damn thing, partly because I wasn’t gifted with thumbs. Every click the bullet made as it was inserted into the clip drew the poor colt closer to his meal. I’ve finally maxed it out and got my tongue ready to pull the trigger, expecting a shower of blood and brain matter to be shredded out from the back of his head.

Click

The victim hasn’t fallen. That’s because I haven’t shot it yet. What was wrong? Was the gun jammed? I can’t focus on it now! I needed to-  oh. Silly me. The safety’s on. Now I just need to-

BANG!

I fell back from the force of the blast. The firearm shot rang out through the entire town. The gun somehow discharged by accident, and more or less served as a dinner bell for the tens of other victims concealed within the scenery. Now I had a fleet limbering towards me, and here I was thinking guns were suppose to keep you safe. 4 bullets, 15 victims; unfavorable odds. As soon  as I witnessed an opening within the shrinking ring of hungry ponies, I made a mad dash towards freedom. That was my ultimate escape setup, and it took two steps: Run, and shoot. Unfortunately neither went according to plan as one of the victims got a grip of my tail.

“AH!”

I was yanked back and promptly seated onto the battered pavement. With the zombie quite literally on my tail, I was now in level 3000 panic mode. I suppressed my screams in fear that I would attract unwanted attention from more of their grunts. I grabbed for my suddenly precious glock, flipped over, and lined up my aim, though it wasn’t a real priority being he was so close. As soon as that victim revealed his rotten, filthy, ugly fangs ready to crunch down upon my skin, I rang a shot point-blank into his head. He jerked back as the bullet penetrated between his eye’s and ripped out from the back of his skull, taking bits and pieces of brain and bone with it. The remains spattered onto his zombie friends, who appeared to have been unaffected by their fellow undead ally’s slaying. Now given the opportunity, I sloppily sprang up from my vulnerable position and fired two more shots at two of his loyal followers. One tore through a neck, and the other made its home in an eye. Now confident with my control, I geared up to fire the next round.

“I might actually make it out of this.”

Lining up my shot once again, I got a good view of another victim’s head and squeezed the trigger.

Click

What? The safety’s off! How could... Oh yeah. I fired four rounds. That’s all it held. I wondered how many more ‘oh’ moments I would have before I was devoured by the now angry dead ponies. I spent precious seconds fidgeting for my last clip, but it was gone. I then remembered I dropped it within the rotting circle, which by now has become more of an elongated arrow pointing at me. I needed another plan, and fast, but I was never good at thinking on my hooves. Now that would show through the pain I was going to endure once one of these things had its teeth in me. I braced up to run.

BANG!

For a second, I almost thought one of the zombies busted out a gat and shot me, though this wasn’t so. A victim far in the back dropped dead and drew the attention of the horde away from me. I leaned right a bit to get a better view of the mysterious pony. I’ve once again managed to run into the same colt from earlier. He had a spiky dark chocolate mane that arched over his head, and a pale coat stained to the skin with mud. So much so that I couldn’t make out his cutie mark. His weapon: A firearm strapped to the side of his foreleg, though instead of it being a meager pistol, it was what appeared to be a sawn off pump-action shotgun.

The undead, now fully aggravated by the uninvited guest, lunged at the colt to take him down. A blast of pellets tore through the attacking horde, spraying blood onto the paper coated streets.  One zombie, two zombies, three; each one suffering a fate similar to the ones I had shot earlier. He almost finished the last one off, till his shotgun made the ever resented click. The last of the group decided it wouldn’t put up with his shit, and grabbed him by the foreleg, and pulled him down under its mouth, waiting to feast. Unfortunately for it, I had already relocated my clip. I sprinted up to the wannabe hero, and pressed the pistol against the back of the victims head, and left my mark.

The corpse now lay slump over the colt, which he got off himself in  a hurry. He brushed the ground’s offerings off his still dirty coat. He fed his sawn off 5 more shells, and looked at me. Finally, he spoke again.

