//------------------------------// // Chapter eighteen: two surprises // Story: Worlds Apart // by Elkia Deerling //------------------------------// Triggerhoof knew something was wrong even before he left the forest. He hadn’t encountered a single changeling on his way, much to his surprise. While he had remained careful and tried his best to keep the sound of his hoofsteps low, he had the feeling that for some reason the enemy had retreated. Of course he was also glad because of that. He didn’t want to run into a changeling unarmed—especially the armored ones with the big wings and spiked horns. And now, there were strange sounds. It looked as if the battle of the hunting party against the changelings never ended. There were screams in the distance and gunshots, muffled a bit by the forest’s dense vegetation. Trigg winced as a picture of that horrible battle crashed into his mind. It wasn’t a battle; it was a goddamn slaughter! He moved on, twice as fast as before. Wherever there were gunshots, there were people, Americans, and possibly trouble. He tried to run as fast as he could in his protective suit. His Geiger counter had already started clicking. Despite the fact that he would still be immune to radiation for a few hours, he didn’t take any chance. His panting breath sounded through the filters like a diver’s rebreather. He jumped over a fallen log, dashed through some shrubs, and emerged from the forest. In front of him was the barren plain separating Democracity from the forest. But Trigg wasn’t looking at that. He stood rooted to the ground, as he fumbled in his backpack for his binoculars. He jammed them in front of his eyes. “Oh shit!” There were muzzle flashes of guns. There were calls, cries for help, and high-pitched screeches. The sounds left an icy impression on Trigg’s heart. Changelings were everywhere, flying over the base, searching for prey. There were a few armored ones too, who seemed to command the others. Whenever they pointed at something, a group of changelings flew towards it. Usually, that gesture was answered with a cry of agony. Triggerhoof tossed the binoculars in his pack, and bolted off. He wanted to face the problem head-on, kill the changelings and get his friends out of there. But then he paused, as he realized how stupid he was. If he galloped over the plain, the changelings might see him and attack. And of course, that’s exactly what happened. A pair of changelings fluttered down. Triggerhoof saw them coming. He barely had enough time to string his bow—it was all he could do. His idea was to wait for the changelings to charge at him, so he could hit them at point-blank range. He knew he didn’t have the skill to shoot them down from afar, let alone in the air. With a thud, the changelings landed. Like wolves, they advanced on their prey, hissing and waving their tongues. With his wing, Trigg nocked an arrow inconspicuously, and hoped the changelings were dumber than he was. Just a few steps closer… One of the changelings bent through its knees, ready to jump on the pegasus pony. Here goes nothing… In one fluent motion, Triggerhoof drew the bow, and let the arrow fly. The changeling tumbled backwards, with an arrow through its heart. “Holy shit!” That was something Triggerhoof hadn’t expected. Suddenly, the feeling he had felt when Zecora gave him the bow returned in his heart. But now it was twice as strong as before. Quickly, Triggerhoof turned that pleasant surprise into confidence, and reached back with his wing to grab a new arrow. Apparently, he was a natural. But the other changeling proved to be smarter than its comrade. It turned around and zipped up into the air. “Oh no you don’t!” Triggerhoof reared upon his hind legs, drew the bow with the tip of his feathers, and shot. With a gratifying thud, the changeling landed on the ground, with an arrow into the back of its head. If he weren’t in crisis, Triggerhoof would smile. He didn’t waste one second, retrieved his arrows, and moved on. He played it smarter this time, as he kept to the withered and dried-out bushes, creeping closer to Democracity. He stayed out of the searchlights, and moved from bush to bush, until he came face to face with the metal wall. Slowly and silently, Trigg flapped his wings and landed on the rampart of the wall. As he cast his gaze onto the scene below, he saw just what catastrophe had unfolded here. There were bodies everywhere; soldiers, scientists, men, women, everyone. But they weren’t just bodies; they looked dried up and hollowed out from the inside. Triggerhoof remembered how the changeling had sucked all life out of Simon, and left behind an empty shell of a corpse. There were some dead changelings too, but by far not as many as there were people. Trigg could see traces of battle. There were bullet cases on the ground. The ground and the walls were splattered with blood. But the battle was already over, and the winners were the changelings. It was then that Triggerhoof realized he was too late. He should have left Zecora behind sooner. Maybe he could have made a difference, save hundreds of his fellow Americans. He could have saved General Johansson and Doctor Goodman too. And even if they would still have lost, Triggerhoof would at least die side by side with his fellow countrymen—his fellow soldiers—and die a worthy death. He scolded himself over and over again. Now he was the one who felt hollow inside. He felt like a coward and a weakling. He should have bested that armored changeling and return to Democracity asap. Now, he witnessed first-hoof what his delay had cost him. The screech of rusted metal hinges resounded, drawing Trigg’s attention from the horror spectacle to the door of the main building of the nuclear reactor. One by one, people were seeping out of it, their hands above their heads and their faces downcast. The changeling commander, a huge monster in black-and-red armor, barked a command towards them. The people started lining up on the blood-soaked terrain. Trigg’s heart skipped a beat, and cold sweat clouded his vision for a moment, as he saw who came out of the door and lined up like the rest; Doctor John Goodman and General Erik Johansson. They took a position in the middle of the growing group of people. There were about two dozen of them now. The last person was the pony, Miss Harshwhinny, behind whom a group of changelings marched. And then the flow stopped. No more men or women or scientists or soldiers came through the door. Triggerhoof glanced at the group. Besides Johansson and Goodman and Miss Harshwhinny, there was no one he recognized. He gritted his teeth, as he realized the bastards had killed Admiral Montgomery too. The leader of the changelings landed on the ground, furling its massive wings. With big strides, it stepped over towards the group and eyed them. Triggerhoof saw that its mouth was moving. However much he hated that murdering beast, he wanted to know what it had to say. But Trigg also didn’t want to leave the high ground; that would be a tactical error. He could sneak to the left, closer to the scene, but there was a changeling there. That didn’t matter. He trotted