Blackout

Drip.

Knox emerged from the tunnel as the sun began to fall below the hills in the distance. He moved out into the mining facility. Suddenly the street lights lit up throughout the town.

I wonder if Toast and Rook had anything to do with that? He questioned.

The town was deserted, there weren’t even any infected on the streets.

Something’s wrong. Either someone’s cleared out everything in this town, or this place was deserted a long time ago.
A light flickered in the distance, a shadow darted across the road.

Knox brought his M16 up to his shoulder and aimed it in response. He moved forward, hunting it, whatever it was.
The light flickered again, no shadow this time.

Something tapped him on the shoulder. He turned in an instant to face it.

“Welcome to Borenai,” the Stranger said before he punched Knox in the face, knocking him to the ground.

Knox awoke some time later, in a dark, damp room. It smelled oddly clean for a place like Borenai. Almost too clean, hygienic even.

He had been stripped of all his clothes and gear, except for his underwear. His hooves were cuffed through the backing of a steel chair.

He looked around. All he could see were steel cabinets on the walls, a surgical table with nothing on it and a silver platter on the table next to him. His clothes and weapon were stacked on a chair in the corner on the far side of the room.

On his left, a set of stairs led to a door with a splinter of light piercing through the lock and through the gap between the door and the floor.

He felt cold, his body shivered. The air was getting colder.

He looked up, an air conditioning vent directly above him pushed cold, sterile air into the room.
“Forgive the temperature,” said the voice from earlier.

The unicorn stallion walked out of the shadows in a far corner of the cold room.

Drip.

He flicked a switch on the wall. Two bright fluorescent lights flickered and ignited, illuminating the room with a cool white light.
The floor was, at last, revealed. All that could be seen from any direction was white tiling. He presumed that below it lay only cement, or dirt.

He looked then to the stallion’s face. It was weathered.

He had seen many horrors. Undoubtedly caused many in his time as well, Knox assumed.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“Somewhere safe, for me,” the stallion replied.

“Why have you taken my clothes and gear?”

“It was necessary,” he stated, simply.

“I’d like them back,” said Knox.

“I’m sure you would, but how can I trust you?” He asked, “you could be infected.”

“You have me practically naked, locked in your basement and hoofcuffed to the chair,” said Knox, “you have had plenty of time to examine me; you know that I’m not infected. So why lie to me?”

The stallion smiled.

Drip.

The stallion turned to face two of the steel cabinets on his left and opened them. Out of one he withdrew a surgical scalpel and from the other, rubbing alcohol and placed them both on the silver platter next to Knox’s chair.

“I don’t usually like to start so quickly, but I am rarely afforded the opportunity to test a Military pony. I’ve cleared out the streets so I should have ample opportunity to continue when we begin.”

The stallion returned to the cabinets and retrieved a box of latex gloves, a package of cotton wool and a box of surgical masks. After placing them on the platter he took two gloves and stretched them over his large, coarse hooves. He then applied a surgical mask to his face.

He loudly scraped a steel chair close to Knox’s and sat himself comfortably with his legs resting on the bar close to the base of the chair.

The stallion moved his hooves around Knox’s chest and abdomen, examining the contours of his well-maintained figure.
“You’ve taken good care of yourself,” He began, “I admire that.”

After the stallion finished examining his body he turned towards the platter, ensuring he had all the tools he required.
“You can never be too careful with blood, especially these days. I remember a time when the worst risk from blood contamination was EIV, alas things have changed.”

As the stallion picked up his surgical blade, Knox’s eyes darted around the room, looking for some way to escape. He looked down, wriggling his hooves behind his back to get them free from the cuffs.

Eyes darting upwards he looked at the door. Where before there was a splinter of light under the door there were now three, broken by two small shadowy indentations.

“Stop,” Knox began, “you don’t have to do this!”

