Bernard (Bernie) Verstappen was behind the wheel of his battered-looking, but very sound 2002 Chevy S-10 pickup, its bed filled with his welding gear and other sundry stuff, the cap sealed tight against the early-morning drizzle. He was heading north on Bayshore Drive at six-fourteen a.m. this not-fine Saturday morning, May the 23rd, two thousand fifteen, to handle a welding job that had come up at the Vinoy Park Condos. He would normally just hang up the phone when it rings at five in the morning, but when his friend said ‘a thousand dollars for a thirty-minute job, in cash’, it got his attention, so he got up, got dressed, checked his truck and headed to the job from his ratty little house in South Saint Petersburg.
He was sipping from a cup of coffee he had picked up from the Circle K near his house (having already finished the doughnuts) when everything lit up in a brilliant white flash of light. He yelped in surprise as he lost his grip on the coffee cup and it fell into his lap, leaking hot coffee, which caused him to screech even louder. The light became intolerably bright as he went to stomp on the brakes, but instead hit the gas. His hand would not grip the wheel as he felt the truck lurch from hitting the curb, then overtopping it. The last thing he remembered was something fighting him from getting the seat belt off as the truck entered the water of Tampa Bay.
Coincidentally, less than a hundred yards away, the Deliverance was making its way through the yacht club, looking for an empty slip to tie up at. Second Officer Frieda was at the conn up on the bridge, using her vantage point to look down into the surprisingly clear water, at the hulks that littered the yacht club. The wind was high, a storm approaching somewhere off to the west. The place was pretty full, but after a year of vacancy, a lot of the ships were just wreckage, in some places pulling the pier down. A flash caught her attention from her left, as a pickup truck suddenly appeared on the street that ran alongside the bay, a white pickup truck that veered right, raced up and over the sidewalk and grassy strip, past the edge and into the water very close to the Deliverance.
Quickly, Frieda shut down the engines. “Foster! Need you on the port side! Now!” she called out.
Foster Hardegan, a white unicorn with a gold mane and tail, was in the saloon, and had seen the whole scene play out through a window. Foster went outside, Frick right behind him.
“Let’s get that truck out of the water! Working together, we can put it on shore!” Frick shouted.
“Got that raht, Frick!” Foster said. Together, they reached out with their magic auras coming from their horns, Frick’s vibrant purple and Foster’s shining gold, to grasp the truck and heave.
The truck tore free from the muddy bottom of the bay and settled on the bank, the combined glows fading as water spilled out from the doors and bed. They could see some movement in the cab. “Foster, put me there, then pull the boat alongside!” Frick ordered.
“Raht, Cap’n!” Foster said, wrapping his gold glow around Frick’s smaller gray-furred frame, picking him up off the deck, then across, putting him down near the passenger door. By this time, the rest of the crew were alerted. Freida grabbed her EMT bag and sprung to shore from the bridge, spreading her griffon wings just enough to help. Frack, the red and gray pegasus, took off from the starboard side, circling the truck before landing on the driver’s side. Fran raced to the pilothouse from the galley, to take over.
Frick got the passenger door open, none too gently, and looked inside. He saw a small thestral in the driver’s seat, dark blue fur with a silvery mane, darker blue leathery wings tangled in the seat belt. He found the seat belt latch and pushed it as Frack got the driver’s door open.
The thestral fell out, Frack catching her in his wings, holding her while Freida came over to disentangle the wings by the simple expedient of using a scalpel from her bag to slice the belt to pieces. Once that was done, Frack laid her out on the grass. Frieda then used heavy shears to cut the shirt off so the wings could be laid out properly. “Is the driver alive?” Frick asked.
“Yes, she is. We got to her in time. She’s wet, but didn’t aspirate any water. Let’s get her aboard, dry her out and let Paw look at her,” Freida declared.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Frick said, bowing to the judgment of his Medical Officer.
Bernie woke up some time later, to find himself dry, in a warm bed, with a sheet over him. There was a light on to his right, otherwise, the room was dark. He heard a page turn off to his right, so he rolled over to look. The act of rolling over felt very strange to him, his arms and legs flopping around more than he would expect. “About time you woke up, young lady,” a voice came from about where the page turned. “It’s been over nine hours.”
“Not a girl, I’m a guy,” Bernie muttered. His voice was not how he remembered it to be, much higher in pitch.
“Let me turn the lights on, and you’ll see for yourself who is correct,” the voice said. The lights came up, and Bernie saw he was talking to a blue horse with a black mane and a warm, welcoming expression on its face. “I’m Fred Halvorsen, of Oconee, Nebraska, First Mate of the Deliverance. How are you feeling, Miz Verstappen?”