towards the changeling and grabbed him by the head. With one swift motion, he broke the creature’s neck and threw him off the other side of the wall. Trigg winced. Why did his neck have to make so much noise? But the changeling leader hadn’t noticed Trigg’s swift kill. He kept talking. As he spoke, the changelings landed and stood by his side, with the armored ones at the front. There were easily two hundred of them. Triggerhoof sidled closer to the edge of the rampart, and listened. “…One more time. We require the immediate location of a pegasus by the name of Rainbow Dash. She is sky-blue…” But then the changeling looked up in the sky, and saw the grey curtain hiding the stars from sight. “I mean… just blue! She’s blue with a rainbow mane and tail. We want her, and her friends too, for that matter. You already have a pony amongst you, and where there’s one, there are most certainly more.” One of the few soldiers that survived, holding a blood-soaked rag to his side, answered the changeling. “We don’t know her and we don’t have her.” The changeling turned around, swiping the man’s feet from under him with his tail. He fell down and grimaced in pain. “That is exactly what I expected you to say,” the changeling said. “You want to hide the ponies and protect them. You all know they are important, as together they form the elements of harmony.” No one spoke. Everyone kept his gaze low. They realized that they were not going to get out of this alive. No one had a clue what the changeling was talking about. There was no one who had seen the My Little Pony television show. The changeling tensed. It puffed out its broad chest. “Fine! You want to play it that way? You think I am not insistent enough? I will show you what insistent means.” He unfurled one of his shimmering wings, wrapped it around a man in the front of the group, and pulled him closer. There was no way for him to escape, as the powerful wings held him fast. Triggerhoof knew what was going to happen next. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to watch. The changeling opened its mouth. Immediately, the green ray appeared, and the man’s positive memories and love got sucked out of his body. In the blink of an eye, the changeling was done with that. But then the beam turned red. The man yelled and screamed and squirmed in agony. When the changeling was finished, he unfurled his wings, and the carcass of the man, as dried-out as a tomato in the sun, slumped to the ground. Everybody’s gaze was now aimed at the commander of the changelings. One woman scientist even began to cry. Maybe the man had been her husband, or a friend. A woman next to her let her lean on her shoulder and sob. Even from this distance, Triggerhoof could see the grin on the changeling’s face. Triggerhoof growled. He squeezed his bow in his wings. The changeling took a deep breath, tasting the life he had taken with his magic. When he looked at the crowd again, he bared his teeth. “I liked that. I hope you liked it too, because I will do it again to a random person if you don’t tell me the location of Rainbow Dash soon.” Triggerhoof knew he was serious. He had to do something now. Of course, he could try to shoot the changeling commander. But what if he missed? And besides that, even if the commander would drop dead, there were one hundred and ninety-nine other changelings who could be equally deadly. No, Triggerhoof needed a plan. He quickly dropped his bow and his bag, and took inventory. Out of his bag, he pulled: one set of binoculars, spare filters, a compass, a Geiger counter, some paracord, a fire starting kit, a grey tarpaulin for making basic shelters, spare clips with bullets and shells for his lost weapons, a knife, and a roughly drawn map of the area he had pieced together last minute. That was it. With those things, he had to come up with a clever plan to get them out. Naturally, Trigg had no idea what to do. The changeling walked forwards. It was as if he divided the sea, as the people got out of his way. When he reached the back of the group, he stuck out his wing, and grabbed Doctor Goodman. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! “Think, Triggerhoof, think!” Trigg rubbed his temples with his hooves, as if he could speed up the thinking process some way. Panic took hold on his heart. He looked from his stuff to Doctor Goodman; from Doctor Goodman to his stuff. Trigg hated to get creative. He much rather dealt with his problems head-on and simply, preferably with a loud weapon. Loud… something loud… a distraction! That was a step in the right direction. But where was he going to get something loud enough to distract the changelings? He just wished he had something loud at hoof, but he had nothing. He gazed once again at the scene below. The changeling leader held Doctor Goodman tightly. His glasses fell to the ground. The changeling was ready to feed. Triggerhoof wished he had something that made a lot of noise, like a grenade launcher. He kept his eyes on Goodman. But suddenly, something happened. A man, standing at the front of the group, bolted off and sprinted towards the gate. He charged right into the wall of changelings, trying to punch and fight his way through. He got about a quarter of the way there, when the changeling leader reacted. He dropped Doctor Goodman, turned around, and spit. The sticky saliva caught the man by the hand. With a jerk of his head, the changeling pulled him closer. The man fell to the ground, tried to get up, but then fell down again. The changeling casually walked towards the man, looked down upon him for a second or two, and then grabbed him with his wings instead. That bought Triggerhoof time. And not only that. Thanks to the display he got some inspiration. He remembered that the gate was operated by a winch system, using counterweights to hoist the metal sheet up. Triggerhoof looked closely to the mechanism. The hatch was already open, and he could see the knob for the release. Once pressed, the counterweights would fall down, and the gate would open very slowly. But that would be too slowly. The distance between the group and the gate was big, and Triggerhoof knew that when they waited for the gate to open, the changelings would have a lot of opportunity to slaughter everyone. He was the one who had to open the gate. But still, if he could manage to hit that button—which was like hitting a flying fly—and the gate would open, then there were still two hundred changelings to fight through. The two dozen people would never make that. No, Triggerhoof still needed that distraction. In wild panic, his eyes shot all over the courtyard. There were anti-aircraft missiles, the changelings, the people, the gate, a heap of guns the changelings had collected, more changelings, a fuel depot, and the helicopters. Triggerhoof kept his eyes on the helicopters. It looked as if one of them, the one closest to the wall, had been refueling. But the man who was supposed to do that job never got it done. The hose was out of the helicopter’s fuel tank, with a splash of gasoline on the ground, which dripped from the fuel tank. And there was Triggerhoof’s distraction. He turned towards his magazine, and pressed out a bullet. Taking the bullet between his teeth, he pulled it off and poured out the gunpowder. Then he grabbed his backpack, and used his knife to slice off a bit of fabric. He just hoped that the fabric of his backpack was flammable… A loud scream interrupted Triggerhoof. He looked at the changeling, as he dropped the carcass to the ground with a wet thud. