Not With A Bang, But A Whimper

“The virus has completely devastated over 150 of Equestria’s major regions and is spreading rapidly. At this point in time we know of only one method of killing the creatures: destroy the brain.Be on guard for any loved ones who may have recently been in any sort of contact with the infected, and if you find yourself in a threatening position, please- do not hesitate to act. Again, this is not a test, this is not a joke. We as a species are overwhelmed- we are outnumbered. This message will re-“ the radio suddenly clicked off as a hoof turned the dial.

“…Damn crap’s been playing for the last month… still nothing new…” A voice said as its owner leaned back in his rocker, his shotgun at his side as he puffed on a cigarette. “…Unicorns working that station’re probably long dead…” He took one last drag from the cig and tossed it aside. The butt landed on the ground, rolling up next to the corpse of a freshly killed infected, rotten blood gently oozing out of the massive cavity where its brain once sat. “…Whoever’s responsible for this shit, I hope they’re happy…” he said as he stared out into the distance, watching as more of the undead wandered aimlessly, snarling and gnashing their teeth hungrily, the only instinct remaining within their maggot-ridden brains being to eat. That’s all they ever did- eat. It was a small wonder that their stomachs didn’t explode.

Actually, that did happen once… Not something I wanna relive… The stallion then stood up from his rocker, shaking back strands of his deep blue mane as he cracked his neck. He shut the door to his hut, bringing his shotgun along with him. He let out a deep sigh as he made his way over to the mirror, a pair of silver eyes staring back at him as he examined his jaw-line. “Hmm… Do I really need a shave?" he asked himself. "I’ve only got a couple razors left… Eh, I’ll save it for tomorrow." He then washed his face of the blood that had sprayed across his face when he made his most recent kill. This was nothing new to him. For the last month, this was the life he grew accustomed to.

“…A pretty shitty existence for Lucky Draw, the ‘greatest quick-draw artist this side of Appleloosa,’” he muttered to no-pony in particular, his tail flicking past the twin pistols that sat on his flank. “Whatever, I’m still alive- that’s what counts.” He dried himself off, and made his way back into the living area of the hut he had commandeered. It was fairly tiny- only enough for two ponies at the most to live in, but more than enough for Lucky. He sat down on the stool he found laying outside, and began to reshuffle his deck of cards. He laid them out in seven rows, flipping over only the card at the bottom of each row.

“Looks like it’s Solitaire again…” he muttered to himself. He was about to set down the first card when he heard it- a loud droning noise, one that was all too familiar to Lucky. "Oh, shit… they must’ve heard me kill that other one… DAMMIT!" He immediately forgot about the cards and lunged for his shotgun, loading several shells into the chamber and pulling back the slide. He began to gather whatever personal effects he could still use into his saddlebags, and slung them over his back. He kicked open the door, his shotgun raised. His eyes widened- he wasn’t sure where to aim first. It seemed like there were hundreds of them. “Okay… okay Lucky, just keep calm… just head around the back and make a break for it…” he said to himself.

He would have had a follow-up thought if the infected nearest to him hadn’t leaped forward using what little remained of its rear legs. A blast of buckshot caught it square in the jaw, ripping away flesh and muscle, brown blood splattering the ground and Lucky. The corpse collapsed in a broken heap, but was soon replaced by another… and another, and another. Lucky pumped a few more shots into the crowd, and used a small hole in the group as an opportunity to escape. He quickly made his way around the side, jumping at the opening. He felt his coat stand on end as he narrowly avoided an infected that lunged at him. It collided with the wall of the hut, its neck breaking from the impact.

He galloped away at full speed, his heart pounding in his chest. He made his way down a long dirt road, and after a solid five minutes at full-tilt, felt somewhat relieved that none were following him. “…Holy shit that was close…” Lucky said with a sigh as he shook his head, clearing the image of the pony that lunged at him from his mind. “…What I wouldn’t give for a pair of wings…” he chuckled half-heartedly to himself.

He then stopped short when his eyes caught sight of something that nopony should ever see- the sight of a small foal, half-eaten, lying on the side of the road. The foal’s two forelegs had been chewed away, small bloody stumps of muscle and bone left as a reminder, the lower half of its body missing as what remained of entrails lay behind it, flies buzzing around it as they collected their meal. Its face had been horribly mutilated, one eye missing and muscle being the only thing holding the jaw in place.

“...Sweet Celestia…” Lucky said softly as he neared the corpse. When it noticed Lucky, it began to snap its jaw at him weakly, making a futile attempt at obtaining a fresh meal. Lucky looked on at the foal with pity, feeling his heart break at the sight. He took a deep breath, and pulled the slide back on his shotgun, ejecting the most recently spent casing. He set the shotgun down a few feet away, keeping it within eye-sight. He made his way over to the foal, and made his decision.

“…I can only hope you find peace…” He steeled himself as best he could; hoping that what he was doing would help the poor soul. He raised his right foreleg, and brought his hoof down on the foal’s head, crushing it instantly. A sickening, wet crack filled the air, echoing a bit of a ways out. He felt his stomach turn as blood spattered his foreleg, bits of brain clinging to his hoof and his fetlock, the deed done. Lucky eyed his work, and moved away from the corpse, his face stoic. “…Fuck whoever made me do this again…” He scraped his hoof on the dirt, trying to get whatever he could off of it. He continued down the trail, unsure of where he was going.

For now, he didn’t care.