Bernie was not exactly listening, because when the lights came on, he looked at the blue horse blankly before turning his gaze on himself. Yes, he was a horse, too, a royal-blue horse with navy-blue leathery wings like a bat, and a light and dark striped silver-gray mane and tail that caught the light and shimmered. He lay on the bed for a moment or so, allowing the data to percolate through his numbed mind into his core intelligence, staring at Fred.
“A horse is a horse, of course, of course,” Fred sang. With a smile, he went from singing to speaking. “Yes, I’m a pony. So are you. So are a lot of other people on God’s green earth.”
Dazed, he risked a quick peek between his legs. Not believing what he saw, he worked up the courage to look again. The glance, to his shock and horror, revealed that Fred was right and she was wrong. “I’m a girl!” she squeaked in surprise, the pitch a lot higher on the last word.
“That you are. It’s known to happen. I can tell you the story of how this came to be, but would you like something first? Coffee, Coke, tea, bathroom trip?” Fred asked.
The last words triggered an awareness in him that he was trying to ignore. “Bathroom trip!” Bernie agreed quickly. “After that, coffee! But first, how do I get up?” Bernie asked.
“Just roll over to your right and let your hooves touch the floor. After that, when you’re ready, shift your weight from the bed to your hooves. Just take it easy. Or, you can take the faster route,” Fred suggested calmly.
“What’s that?” Bernie asked, clenching her bladder shut.
“Trust your instincts, don’t think, just go for it!” Fred said, clearing the path to the bathroom door. That worked, Bernie rolling off the bed and taking the four steps needed to get to the head. Rearing and pivoting, she managed to do her business, Fred politely not looking in that direction, a gesture Bernie appreciated.
Once relieved, Bernie stepped out from the head. “You mentioned coffee?” she asked.
“I’ll get some. How do you like it?” Fred asked.
“Cream and sugar, if you got it,” was the quick reply.
“We have powdered creamer, reconstituted powdered milk, or real goat’s milk. I suggest you avoid the goat’s milk, unless you had it before.”
“Powdered creamer and sugar, please,” Bernie requested.
“Okay. You can wait down here, or you can come up and we can let Maw have the bed. It is three in the morning, and there’s a storm bearing down on us,” Fred said quietly.
“Maw?” Bernie asked, his mind going numb again.
“My wife, Frieda. We have been married forty-three years. She turned into a griffin, while I became an earth pony. You can wait down here and practice putting one hoof after another while I go up and get the coffee. Shouldn’t be a couple of minutes, if Maw didn’t hide the trays again…” Fred muttered as he got past Bernie and headed up the stairs.
Once Fred went up the steps, Bernie wasted no time in looking herself over, from nose to tail. Royal blue fur, navy blue leathery wings, silvery mane and tail. Definitely NOT the body he woke up with at five in the morning. She shivered some before looking in the mirror that hung in the head. The head of a horse, a small horse, with fangs among her teeth and tufts on her eartips, with bright gold eyes. She had to admire the flexibility of the body, which was a lot more than he had as a fortyish man, but how could she hold a coffee cup with her hoof?
As Bernie continued her self-inspection, one of the doors in the bulkhead opened, to reveal a white horse about the same size as Fred is, with golden-yellow mane and tail hairs as well as a golden horn protruding from his brow. A gold glow came from the horn and operated another door in the bulkhead, revealing that room to be a second bathroom. The white unicorn stumbled in and shut the door behind him. “My, he looked wide awake…” Bernie muttered as she resumed her self-inspection.
“Foster can wake up fast if he needs to, but he prefers to take his time. He goes on watch in forty minutes,” Fred said from the stairs, holding a tray flat on one leg, said leg being turned in what HAD to be an uncomfortable direction, moving on his other three legs like it was perfectly normal, two steaming cups of coffee on the tray, along with some biscuits and margarine. He put the tray down on the bed, sliding it into place without upsetting the coffee.
“Howinhell did you manage that?” Bernie asked, her mind perilously close to blowing several fuses, two circuit breakers and a central processing unit.
“Just something you learn. I’ve had almost six months to practice,” Fred said before going into an explanation of ‘how to use your forehooves to pick something up’, something he referred to as being part of ‘Pony 101’. After being an instructor for the children in Pensacola, Fred has become quite good at teaching the subject.
After a good half-hour of instruction, Bernie was deemed fit to try the stairs. Carefully, she made her way up the steps to a well-appointed cabin, where a reddish-brown and black half-cat half-bird sat on a sofa in one corner while a tall tortoiseshell cat stood in the galley, tending to a frying pan. “Hi, Bernie! I’m Fran. What would you like for breakfast?” the tall cat asked.
“What do you have going there?” Bernie asked, still maintaining some stun despite getting lessons from Fred.