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, you get another chance to tell me where Rainbow Dash and her friends are. Are you going to tell me, or should I kill this man anyway?” He pointed at Goodman. Damn! Triggerhoof kept working as fast as he could. The crowd was silent. They had no idea if speaking was a wise thing to do. They really didn’t know where the ponies were, but they knew the changeling wouldn’t appreciate such an answer. Silently they dispersed, as the changeling walked towards Doctor Goodman. Trigg was almost done. Just a few more minutes… The changeling smiled, as he folded his wings around Goodman. The man kept shaking and shaking. But he also prayed. He didn’t take his eyes off the sky, folded his hands, and whispered his prayers to God. He knew he was going to meet him soon. He didn’t know it, but he had just given Triggerhoof the minutes he desperately needed. The changeling opened his mouth, but not to feed. Instead, he spoke, curious as he was at Doctor Goodman’s strange behavior. “Do you have something to say to me?” he asked, his fangs mere inches from Goodman’s nose. “I-I-I have something to s-s-say to God,” Goodman said, his voice trembling. “And what is that? ‘God?’” the changeling said. He sounded more curious than angry this time. “H-h-he is my savior. H-h-he will help me.” The changeling let out a deep, throaty sound, which could be taken as laughter. “Ha! As you can see, there is no one who will help you. Not even the human you call ‘God.’ You are alone, you are powerless, and you are mine!” Goodman once again folded his hands together. “God, my Lord, receive my soul. Be merciful…” But God had to wait for Goodman. Something whistled, and then found its mark. Flames sprang from the small puddle at the helicopter, ignited the fumes coming out of the fuel tank, and jumped into it. A split-second later, the helicopter exploded with an enormous bang and an enormous fireball. The changelings that stood close by were instantly incinerated, and some more cried out in pain as burning shrapnel shredded their pitted hides. The changeling leader dropped Goodman, shot his eyes at the fireball, and shouted orders. “Everyone! Split up. There are hostiles in the area. Find them, and bring them to me!” Immediately, two hundred changelings took to the sky, flew up high, and scanned their surroundings. But Triggerhoof wasn’t done yet. Slowly he rose, so that the grey tarpaulin wouldn’t slide off of him. He had secretly hoped that the changelings would fly high, and they did. They were so high, that they couldn’t make out the grey of the tarp and the grey of the metal walls. He still had the element of surprise, and he was not going to waste his extra seconds. He nocked another arrow, prayed for his unusual bow skills to help him, and let it loose. The target was like hitting a snowflake in a blizzard. But still, the arrow went where it was supposed to go. With a metallic clang! The arrow blunted itself against the button. Slowly, the gate crawled up. “RUN, YOU FUCKERS! RUN!” Triggerhoof yelled, as he threw off his tarp. Now the changelings in the air could see him, but he didn’t care. He knew where his next arrow went. Before the changeling leader even had time to call for a regroup, he was staring with one eye at the shaft of an arrow, as it pierced his right eye and turned his brains into scrambled egg. The changeling stood stiff, rocked back and forth, and then clattered to the ground. The remaining people bolted for the door. They crawled underneath the narrow slit, and spread out over the plains. They all ran into different directions. Some north, some south, some east, some west. For a few precious minutes, the changelings stood aghast. Had somepony actually managed to kill their leader with a single shot? The answer was ‘yes,’ but they themselves didn’t have an answer yet. One hundred and ninety-nine changelings without a leader looked at each other. What to do? Some swooped down and started finding people to feed on, and were quickly followed by others. But there was also a small group of armored changelings who did realize what killed their leader. They dived down, heading for the red spot on the wall. Jumping down, Trigg went to the door too, until he spotted Johansson and Goodman. Together theyran. “My God, Raspberry Trick! It’s you!” Goodman said between panting breaths. “Yes, it’s me,” Triggerhoof snapped, “now run for your fucking lives and talk later!” “I like that idea,” Johansson said. Then he exchanged a smile with Trigg. They were once again comrades in arms. They sprinted across the plain, searching for some kind of cover. Heading west, they made for a ruined town. Trigg heard a familiar whizzing sound. He looked up, and saw two changelings dive like eagles towards them. He paused, took out two arrows, nocked them, and fired. This better work. And it did. One changeling was killed; the other lost its wing and crash-landed into the ground. Trigg shouldered his bow and caught up with his comrades. Just a few hundred yards. Already, buildings could be seen—or what was left of them. Soon they ran upon a road, rushing through the town and trying to find somewhere to lay low. Trigg looked at the sky. There were no changelings. But still he could hear screams and the sound of insectoid wings. They weren’t safe yet. Suddenly, another ominous sound required Trigg’s attention. His Geiger counter clicked. The needle was in orange. Despite the suit, Trigg found himself breathing with increased difficulty. Fear tried to take hold of his body. Flapping his wings, Trigg took to the sky, to get a better picture of the surroundings. He wasn’t happy with what he saw. Judging by the radiation and the state of the ruined buildings, Trigg concluded that this town must have been hit pretty hard with the nukes. There were so little roofs left on the buildings, and the buildings that were less damaged were miles away. And when Trigg turned around, he saw that there were already changelings flying over some parts of the town, wearing red armor. And to top it off, Goodman and Johansson didn’t have suits. “We have to get underground. NOW!” Triggerhoof yelled. He knew that the changelings used the metro to breed and multiply their numbers, but now, the radiation and the fact that they could be spotted any minute, made deciding very easy. To their right, a little square opened up, with stairs leading down into the metro. They dived in, and became surrounded—not by changelings, but by darkness. ** “So how on God’s precious Earth did you do it?” Goodman asked Trigg. They were walking through a dark, dusty tunnel. The only source of light they had came from the flashlight that hung by Trigg’s side. But still, it was better than