The stallion took the blade in his right hoof and grasped Knox’s left nipple firmly with his left hoof. He brought the scalpel up to the right hoof side of the nipple, where the skin begins to turn dark and made a slight incision around the curve.
Knox recoiled in pain but held in his scream. A small stream of blood fell quickly from the wound.

The stallion picked up the rubbing alcohol and cotton wool. He soaked the wool in the alcohol and pressed it firmly against the wound.

As the alcohol mixed in with the blood and began to sear the wound Knox let out a whimper. The stallion pressed harder on the wound and the whimper turned into a scream.

The shadows darted away from the door and were followed closely by a shrill screech.

A young girl? Knox thought.

The stallion sighed. “Little bitch is going to be the death of me,” He began, “screaming at a time like this. I’ll go sort her out, but I’ll be back for you.”

He placed the scalpel back on the platter and rose from his seat. He then trudged up the tiled staircase and opened the door. It didn’t seem to be locked. He closed it swiftly behind him.

The stallion moved away from the door and, by the sound of it, rounded a corner. Moments later the doorknob squeaked. A small girl darted quietly into the room. She closed the door quietly behind her.

Her long sandy-brown fringe whipped around the sides of her face and her lengthy ponytail bounced as she sprinted towards him. She had a long, feminine face with a nose that dipped slightly in the middle and protruded a little at the tip. A few freckles adorned her upper cheeks and crossed her nose. Her eyes shone a bright shade of hazel.

“You’ve got to get out of here!” Knox whispered, forcefully.

“I don’t want him to hurt you!” she responded.

“I’m a big boy, I can hoofle it,” He began, “I’ve dealt with worse…”

“No!” She cut him off, a little too loudly. “He’s killed lots of ponies. I’ve seen him dragging the bodies out and leaving them in the streets for those creatures to eat!”

She darted behind his chair and began fiddling with the cuffs that restrained him.

A loud crash echoed through the room as the door slammed against the wall adjacent.

“You little bitch!” He yelled in frustration, “You’re going to learn your lesson this time!”

He stepped heavily towards her; she tried to hide behind Knox’s chair.

“Leave her alone!” Knox shouted.

“Shut the fuck up,” he said, punching Knox in the nose, “this doesn’t concern you.”

The stallion picked her up off the ground by the scruff of her neck. Knox felt her hooves slip away from his hoofcuffs as he threw her into the chair he was sitting on. It tipped and slid across the room. The girl fell to the ground, crying.

The stallion undid his belt. “I’ve given you so much,” he began, “I gave you a home, kept you safe from the infected. Then you see fit to betray me?”

The stallion picked the girl up and placed her on the surgical table face down and unzipped his pants.

“NO!” Knox shouted.

Knox flailed his forelegs inside the cuffs. The girl had placed the key in the lock. Quickly un-cuffing himself he got to his hooves, picked up the scalpel off the silver platter and rushed towards the stallion.

Scalpel in hoof he pulled the stallion away from the girl and slammed him against a wall. He then took the scalpel and jammed it hard into the stallion’s throat, slicing away toward the jugular. Blood spurted out along the wall.

Knox released the stallion and he fell to the ground, unconscious, sure to die at any moment. He dropped the scalpel on the ground and went to check on the girl. She seemed okay, he hadn’t done anything to her.

He sat her upright on the table.

“You poor thing,” he said,” It’s okay now; I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Just wait right here.”

Knox walked to the far corner of the room and retrieved his gear. He opened the cabinets against the wall and found a first aid kit. He opened it and applied a liquid adhesive to his wound, and dressed it with a surgical pad.

He put on his clothes and webbing and returned to the girl.

Knox parted her hair out of her face. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Tears finally stopped rolling down her cheeks as she mustered the strength to reply. “I am now.”

Knox lifted her off the table and held her on his hip. “Let’s get you out of here.”

She put her forelegs around his neck and he walked up the stairs into the main house. He walked around until he found the kitchen. Placing her on the bench he searched the room for something he could eat.