“Porridge with added goat’s milk in the big pot, reconstituted scrambled eggs on demand, toast and hotcakes with maple or blueberry syrup. Margarine if you really want some,” Fran replied.
“Porridge, eggs, toast with some maple. Where do you find the coffee?” Bernie asked as the half-cat half-bird squeezed past her and headed downstairs, Fred going with it.
“Wherever we can! Nice thing about now, no budget to worry about! Just have to worry if it’s gone over or not!” Fran said as she found a bowl and ladled some porridge into it.
“How can you tell?" Bernie asked as she went to the table and found a seat.
“By checking the container or the contents. I can’t begin to count how many times I’ve lost my lunch scavenging. Do you know how to operate a tablet and a laptop?” Fran asked as she served the porridge to Bernie. It was hot, fragrant, and not bad at all!
“Yes, I do. Well, now that I’m a pony, it may be harder. Why do you ask?”
“Because, while you were asleep, I downloaded a thestral manual for you. When you’re ready, I’ll get the tablet and laptop and walk you through setting up your security codes. Once this storm passes, we’ll head out, do more scavenging, and check Sunken Gardens for medicinal plants,” Fran explained as she served up scrambled eggs and toast.
Bernie found her appetite resurging as she dug in. “Storm?” she asked after a forkful of eggs.
“Yes. Frack says it’s a tropical storm, moving rapidly west of us, heading north and should hit land south of Apalachicola sometime around this time tomorrow. Rain and wind have been constant since we picked you up, and the rain’s been getting harder all night,” Fran explained as she passed a tray of porridge, eggs and toast up to Foster, who accepted it with a smile.
“The rain stahted shortly after we got you aboard and dried out. Feels lakh some sort of cock-eyed hurricane,” Foster explained as he put the tray down.
“How do you know that? Where are you from?” Bernie asked the big white unicorn.
“Ah’m Foster Hardegan, former sheriff of Rapides Parish, Louisiana. Ah’ve been through mah share of hurricanes, and this one feels somewhat cock-eyed. Don’t ask me how I knows it, I just does,” Foster said as he mixed his coffee and took a sip before starting his breakfast.
Bernie thought quietly as she nibbled at the porridge. The goat’s milk added a not-bad flavor to it. As she thought, her wings twitched, like they wanted to catch the wind and soar gracefully through the air. She shut her eyes and focused on the sound of the wind blowing.
Suddenly, it was as if Bernie could feel the wind blowing around her, her mane and tail swirling as her wings caught the air. She could visualize how the wind blew, knowing instinctively how to fly. Not just fly, but fly well. She went with the feeling for a long second before her wings unfurled, bashing against the table. That snapped her out of her reverie.
“Lost in thought, Bernie?” Fran asked.
“That was interesting. It was like I was flying, like I could almost see the currents in the air…” Bernie said, awe in her tones.
“When Frieda and Frack wake up, they can tell yuh all about flyin’. They’s good at it, what with one bein’ a griffon and the othuh a pegasus,” Foster commented after some porridge.
“Pegasus?” Bernie asked. “As in the old Greek myths?”
“That’s right. Are you ready to listen and learn for a few hours? Not like we have a lot to do, so we can bring you up to speed on how matters are,” Fran told her.
All that day, Bernie learned about the state of the world from the crew of the Deliverance as people cycled up and down. The rain steadily got harder as the day went on, convincing the crew that staying aboard was indeed the smarter course of action. Fran taught Bernie how to access the boat’s wi-fi, and how to manipulate a laptop and tablet with hooves, pens and wingtips, with Frack’s help.
About nine, before Frick went to bed, he said to Bernie, “Now is not a good time to put you into the watch rotation, because we won’t be getting underway for at least two or three days. You can bed down here in the saloon on the settee. The watchstanders should not make enough noise to wake you. You can always ask for earmuffs.”
Bernie had been looking at the ceiling of the saloon, having noticed something above the hanging bags of grains and flour. “Actually, Frick, I can spend the night right here,” she said before putting her forehooves on the saloon table and doing a half-flip, bringing her back hooves into contact with the handrail that was there to help humans get around in rough seas.
Crossing her forehooves across her chest and furling her wings, Bernie settled in. “This will do just fine, Frick,” she said before closing her eyes. Soon, a gentle snore came from her.
Frick looked like someone had just plugged his shaving-brush tail into an electrical socket, staring at Bernie in shock. None of the other thestrals he had known (all three of them, from Kansas City) had done something like that before. Stuttering, he backed into the galley, just staring at Bernie hanging there, peacefully asleep.