nothing. And, the radiation levels dropped significantly. Theoretically speaking, it was still risky to walk without protection, so they strolled through the empty tunnels, hoping to find a ‘safe’ spot with less radiation where they could wait out the changeling assault, and then maybe go up on Ground Zero again. “Did what?” Trigg asked. “Making the helicopter go boom, and… and the gate… It looked as if the thing opened itself.” “Yeah, actually I’m interested in your tactics too,” Johansson said. Trigg snorted. He didn’t like to boast. He just said it with the low, gruff voice with which he always stated things. “Arrows. I pried open one of my machine gun cartridges, sprinkled the gunpowder on a piece of cloth from my pack which I bound to the arrow with the paracord I had. I lit it, and then it was just a matter of twang and boom.” Johansson clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, you have earned my respect once again, for the hundredth time.” “Yes, well done, Raspberry,” Goodman said, stroking his mane. Trigg shook the hand off his head. “Please just call me Triggerhoof, doc. I don’t even know what you mean with that other name.” “Triggerhoof… such a nasty name…” Goodman said, softly enough so the pony couldn’t hear it. “But, Trick, what happened to your face?” Even though Goodman walked next to Trigg on his ‘good side,’ he had noticed the scars on the other side of his face. “Changeling,” Trigg said. “One of the stronger ones, with the armor and stuff. They can cast magic. It’s like someone holds a white-hot flatiron against your face. But thanks to the zebra, it doesn’t even hurt.” Goodman jolted. “A zebra?! Zecora?” Triggerhoof arched his eyebrow. “I guess you have seen her in your girly show, haven’t you?” “It’s not just for girls,” Goodman retorted. “And yes, I have seen her in My Little Pony. It pains my heart to know she is here on Ground Zero too. How is she?” “Holding out for now,” Trigg said. But Doctor Goodman was not satisfied with that answer, and soon Trigg found himself telling everything that happened in the forest, back when the hunting mission went terribly wrong. “Wow!” Johansson exclaimed, “so you have found the location of the reds’ main base in the state?” Trigg nodded. “I’m not sure if it’s the biggest in the state, but it’s certainly big. And they are sitting with their asses on nukes.” “What?!” “You heard me right.” Trigg let out a sigh, which ended in a growl. “It’s just a shame we don’t have an army with which to mow them down.” Johansson sighed too. “That it is, but we’ll find a way, I hope. There must be other, smaller compounds of the American military.” “But the reds had tanks and helicopters and anti-aircraft missiles.” “Fuck.” They walked onwards in silence for a time. The only sound was the echo of their footsteps against the arched concrete wall. They followed a set of train tracks, in the hope of finding a good place to stay and plan out what to do next. Neither of them had any idea. They didn’t have an army to join, they didn’t have a way to kill communists, and they didn’t even have a clue about where the hell they were. The only thing they had were themselves and some weapons. Johansson held an assault rifle in his hands. He had been quick, and snatched it away when the changelings were still distracted by the explosion. Doctor Goodman hadn’t even thought about getting a weapon, yet the general had been so kind as to give him his 9mm pistol. A small sidearm, but, just like the small flashlight, better than nothing. And so they were alone with their thoughts. They needed something, anything. The soldiers, Johansson and Triggerhoof, needed some kind of mission. They needed some kind of goal. Walking aimlessly through empty metro tunnels felt so… useless. Silently, they promised themselves that, if the radiation levels allowed it, they would get out of the metro at the next station. They all looked forward to that. Luckily, they didn’t encounter any strange membranes or spittle or any sign of changelings. Triggerhoof thereby concluded that the changelings either hadn’t discovered this line yet, or that they found their hive a much more pleasant place to stay. Triggerhoof couldn’t blame them. Who on Earth would want to live underground, in the dark, wandering the tunnels forever? Only idiots. Either that, or… Or the changelings were afraid of something. Triggerhoof had once taken a peek inside Andrei’s Metro novel when he was away. There was one advice in it that he always remembered. If a tunnel has loads of rats, cockroaches, and other vermin, it meant that everything was safe. You should be worried when there are none of those creatures around… Ominous words, but then again, according to the book there were monsters and mutated animals living on the surface, creeping into the metro to terrorize the brave survivors within. Bullshit, Trigg thought. He whisked the thought away. Step by step they advanced, wishing to arrive at a station and some way up onto Ground Zero. According to Trigg’s Geiger counter, the radiation levels were almost zero, so that meant they were moving further and further away from the epicenter of the nuclear blast. From the damage Trigg had seen, it had been an aerial detonation. But actually he didn’t care. He just wanted to get the hay out of the metro. Something was not right in the tunnels, and it put Trigg on edge. He wasn’t scared; he was just cautious. He kept his bow and arrow between his wings with an arrow nocked, just to be sure. Finally, Doctor Goodman couldn’t bear the silence and the creepy tunnel any longer. “Do you think we’re almost—” “Hold!” They stopped at Johansson’s command. “What’s wrong?” Trigg said. But then he heard it. There were sounds coming from up ahead, amplified by the tunnel’s echo. His ears swiveled around. “You think it’s people?” “I think we should be on guard,” Johansson said, pulling back the bolt of his automatic. “B-b-but they could be friendly, right?” Goodman said. Trigg scoffed. “Since when is anything on Ground Zero ‘friendly?’” Goodman let out a sigh. “Always expecting the worst of people…” “But it helped me stay alive,” Trigg retorted. “Me too,” Johansson added. Goodman threw his hands in the air. “I give up.” He didn’t reach for his gun, still trying to prove a point. As they rounded the next curve, they saw light. In the distance, someone had set up electrical lamps, as the light didn’t flicker like fire. Slowly, they advanced. “Hold it right there! Not a step further,” someone cried out. Suddenly, they bathed in light. Before either of the soldiers could take control of the situation, Goodman spoke up. “We come in peace. Please, we mean no one harm.” “You can prove that by putting your weapons on the ground and walk towards us,” the voice said. It was a rough voice, probably a soldier, Goodman thought. But he couldn’t see anything with the bright lights shining in his eyes. Goodman took his pistol and laid it down on the ground. But Trigg and Johansson didn’t follow Goodman’s example. They exchanged a glance. “What do you think?” Trigg whispered. Johansson shrugged. He had no idea if the people ahead were a possible