He opened the fridge, fully expecting anything within to be inedible or rancid. However, it was cold and fully stocked. Knox took some of the cooked meat and vegetables gave some to the girl and ate some of it himself.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Grace,” she replied, “what’s yours?”

“John,” he said, smiling, “pleased to meet you, Grace.

She smiled in response.

Knox asked Grace to go to her room and put on, pants, a long sleeved shirt, a jacket and fully enclosed sneakers. She complied.

When she returned Knox walked to the door, M16 in hoof, checked the peephole and opened it. He checked his watch; it was one in the afternoon. The sun still shone brightly in the sky.

Knox took Grace by the hoof, holding his rifle in the other, with the sling around his neck. They walked out into the street. There was nothing to be seen. Not a living, or non-living pony was in sight.

“Where is everything?” Knox asked himself.

“My uncle,” Grace began, “he said he had a plan to get rid of them all. All the creatures, one day they were everywhere, the next he managed to get rid of them. He said something about the mine, but he never told me what, and he said never to go down there.”

“Where did he take the bodies of the ponies he killed?”

“I think he took them down there, but I’m not sure.”

He probably lured them down there with all that dead flesh, he thought.

If they’re still in the mine I won’t be able to reach them with the radio, but I should try nonetheless, Knox reasoned.
Knox reached for his radio, pressed the button on the left hoof side and began to speak clearly in an outward direction.

“Knox to Toast, do you read?” he asked over the radio, “I say again, this is Captain Knox to Toast, do you read?"

After a few moments of dead air something finally broadcast through the receiver.

“Ca…th…read…host…fatal,” said the voice through intermittent static.

“Say again?” said Knox.

Dead air.

“Shit,” said Knox.

Drip.

“Alright, is there a mining facility near here?”

“It’s all the way across town,” Grace began, “I think they are still around that way. There’s a big fence and behind that, they say, is the entrance to the mine, though I’ve never seen it.”

“How far to walk there?” he asked.

“Maybe an hour,” she guessed.

“Will you show me?” he asked.

She nodded. Grace, still holding his hoof, led him down the street, into the Central Business District. The roads turned from dirt into bitumen the closer they got to the main town.

Every now and again they would pass a burnt out car, with traces of black soot along the doors and roof. Usually the cars were intact, just abandoned.

Having lived through the outbreak, he knew why some ponies would leave their cars behind.

Some ponies would simply stay indoors and attempt to ride out the storm, usually that didn’t work and they starved or left to get food and died on the way.

Others would simply assume that all roads out would be blocked and tried to bypass the problem by going on foot with whatever they could carry. While some ponies managed to survive, not a lot did. Of the few that did survive, almost half died of starvation of dehydration, the other half, if they were lucky, managed to survive long enough to get picked up by a Sanctuary transport.

Grace began to veer to the right, crossing the footpath on the right hoof side and walking under the shelter of a local bar.
In the distance a group of infected had gathered in the street, they weren’t looking for anything, they were just walking.
“I’m not going to kill them,” Knox began, “Killing them may attract more, okay?”

Grace nodded, squeezing his hoof tighter.

“We’ll stay on the right hoof side; they’re mostly focused in the middle of the road. We should be able to sneak around them.”

Slowly they edged closer, taking care not to make any noise.

A twig snapped beneath Grace’s hooves. The infected were aware of their presence. They started moving towards them; Knox pushed Grace behind him and raised his M16 to his shoulder, firing bursts of three shots into the infected assailants dropping one after another, after another.

One of them crept up on them, approaching from their left flank; it grabbed Grace by the foreleg and motioned to take a bite out of her. She screamed.

Knox turned to face the assailant, smacked it in the head with the stock of his rifle. It recoiled, releasing Grace’s foreleg. Knox fired into its head, it fell to the ground.

“I think that was it,” he said, “did it bite you?”

“N-no, I’m okay,” she replied.

Knox paused. A distant hum vibrated through the air.

“Do you hear that?” he asked.

“Something’s humming…”

“That’s not humming,” said Knox, ecstatically, “that’s a helicopter!”