//------------------------------// // 162 - The Only Way // Story: Lateral Movement // by Alzrius //------------------------------// Cozy threw the syringe against the sheet that served as one of the field hospital’s interior walls, trying not to burst into tears as she watched it hit the fabric and fall to the ground. That was the fourth time she’d tried to take her own life. The fourth time she’d taken the syringe in her mouth, closed her eyes, held her tongue against the injector, and put the end of the needle against her skin. The fourth time that her courage had failed her at the last moment, causing her to fling the drug-filled needle away in a fit of guilt and shame. And now it was the fourth time that she curled up and pressed a hoof against her mouth, biting back sobs as she tried to figure out what to do. Ever since Nosey had let it slip that those who worshiped a god in life went to that god’s side after death, Cozy hadn’t been able to think of anything else. Although she knew that the other mare had been trying to comfort her by telling her that Pillow’s death was only a temporary parting and not a permanent goodbye, that hadn’t been how Cozy had taken it. To her, Nosey’s words were a course of action that could be – that needed to be – undertaken with all possible haste. All I have to do is die, and we can be together again! The thought had sent a rush of desperate hope through her, her heart aching at the thought of being reunited with her beloved. But that left her with the uncomfortable question of how to end her own life. Her first option had been to pray, the first time she’d prayed since she’d asked Lashtada to bring Pillow back. But after an hour of silently begging Lashtada for death, praying that the goddess would make her lie down and go to sleep and never wake up, it had become obvious that this was another prayer that would go unanswered. She had even tried praying for a spell that would let her kill herself, but no such magic had been placed into her mind. Resisting the urge to blaspheme Lashtada’s name at that point had been difficult – why was her goddess so intent on keeping her and Pillow apart?! – but Cozy had forced herself to refrain, worried that if she lost Lashtada’s favor then she wouldn’t allow her into the “afterlife” where Pillow was now. Instead, she’d turned her thoughts towards other ways that she might end her life. Slipping away from the camp and going back to Vanhoover was the most obvious solution. The city was still filled with ghouls that would have been more than happy to kill her, she knew. But she couldn’t bring herself to seriously consider doing that; the thought of being devoured alive, of what it would feel like to be torn apart and eaten by those monsters, was too horrifying to contemplate. She wanted to die, but she didn’t want to suffer in doing so. Unfortunately, that left extremely few options open to her. The camp didn’t have any tall buildings that she could jump off of, and although Cozy knew that there was a river nearby, the sheer number of ponies using it as a source of water meant that somepony would likely see her – and try and stop her – if she tried to drown herself. She’d heard snatches of conversation about somepony having hanged themselves in the nearby train station, but apparently Lex had sealed the building as a result, and there was no other structure nearby that was sturdy enough to support a noose. The irony of her current line of thinking hadn’t been lost on her; she and her friends had all spent the last several weeks struggling to stay alive while they were trapped in Vanhoover, and now that they were out all she could think about was dying. But that thought had led her to consider if maybe, just maybe, one of her friends would help her die. That was nonsense, of course, but it had made her think of each of her friends in turn, reminding her of how Aisle had just recently begged her to help the doctors in order to avoid Lex’s wrath…and then the obvious solution had presented itself to her. The doctors… Sneaking into the medical field hospital hadn’t been that hard. The building was just a few tents that had been hastily sewn together; finding a seam that hadn’t been completely stitched had been easy enough, at which point she’d worked at the tear until it had been wide enough for her to slip inside. Her heart had fluttered nervously as she’d picked her way through the interior, worried that somepony would find her. Although she knew it was ridiculous, she felt as though her intentions were written all over her face, and that anyone who so much as glimpsed her would know what she was planning. Fortunately, avoiding the doctors had been easier than she’d expected. Although the field hospital was dimly lit – the only light seemed to be a few lanterns, whose illumination was gently diffused by the hanging sheets that filled the interior – the lack of any real walls meant that it was easy to hear anypony approaching her, letting her duck into an alcove or backtrack hurriedly. After a few minutes of searching blindly, she’d managed to find a small space filled with medical equipment: cotton balls, tongue depressors, band-aids, ointments, and more. But what had caught her eye were the small bottles of liquid and the various syringes. Unfortunately, it was at that point that the flaw in her plan had manifested. Looking over the bottles had failed to turn up any that were labeled “painless death.” Instead they had unpronounceable names like “ziconotide” or “buprenorphine hydrochloride,” none of which meant anything to Cozy. She had stared at them for what felt like a short eternity before the sound of approaching hooves had jolted her into action, jabbing a syringe into a bottle at random and hurriedly filling it before galloping away, concealing herself in an unused exam area. That was where she had been ever since, trying to find the courage to