threat. There was the threatening click of a safety catch. “Last chance. Put down your weapons or we’ll shoot.” Trigg looked around. There was nowhere to take cover. If they didn’t do what those voices told them to do, this godforsaken metro tunnel could become their grave. At least we’ll already be underground, Trigg thought, saves them the effort of burying us. Trigg’s bow clattered to the floor, followed by Johansson’s machine gun. “We’re unarmed!” Johansson shouted. They proceeded, until they were behind the searchlights. The lights turned out to belong to a machine gun nest, with a heap of sandbags and one big machine gun resting on top of them, with its barrel to the tunnel. Four men stood watch. “What are you? Traders, soldiers, survivors?” one of them said. He looked intently at Trigg and Johansson and Goodman, as if he were an art critic watching an ugly painting. Goodman stepped forward and extended a hand. He thought politeness was going to do the trick. “My name is John Goodman, I am a doctor. And these are my two friends, and yes, they are survivors.” “Survivors? I’m a goddamn soldier,” Trigg said with a snort. The man returned the handshake, looking in amazement at the doctor. He obviously hadn’t expected such a friendly reply, after he had threatened him mere minutes ago. Instantly, his nervousness about these strange people evaporated. “I’m sorry for the rough entry, Doctor Goodman. We have to be careful, you see?” “I completely understand,” Goodman said. “And my friends do too.” Triggerhoof didn’t, but he wisely kept his mouth shut, and let Goodman handle things. “So, do you have a community here?” Goodman said. “You’re here in Tracktown, doc,” a different guard said. At such a peculiar name, Goodman arched his eyebrows. “Tracktown?” The first guard turned around. “Come. I will take you to our leader. He always loves to see friendly faces here in this fucked-up world. And I think he will show great interest in another pony at his doorstep.” “Certainly,” Goodman said, and he waved to his friends. “Shall we?” Tracktown proved to be exactly as the name suggested. It was a town on the tracks. The guard, Goodman, Triggerhoof, and Johansson entered a service tunnel, walked up a set of concrete stairs, and then stepped out onto the platform of a station. But it wasn’t just a station. On either side, there was a train, illuminated in the gloom. The seats had been torn out, and there were people in there too. Through the window, Triggerhoof could spot entire families with children in them. Goodman looked at it all with his mouth open. “Wow!” “Yeah, we live in the carriages, and hold a market on the platform every day,” the guard said. “If you’re lucky you can still find some traders willing to do business at this ungodly hour.” The place smelled weird. Triggerhoof snorted and tried to find the source of the smell. Someone was baking something somewhere. At once, Triggerhoof felt his stomach bite. “I hope there are still traders, because I am bloody hungry.” He already did a few steps towards the source of the scent. “But Raspberry, I think we should stay together, and meet the leader first,” Goodman said. Grumbling, Trigg complied, and they moved on together. They followed their guide, strolling over the marble platform. Once, the marble would have been shiny and white, yet now it was dusty and stained at some places. They were obviously heading towards a little maintenance area up ahead, and Triggerhoof reckoned that was where their leader would be. The light coming out of the train carriages was more than enough to illuminate the way. There were some people around, and they looked quite relaxed. They leaned against the carriages, showed things to one another, or just made small talk. The relaxed ambiance felt alien to Triggerhoof. Something kept bothering him. “Where do you get power?” Trigg asked. “There’s a huge generator at another station,” the guard answered. “And if you go even further you will find places closer to Ground Zero, where the tunnel has collapsed and light shines through. That’s where we have our farms. They are doing quite well up there. And, the radiation levels aren’t too high.” Doctor Goodman looked at the guard with silent admiration. “Well, you have certainly built yourselves a wonderful little land, Mister…” “Jim,” the guard said. “Yeah, it’s nice. It’s just that we are dealing with problems of our own. Raiders and bandits, but sometimes even worse, changelings.” Triggerhoof wasn’t surprised. “They’re sieging you?” Jim waved a hand. “In a certain way, yes. Despite the gravity of the situation, there’s a funny story behind them. You see, the children who used to watch the My Little Pony television show recognized them first, so we took over the name. They can be aggressive, but they do realize that we have guns. We’re kind of in a constant standoff, with no party attacking the other.” “Where are they coming from?” Trigg asked, although he already knew the answer. “From the south,” Jim said, “from the direction of the Aurora crater. I guess they have some sort of home base there. Apparently, they can deal with radiation much more easily than we can.” Johansson perked up, and slowed his pace. “Wait, it goes that far? The metro?” “Oh yeah. I reckon much of the metro system of Aurora city is still intact. Of course, there is lots of radiation there, but still, in theory, you could go anyplace you want through the metro tunnels.” “Thanks,” Johansson said. “That’s some valuable information.” Jim shrugged. “Hey, don’t mention it. I actually like talking to strangers a lot. It’s always handy to know something about the—” but Jim’s conversation was cut short, as a cry resounded over the platform. It came from the metro carriages. Jim quickly turned around, and trained his gun on the door of the metro carriage. But then he lowered it, as he saw who came running like crazy towards them. “What’s wrong, Carrey?” “Nothing is wrong! My little Raspberry! I can’t believe it! My sweet little Raspberry Trick!” Carrey charged right into the group of men, and threw her hooves around Triggerhoof. She held him as tight as a snake, and then kissed her son on his stubble-covered muzzle. When about a dozen kisses were given, Carrey turned her head around. “Block, come see this! Our little Raspberry is back!” But Triggerhoof was not in the mood for yet another crazy pony. With a shift of his weight and a twist, he escaped the mare’s embrace. He tried to be polite, however crazy the mare was. “I’m sorry miss, but who are you?” Carrey chuckled. It was a nervous chuckle, filled with uncertainty. But she knew for sure it was her son, even though he bore a terrible scar. “Raspberry, it’s me. It’s your mother.” Out of the metro carriage, another pony, a stallion, got up on the platform. He too, galloped towards Trigg, but this time Trigg was ready. As soon as the burly stallion reached Triggerhoof, he whirled aside. The stallion smacked nose-first into the opposite carriage. “I don’t know you either, sir,” Trigg said, “and I don’t like it when someone charges at me.” Building Block now saw three Raspberry Tricks. He rubbed his muzzle and