From the pilothouse, Fran just lost it, laughing in near-hysterics at the scene. She laughed so hard, Frieda stuck her head up from below, followed by Fred. “What in tarnation is going on up here?” she said crossly before spotting Bernie hanging from the catch rail, Frick in open-mouth surprise. Frieda started snickering, moving aside so Fred could come up and see.
Fred let out a pleased chuckle when he saw the scene in the saloon, Fran recovering enough to grab her phone and record about thirty seconds of video, panning between Frick’s stunned look and Bernie’s peaceful hanging before saving the video to the ship’s mainframe… AND sending a copy to Sandra’s inbox at the WSU.
Shaking his head, Frick made his way down to his cabin, because he has the four to eight watch in the morning. Freida and Fred came up so that Frieda could make some chamomile-lavender tea. “Nice trick, Bernie. I haven’t seen Frick look that shocked in a long time!”
Bernie didn’t say a word, looking blissfully asleep, hanging from the catch rail. “Bernie?” Fred asked again, getting a bit confused at the scene. He didn’t think it was possible!
“Paw, go on back downstairs. I’ll bring the tea. Let her sleep. Been a long day of studying for her,” Frieda advised quietly.
“Right, Maw,” Fred said equally quietly before tiphoofing down the stairs. Five minutes later, carrying a tray containing two mugs of chamomile/lavender tea, Frieda followed, turning off the saloon light. Soon, the main cabin light downstairs went off.
Twenty minutes later, Bernie spoke in a carrying whisper. “Looks like it worked, Fran!”
“It sure did, you bat-winged imp! Come on down and I can unfold the bed up here for you,” Fran said from the pilothouse.
“No, don’t bother. This is actually quite comfortable!” Bernie said smugly.
“If anyone can go batty real fast, you’re first in line!”
The next morning, the rains had gone from a downpour to just a damp breeze. After breakfast, Fred took the duty watch, Frack and Frieda took Bernie out for flight lessons, Frick and Foster started fueling operations, and Fran took her bicycle and cart to go out and about town. First thing she sought out was a local map.
Bernie found flying to be easy to learn. As she explained to Frack and Frieda, it was more a matter of trusting the power to work and try not to look foolish doing so. After receiving Frack’s stamp of approval that she knew enough to not kill herself, plans were made for Frack and Bernie to fly to Sunken Gardens to investigate the flora there more thoroughly than was done the week before, Frieda relieving Fred on watch.
The two made quick work of the flight there, Bernie taking lead and flying low, so she can see how much the city had changed in a little more than a year. “I may not have had the best of lives, but Saint Pete has been my hometown since my parents moved here from Amsterdam back in seventy-one,” Bernie told Frack as they flew up Fourth Street North. “Seeing it like this is heartbreaking.” Windows and signs were broken, power lines and traffic lights mostly down. Debris like leaves, tree limbs and whole palm tree leaves littered the road, with an occasional fallen tree.
“I know the feeling, Bernie. Oconee, Nebraska was like this, too. Just not as bad, because it’s almost a blink town and we Returned in December. Snow covered a lot,” Frack said.
“There’s the sign up ahead,” Bernie said, pointing. Many of the blue letters had fallen out, leaving the sign looking old and tired.
“The other side’s not as bad. We flew in from Tarpon Springs last week, but we didn’t stay long. A couple of Returnees found Fred and his working party while they were out scavenging. We only stayed here maybe ten minutes before heading back. I KNOW there are a lot of medicinal plants here. Our job is to see what’s here, and what ELSE is here, like fresh fruit.”
“There are some fruit trees in here. Lots of flowers, a flock of flamingos, a nice gift shop. My family would come here at least twice a year, just for the beauty of it. When I got married, I would bring my wife and kids here as well. Haven’t been here in a while, though,” Bernie said as they neared the Gardens.
“You mentioned a rather nasty divorce. I won’t ask for details,” Frack replied. “Such stories require something we don’t have right now. Booze.”
The pair landed by the gate to the Gardens, in the empty parking lot. “What’s the gate doing open?” Bernie asked, surprised at the sight.
“Frieda and I saw that, too, but we didn’t research it. We just walked in, looked around, found some poison joke, took some pictures, then Frick called and we headed back,” Frack told him, looking closer at the gate. “Here’s the chain.”
Bernie hoofed the chain out of a pile of leaves. “Frack, this link here- it’s been cut, then bent and broken. Who could have done this?”
Frack looked at the link. It was partially cut through, then twisted enough to break the link, twisted so the broken link stayed on one end of the chain. “Didn’t notice this before. Who could have done this is a good question. I don’t have an answer.”
“But I do,” said a voice that came from inside the gate, behind a mass of flowers. A massive shape strode through the flowers, towering over the two ponies.
“Oh, no, not again…” Frack muttered, looking up.