“You need to learn to keep a low profile. The limpers wander towards anything they find interesting, which would mostly fall under the category of everything that moves.”

“Limpers? That’s what you call them?”

“That’s what I call the slow ones.”

Slow ones? You mean there are fast ones? Perfect. Wanting to confirm my theory, I geared up to ask him that question, only the wasteland wanderer was already on his way past me. “Hey wait!”

He rolled his eyes in frustration.

“I just wanted to thank you for saving me. Really, I do.” I waited eagerly for his response.

“Saving you? Hardly. If you hadn’t killed the limper latched on to me, I’d be one of them.” I flushed a bit. First time in a long while someone gave me a real compliment.

He scanned me a bit. “Hey, weren’t you that one filly I saw outside that shop?”

“Same one...” Even while talking to the first pony I’ve met since escaping Fort Howard, I’m still too shy to have a coherent sentence escape my mouth. Something was strange though. I remembered him being hurt. He even had to limp away from, well, other limpers. What happened?

I wanted to ask him, though he continued to distance himself from me. Wherever he's going, it must be real important. “Hey! Wait a second!” He seemed a bit less bothered by my intrusion this time, seeing as he actually took the time to turn around and face me. “I... I don’t even know your name.  My name’s Amber.”

He let out a sigh. “You want my name? Why?”

Of all the questions he could have asked, the first one concerned the reason of why I would like to know his name. What else would I want it for? What does he think I’ll do? Steal his identity and sap his bank account of extra bits? “I just would like to know the person who helped me out. I’m pretty new here...”

He looked around a bit to see if there was anything that would explain how this was so. It was then that he saw my makeshift cutie mark. “You’re from the forts.”

As if it wasn’t obvious. “Yah...” I said with a bit of shame.

The still unnamed colt paused. “Hm...” For one reason or another, he took those words into deep thought. Finally, he released another sigh and continued to speak. “All right. My name, you wanted it?”

“...Yes.”

“Bale. My name’s Bale.”

“Bale?”

“Bale Walker...”

At last, I’ve finally managed to extract the reclusive colt’s name. Comfortable with my new knowledge, I addressed him as such. “So Bale,  where are you going?” It seemed like a reasonable question.

“To the center of town. I’ve gotten info that the store hasn’t been raided yet. Can’t fight limpers on an empty stomach.” He chuckled thinking that was somehow funny.

Great. Now my hunger came back with a vengeance. I massaged my stomach to calm it down.  “Um.... Can I come too? I haven’t eaten since last night, and I spent all my carbohydrates getting to this place.”

For some reason, that dug up another chuckle from him. “Heh. If you think you’re hungry now, you’re not going to last very long out here.” That didn’t make me nervous at all. “I haven’t eaten in the past 7 days.”

7 days?! Damn! I was really worried now. I had to stick with this guy. If I didn’t, I’m basically leaving myself for the dead. “Really. Can I come with you? The fort I was from has just been overrun. I have nowhere to go.” I fiddled around with a rock under my hoof to ease the wait for his answer.

BALE:

Who was this little filly? She just escaped her only sanctuary last night? How has she manage to live so long? Her tactics on handling limpers just proves how incapable she is at taking care of herself.  Seriously? Spend your hard earned ammo on one zombie? How stupid can you get? Though, I can’t just abandon her. She wouldn’t last 2 days by herself. What was her name? Amber? Amber what? Were her parents that uncreative? Whatever. I had to put convenience aside for humanity.

“Amber...” I somehow was able to startle her with my sudden reluctance to answer her question.  So she’s easily frightened as well.

“What?  Yes?  What?”

“If you’re going to tag along, you have to, and I mean HAVE TO do exactly as I say. Can you promise me that?”

She smiled and nodded. I could tell she was relieved about my acceptance.

Our hour long trek left her in exhaustion. I counted at least 14 instances where she asked me-

“Are we there yet?” Okay. 15 instances.