his head, and then walked towards his son. “Raspberry, you’re my son. How can you not remember? We were with you when that lightning bolt struck us. We thought we had lost you.” Carrey drove back the urge to hug her son once again. Instead, she reached out a hoof to examine his scar. Trigg did a step back. “I’m sorry, madam, sir, but we really should get going. We need some supplies, and we need a way out of the metro.” “But… B-b-but…” Carrey felt tears well up in her eyes. What had happened to her Raspberry Trick? “But you should stay here, with us, with your family.” “You wouldn’t leave us now that we’re finally together, right?” Building Block said. Triggerhoof let out a grunt. “There is no together. I… don’t… know… you. It’s as simple as that. The fact that you are also ponies doesn’t mean we are related.” Desperation taking hold of him, Building Block tried a different approach. “But please, son, think real deep. Try to remember what happened that day with the changeling attack. Or remember another, happier memory with us. Just try.” Shrugging, Trigg said, “No. I want to go meet whoever runs this place, get some food, get a direction to follow, and go.” A small tear pearled on Carrey’s cheek. “But… Raspberry…” “That’s not even my name,” Trigg said. “It’s Triggerhoof, and I never had a different name.” Doctor Goodman, who had stood idly by, stroking his chin, intervened. “No, Trigg. Your real name is ‘Raspberry Trick.’ That’s what you told me when I found you. You told me you were teleported out of Equestria somehow, and I found you and kept you safe.” Now Triggerhoof was really confused. His parents watched him with hopeful glares. “I know you found me and raised me, doc, but I have no idea what this ‘Equestria’ is. I was born here, on Ground fucking Zero.” “No, that’s not true, Raspberry,” Doctor Goodman said. He spoke to him as if he were a stubborn child. “Now be a good pony and do what your parents ask you to do. Try to recall them.” Trigg stomped his hoof on the ground. “Fine! If it means we’ll get rid of these lunatics and get some grub soon, then I agree.” He closed his eyes, and began digging in his memories. Of course, the Heat Seekers stood on a golden pedestal, right in the middle of his chamber of memories in his mind. Who else was there? General Johansson, of course, the man who had taught him how to fight for a cause, and be faithful to his friends. Then there was Doctor Goodman, who found him and considered him his son, even though they barely had any common interests. Trigg always found him soft. He walked to the next door, behind which should lay another memory. But when Triggerhoof put his hoof on the doorknob, the door didn’t budge. “Bloody hell!” Trigg kept trying. He knew there was something behind that door, something he knew, something familiar. Finally, he lost his patience, turned around, and bucked. The door flew open, and Triggerhoof was sucked right in. Into the void. There was nothing behind the door, just emptiness and darkness. Triggerhoof actually felt disappointed. He had felt as if something important and valuable lay behind the door. But there was nothing at all. Something was missing. The void smelled strangely too, and there was a weird sound, like the skittering of bugs. “Show yourself,” Triggerhoof shouted. He knew it was a changeling, hiding somewhere in the void. “Don’t be a fucking coward and show yourself.” But the only answer he got was a strange hiss, as if something vile and slithery was inhaling a sharp breath. There was no changeling to be seen. Trigg felt that he was sucked back the way he came. He flew back to the hallway with the many doors, and landed hard on his flank. What to do now? He tried another door. It was empty too. He tried another. Empty. Another. Just blackness and emptiness. Triggerhoof left the chamber with the many doors behind. There was nothing to see anymore, the changeling was gone, so he opened his eyes. There was a silence. Carrey and Building Block held each other’s hooves, waiting for Raspberry Trick to say the words, and ready to embrace him and become a family again—a complete family. Carrey was trembling, while she squeezed her husband’s hoof. And Doctor Goodman watched with interest too. These two ponies could very well be Trigg’s parents. But if that were true, then why couldn’t Trigg remember them? This display had strangeness written all over it, while mystery wrapped it tightly. Jim watched the ponies as well. He always loved a good story, and he saw that he had stumbled upon quite the tale. He wanted the ending to be happy, and got ready to cheer. “No,” Triggerhoof said. It was a cold, hard ‘no,’ shattering dreams and breaking expectations. Carrey’s heart broke. Her knees felt wobbly. Building Block supported her as she slumped to the ground, sobbing, crying, tears falling upon the marble floor. Building Block watched Triggerhoof. His face wasn’t angry, or sad, or even disappointed. He just watched his son with a blank expression, as all emotions got ripped away from him with that ‘no.’ “I don’t know what is wrong with you, son, but whatever it is, I hope you will see how things really are soon.” He paused to stroke his wife’s mane. “And if you do, little Raspberry, know that our doors and our hooves are always open for you.” “I see that I am hungry,” Trigg said. He had enough of these two crazy ponies. “Let’s go.” And with those harsh words, he left his parents behind in total confusion and despair. ** The Engineer—which was the leader’s title—was a man of about sixty years, with silvery grey hair and a face that looked as if he were always thinking about something. He told Trigg, Johansson, and Goodman more about the settlement, about the laws of the place, and that they were welcome to trade and stay as long as they wished, given that they behaved themselves. He told them that they could sleep in the train carriages if they wanted, but he also warned them that it might be expensive. It was then that everyone realized they were poor. They didn’t have any money. Trigg had never used it back in Crossroads, and only vaguely remembered what the word meant. Johansson was amazed that the old currencies were still being used, and Goodman was trying to think up a way to get some money. But that proved to be a challenge. They had only few possessions, and the things they could sell, they needed. “Fucking hell,” Triggerhoof said. The Engineer raised his index finger. “No swearing in my house, little pony.” It was then that Goodman really started looking around. Indeed, he saw a Bible lying on the metal box the man used as a desk. When he watched the walls, he saw a little cross, made of two pieces of metal welded together, hanging on the wall. Apparently, the Engineer and he had common interests; religion. Goodman had the feeling that he had to talk to the Engineer alone if he wanted to get some things done. And besides that, he already had a little plan in his head. “Excuse me,” he said to Johansson and Trigg. “Could you leave us alone for a minute?” Johansson frowned, and stroked his beard. “I don’t want any secrets in my squad, doctor.” But Triggerhoof, for