do what needed to be done, and – so far – failing every time. I’ll do it this time, she assured herself as she climbed to her hooves, going over to the fallen syringe. Just pick it up and use it before I can think. No delays. Letting out a shaky breath, she dipped her head down and carefully picked it up in her mouth, dipping her head down so that the needle was pointed at her foreleg. Just press it, she silently cajoled herself. Do it right now, and then I’ll get to see Pillow again. But as she felt the end of the needle touch her skin a sudden burst of terror shot through her, just as it had during her previous attempts, bringing with it a surge of doubts. Would whatever was in the syringe actually kill her? Or would it do something horrible while leaving her alive? What about her original plan, of bringing Pillow’s body back to Princess Cadance and asking if she could resurrect him? Why wasn’t she still following that plan? For that matter, was Nosey even right about this entire “afterlife” thing? Cozy had attended numerous sermons that Princess Cadance had given, and she’d never once mentioned anything about that. So maybe…maybe Nosey had bad information, or had misunderstood something. Maybe the entire idea of being reborn after you died was wrong. Maybe she should wait just a little bit longer, at least until she could double-check what drug she was about to use… Cozy hurled the syringe away from her for the fifth time, tears spilling down her cheeks as she did. Coward. I’m such a coward. She remembered calling Aisle that only yesterday, when he’d tried to comfort her and she’d responded with abuse, and suddenly found herself wishing that he was there. She didn’t even know why, since he doubtlessly would have tried to stop her, but she missed him all the same. I never even thanked him for yesterday, she realized, and that seemed like as good an excuse as any to delay what she was doing. Sniffling, she got up and retrieved the syringe again, but this time she placed it in a small bag that was on the exam stand, throwing it over her back as she crept out of the field hospital the same way she’d entered. I’ll just…I just have to do that first. I’ll tell Aisle that I’m grateful for what he did for me, and that I’m sorry. Then I’ll do it. She had to repeat that thought several times before she could make herself believe it. Spit Polish sat next to the dying embers of a campfire, looking with undisguised bitterness at the ponies crowding around the food-laden tables that Lex Legis stallion had conjured. They’re over there right now, he knew. Each and every one of them. Drumroll. Buzzy. Snickersnack. Cellar Door. Although he couldn’t see them, he knew they were there alongside everypony else, gobbling up the food that Lex had made. Although his stomach rumbled at the sight of it all, Spit Polish made no move to go join the others. The five of them constituted the commander’s most loyal followers, or so Spit Polish had thought. He’d been speaking to all of them just a few minutes ago, telling them about the rumors of the commander’s death and urging them to help him figure out a way to drive the newcomers out before they spread the sickness throughout the entire camp. That such a thing would happen was only a matter of time, Spit Polish was certain, and so they had to keep doing what the commander would have wanted them to do. “Otherwise,” he’d told them, “all of our sacrifices, all of the things we had to do, will be for nothing. Equestria will be lost and it will be our fault.” The others had nodded and agreed and pondered what to do, only to be caught up in the spectacle as Lex created tons of food out of nothing. Each of them had joined the crowd in rushing toward the first set of tables, leaving Spit Polish to brood alone. We used to have to break down barn doors and fend off angry ponies in order to steal just enough for everyone to survive, he recalled darkly. And now this pony is making all of our hard work meaningless. Worse, there was almost no chance of getting the rest of the camp to help them drive Lex and his band of plague-carriers out now. Not when he could make this much food for everyone when they had been eating too-stingy portions of half-rotted vegetables before. He’s going to keep them complacent with food, right up until some of them get sick and start feeling hungry for the flesh of other ponies. For a moment he wished he could talk to Peachy Keen; no matter how bad things had gotten, his childhood friend had always been able to make him feel better, even during the darkest days following the fall of Vanhoover. He’d made eye contact with her very briefly just a few minutes ago, when she’d been going to join the crowd to wait for the promised food, and for a second she’d moved to come over to him. Then she’d seen who he was speaking to, and her hoofsteps had stopped. The look she’d given him then, before turning to go join the crowd, had been one of the saddest expressions he’d ever seen on her face. Just the thought of it made him uncomfortable, and that made him angry. She had no right to look at me like that. I’m the only one who’s taking this seriously. The commander is dead, that Lex pony is going to doom us all, and I’m the only one who sees it! Spit Polish stood up slowly, letting out a breath. He had done a lot of terrible things, things he wasn’t proud of, over the last few weeks. But they were all things that had been necessary…and now it looked like more would be necessary still. He couldn’t let this Lex pony jeopardize all of Equestria because he was too blind or stubborn or whatever it was that was making him ignore the risk of infection. He still didn’t know why the commander had given up without a fight, but he was gone now…and with everypony else apparently abandoning their duty, Spit Polish knew that he was the only one left to protect Equestria. It was time for desperate measures.