Finally, our tour came to an end. There it was. An ‘All-or-Nothing’ department store. It was about time I found a place where the windows had not been COMPLETELY smashed in.

I signaled my accomplice to stay behind. The last thing I wanted was to have to deal with a scraped knee. I pulled the forestock of my shotgun to load another shell in the chamber, waiting to empty it in an undead skull. I also braced myself for disappointment in case my instincts were wrong, and this store is totally empty, save a few discarded cans and wrappers. I slowly eased the door open and peered inside.

Holy shit.

Wall to wall, the shelves were composed of a colorful arrangement of cereal boxes and cans of various vegetables and beans. On the tops, a wide assortment of sodas, juices, and even beer were kept in bulk. Across the elise, smaller entertainment foods were kept, such as candy and gum. There were even hundreds of stoves, ovens, and refrigerators displayed against the back of the store! This was amazing! How can a freshly packed market such as this be left untouched?

Out came a shout from my peer. “Damn! This place is stocked! There’s more food here than there was at the fort!” I’m pretty sure I jumped a good 3 feet when she started talking.

“Oh! Sorry! Did I scare you?”

No. I did that for show. “Amber, that’s a good way to get shot you know.” This whole partner thing needs precautions.

AMBER:

Get shot? Come on. I’m not that stupid. Victims can’t talk. You’d have to be pretty stirred up to take aim at the only other living pony with you. I guess this comes with the whole newbie thing. Now I could then focus on the plethora of goods this market has managed to keep safe. How could someone eat the grass over this place? It’s asinine! Bale grabbed one of the small ladders used to stock shelves and wheeled it on over to assist me in packing our precious loot. I trotted over to the kitchen appliances to see if any of them worked.

Hm... Most are just display, save for the demonstration oven in the middle. I would really like some kind of toast now. I wasn’t feeling real picky. I just needed something sweet to get me back up on my hooves. But something else managed to achieve the same effect when it bursted from across the store.

“NO!”

What was that? Bale? Could he be in trouble? I loaded my glock and galloped my way over to the source of the outburst. My suspicions were confirmed in terms of it being Bale, but no victim to accompany him.

“Bale? What’s wrong?” He was definitely aggravated. I wanted to ask him again, though he handed me a box from down the ladder to do the explaining for him.

“Tell it to the judge! Stable Star whole grain cereal! The only balanced breakfast guaranteed to give your young royal guard-”

the rest was obscured by a bright orange sticker with the E.A.H.S. logo on it.

“WARNING! This product is contaminated! Do not consume! Sale or distribution of any products with this label is punishable by 5 years in jail + a 500 bit fine!”

My heart sank in disappointment, and realization. This is probably how the disease spread through Fort Howard. But how do you miss a bright orange sticker stamped on the front of the box? Are our scavengers really that stupid?

“That thing’s on all of these! Boxes, Cans, Sacks, everything!” He threw a Stable Star box to the ground in frustration, scattering the diseased breakfast across the already filthy floor. “None of this is edible. If we eat it, were one of them.”

Now I was worried. Am I going to starve BEFORE I’m eaten? How much longer can Bale go on without food? He’s been without it longer than me! “Have you checked all of them? Every last one?”

“Don’t need to. Look above you.”

I did just that. There was a stamp on the easel display sign positioned on top the shelves. It bore a similar message. “What... What are we going to do?”

“Keep looking. Chances are there’s some stuff in the houses past this place, but I don’t know how we’re going to get in without tools. Anything else would make too much noise.”

Okay. Good. There might still be some food in the neighborhoods. But I’m just as stumped as he is in ways of getting in discretely. A click from a magazine is enough to bring these things out, so our options are pretty limited. Unless...

“Bale?”

“Yah?” He was still looking for a shelf that wasn’t poisoned.

“Is there a maintenance room in this place?” Bale made a small grin. He knew what I was planning, though I’m not sure I did.

Achievement Unlocked!

LOL n00b:

Kill your first zombie

Buckshot:

Save Bale Walker

Convenient Store:

Locate the department store