once, proved to be helpful to Goodman. “I say we go. We have nothing further to discuss, and I am hungry.” Sighing, Johansson said, “Alright then, we’ll leave.” As the two soldiers walked out the door, Triggerhoof said, “They probably want to talk about the girly cartoon show.” Johansson’s chuckle was the last sound, before the door shut. The Engineer looked a bit uncomfortable with the silence, as he sat stiffly in his chair. As quickly as he could, Goodman waved the silence away. “I believe you are a man of God, aren’t you?” Instantly, the Engineer relaxed. His hands went from their tight grip on the armrests to his desk, folded together. “I am. I believe, in these harsh times, we need the help of God to do what is right.” “Certainly,” Goodman said. “If we keep trusting in Him, He will never forsake us.” The Engineer bit his lip. “It might be… strange to ask you, but do you think He still listens to us?” Chuckling, Goodman said, “I am most certain he still listens to us.” “But we have destroyed his beautiful Earth, the land, the trees, the water. Everything has been destroyed by our own ignorant selves.” Goodman nodded. “Still, I believe He is here. Especially after today. I have seen something truly magical here on Ground Zero.” “Really?” The Engineer bent forwards. “And what is that, if I may ask?” Goodman pushed his glasses further on his nose. “Today, I witnessed a true family reunion. Imagine that, being sucked out of your own world, landing miles apart on Ground Zero, and finding each other in a beautiful place.” “That does sound magical,” the Engineer said. “Whom are you talking about?” “The two ponies you have here, Carrey and Building Block.” The Engineer smiled. “Yes, I know them very well. They are my most trusted advisors, and truly a gift from God. I have even made them my heirs, so when I pass away, Tracktown will have two Engineers“—he paused to let out a chuckle—“who aren’t even engineers. We found them when our community was still young, right there, in the metro, lost and scared and trembling from head to hoof.” “And you took them in.” “Precisely,” the Engineer said, thrusting his finger into the air. “And they didn’t prove to be useless. No, God had gifted them with very helpful skills. Carrey immediately tended to the wounded men; the victims of raiders, changelings, or radiation. Building Block, on the other hand, is a skilled builder. He basically fixed the generators at Star Avenue station all by himself. And when he started working on the trains… I reckon he has built at least half of all the train-homes himself. “But useful as they were, they were never really cheerful or jolly. There always seemed to hang a raincloud over their heads. I once asked them why, and they told me about their missing son, who was supposed to be in a place called ‘Equestria.’” “He wasn’t,” Goodman said. “He was also teleported out of Equestria and landed here on Earth.” Suddenly, the Engineer stood up. “And he is here? Wait, it was that red pony, wasn’t it? That’s great! Then we should bring Carrey and Block over as soon as possible!” He stood up and reached for an intercom to his right. “Don’t bother, Mister Engineer, they have already met.” “Aw… really? That’s so sweet!” the Engineer said. “I’m sure they had a lovely family moment together.” Doctor Goodman scratched the back of his head. “Well, actually, not really.” Then he told the Engineer exactly what he thought. Goodman was very sure the two ponies were really Trigg’s parents, as they not only knew his name and what had happened in Equestria, but Goodman had also never seen such motherly love from anyone. The way Carrey cried when Triggerhoof said ‘no,’ almost made Goodman himself cry. No, Goodman knew there was something wrong with Triggerhoof, but what it was, he couldn’t guess. Something made him forget about his parents, and even the entire world of Equestria. Goodman’s closest guess would be the rebuke of some sort of trauma. “If this is really true, then I will consider you guests of honor here in Tracktown,” the Engineer said, looking closely at Goodman to spot any signs of a lie, however much he wanted to believe the story. “As God is my witness,” Goodman said. The Engineer waited for a minute longer, and then sat down on his chair again. “I believe you, Doctor Goodman. This whole tale sounds so dramatic and unrealistic, but somehow, I believe you. I just hope I could help your pony friend to remember his parents.” Letting out a sigh, and rubbing his hand over his face, Goodman said, “That’s what I hope too.” Grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, the Engineer started scribbling something down. “Of course you can stay here—you don’t have to pay. Maybe your pony friend can even sleep in the same carriage as his parents, so that he will remember them.” “Good idea,” Goodman said. “I just hope he is willing to.” “And of course, you can have any supplies you want for free. Just show the merchants this card. But please, don’t abuse this privilege I am giving you.” Goodman took the card. “Of course we won’t.” The Engineer looked at his desk and fiddled with his fingers, wondering if he could ask what he wanted to ask. “May I ask you where you are going? Maybe I can help you on your way. I know these tunnels better than anyone, you see?” Chuckling, Goodman said, “Well, actually our mission is quite simple. We want to get back on Ground Zero somehow.” “Ah, I see,” The Engineer pondered over Goodman’s words. “We usually take the tunnel you came from, and exit from there.” “But we can’t go there,” Goodman said, “the place will probably still be infested with changelings.” “How do you know that?” “Trust me, Mister Engineer, I know.” “Alright then.” The Engineer stood up and walked towards a file cabinet. He rummaged through it for a few seconds, and then found what he was looking for. Carefully, he spread out a map of the metro system on the table. “We are here,” he said, pointing at a station. The station’s original name was crossed out, and instead there was the name of the settlement; ‘Tracktown.’ The Engineer looked at Goodman. “As I said, we always take an exit in the direction you came from. If you go further down this line, you will get to Star Station, our power supply. From there on, the tunnel only gets deeper and deeper. And not only that. It will also bend southwards, to where the changelings are coming from.” Goodman bit his lip, as he saw that the Engineer was right. There was just one straight line, with no railways branching off into other directions. He turned towards the Engineer again. “So we are boxed in?” “Well, maybe not.” The Engineer once again jabbed a finger at the map. “Between Tracktown and Star Station there are many side tunnels, used for maintenance, which are not visible on the map. Maybe you can find a way out there, but I’m not sure. We have never really bothered to explore those tunnels; we don’t need to, you see? And besides that, most of those tunnels are dead ends anyway. But sometimes, those dead ends are formed by strong, steel doors, through which we don’t dare to go. But maybe one of those doors leads to a way out of the metro. Who knows?” He paused to smile at Goodman. “And I would very much appreciate it if you explore the tunnels for us.” “I see,” Doctor Goodman said, stroking his chin. “Then we’ll need some kind of explosive or something. I’ll ask Johansson about that. Anything else we need to know?” The Engineer jolted. “Oh, yes, of course. There’s lots of radiation in the east tunnel, which is closed by an even more complicated door. We think the tunnel behind it took a direct hit from a missile, so the tunnel will probably be collapsed. I suggest you pick that one last.” “Alright,” Goodman said with a nod. “I’ll talk some more with the others.” “Very well.” The Engineer opened the filing cabinet and put the map back where it belonged. “If there is anything I can do for you, especially regarding your poor pony friend, I’d be happy to help.” “God couldn’t have given us a greater help than you, Mister Engineer.” And with that, Goodman left the office behind. After a bit of searching, Doctor Goodman found Triggerhoof and Johansson sitting beside a fire with some other soldiers. They were eating and talking about something. When Goodman sat down, he heard they were discussing different kinds of nuclear missiles. But Doctor Goodman broke that conversation. He hated weapons in general—especially those that had ruined the planet. Instead he quickly came to business and told Trigg and General Johansson what he heard from the Engineer. “We’ll need some steel cutting explosives,” Johansson said. “Builders use those things to do controlled demolitions, but the military also uses them to break into compounds. When the market opens tomorrow, I’ll have a look around.” And so, they came up with a plan. But Goodman wasn’t satisfied yet. He tried to get Triggerhoof into sleeping in his parent’s home, but he refused every time Goodman proposed something. In the end, he didn’t say anything at all, and tried to ignore Goodman. Once the doctor finally gave up on his efforts, Trigg resumed the conversation about weapons. Doctor Goodman quickly left the company behind. He headed over to the carriage where Carrey and Building Block had rushed out of, when they were eager to embrace their lost son. As Goodman stepped in, he briefly wondered how he was going to find the carriage that held Trigg’s parents. There were mattresses, sleeping bags, and some personal belongings everywhere. Sometimes there were cloths hanging around like curtains to give the inhabitants of the train some kind of privacy. Finding Trigg’s parents proved to be easier than Goodman thought. The only thing he needed to do was follow the sound of sobs. Slowly, Goodman pulled the curtain aside, and stepped into their home. Carrey lay on the ground, crying with her back to her husband. When Building Block noticed Goodman’s entrée, he turned towards him. “She hasn’t stopped crying since our son said ‘no.’ Mister, I don’t know what to do.” Doctor Goodman introduced himself to Building Block. The stallion then bent through his knees and spoke to his wife. “Carrey, I have a doctor here, a real doctor. I’m sure he can help us shine some light on this strange encounter.” He looked up at Goodman. “Can you?” “I can,” Doctor Goodman said. “The least I can do is share some theories with you. Raspberry Trick might not be as lost as you think.” Suddenly, Carrey’s shoulders stopped twitching. Slowly, she turned around, looked at the doctor with watery eyes, and said, “Really?” Goodman stuck out his hand and helped her up. “Really.” When Carrey had calmed down, they sat together around a low metal box that served as a table. Goodman told them what he thought, that Triggerhoof’s amnesia might be induced because of some trauma, as sometimes happens with soldiers. Sometimes soldiers see something so terrible, so black and soulless, that they can’t cope with that, and bury it somewhere in the dark corners of their subconscious, trying to put it away forever. But no matter how far underground they put it, it always resurfaces someday. Post-traumatic stress disorder. “Perhaps Triggerhoof’s amnesia is caused by something truly traumatic, and perhaps, when he sees or hears or smells or feels something that he used to know, or gets an emotional shock of some kind, it will trigger his memories.” Goodman’s words were hopeful, yet they could hardly fill the hole in the ponies’ hearts. They felt as if their Raspberry Trick had died, and as if they should grieve. But thanks to Goodman’s knowledge, a little hope seeped through, and they realized they shouldn’t grieve. They should hope, hope that someday Triggerhoof will become Raspberry Trick once more, and they all could live happily ever after. Of course Trigg’s parents offered Goodman a place to sleep. As soon as the doctor put his head to his pillow, he fell asleep, and his last thoughts were theories; theories on how to get Raspberry Trick back to reality. ** After they ate and drunk as much as they could, Johansson and Triggerhoof were invited to sleep in the military barracks, which made up a few train carriages. Of course they agreed, and both soldiers soon found themselves lying in hammocks, ready to catch some much-deserved sleep. Triggerhoof thought about his missions. Of course, there was the mission to find the elements of harmony—which he hadn’t told and didn’t want to tell to the others—and help them in their mission to gather themselves together. That mission took up a big part of Trigg’s determination, but still, a small part of himself—the most patriotic part—was also thinking about ways to crush the Russians. He was a soldier fighting for two causes, waging a war on two fronts. He honestly didn’t know what was more important, defeating the changelings or defeating the Russians? Which enemy was more threatening? Both missions looked equally impossible. They had no home base or army anymore to fight the Russians, and the elements of harmony… they could be anywhere! He hadn’t wanted to tell the others about the elements of harmony. General Johansson would certainly question Trigg’s loyalty. Did he fight for America, or for a personal suicide mission of his? And he also didn’t tell doctor Goodman. Undoubtedly the doctor would want to follow Trigg into Hell and back, but Trigg didn’t want that. The clumsy doctor would only get in his way and slow him down. And besides that, he knew it might become his death. He realized he had to protect Doctor Goodman against himself, to prevent him from biting off more than he could chew. Even though they had their differences and butted heads sometimes, Goodman was still the person who had found him so long ago… All of those missions, worries, difficulties, choices, swirled around in his subconscious like Zecora’s all-seeing brew. Finally, he fell asleep, and had confusing dreams. Johansson was lying in another hammock close to Trigg. For him, it was simple; defeat the Russians. But he too, had no idea what to do. First he had to find some American soldiers. There surely were more—although smaller—bases, where the American military still had influence. This couldn’t be the end—it simply couldn’t. He closed his eyes while he frowned, and drifted off.