It was the morning before the creatures found them that they puttered into the outskirts of Haskill, riding on fumes.
It was a town like Mansfield, though a hair bigger than their quiet hamlet, frozen permanently in the midst of a celebration. 'The grand opening of the Haskill museum!' banners proclaimed. Flags drooped like wilted flowers along the road as if they knew they were a dying object in a dying town. Jack shook her head, returning to the job of fueling up the truck. Just as the pump kicked up, she froze, a strange noise coming to her across the eastern winds.
Music.
She looked around her until she spotted Rarity leaving the storefront, her hands full of water bottles.
“Ya hear that?” Jack questioned, a part of her wondering if she was going nuts.
“Hear wha—?”
Jack held a finger to her mouth, silencing the tailor. Rarity gave a flat, unamused stare at Jack, but paused nevertheless. A few seconds later, she cocked her head, for a moment reminding Jack of a confused dog, before her eyes widened.
“Music!” she exclaimed. “Do you suppose...?”
“Mighta jus' been kept on after everyone...” Jack didn't finish the thought. “But it never hurts ta check. Soon as Spike's off the john, we'll do some walkin'.”
“Why walk?” Rarity questioned, moving past Jack to put the bottles in the cab of the truck.
“Loud as my truck is, it'd drown it out.”
Spike came out of the men's room moments later, and they began the trek across the dead town.
The music drove them, perhaps gave them the courage to walk through this bizarre tomb, deafeningly silent and free from the presence of man. Jack lead them down one of the sideroads, past a couple of dead-looking houses, and tried to keep herself composed for their sakes. Still, she couldn’t help the occasional hum, cough, or tsk from erupting from her mouth, anything to fill the silence that the music only barely masked. From somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, its call bordering on a wail.
They spotted a good-sized grocery store, billed as Dave’s Produce and Pharmacy. A business, built and shaped into the design of a log-cabin log-cabin stood directly across the road—Stanley’s Outfitter’s, it proclaimed—and next to it was a skinny, glass-fronted place, Stanley’s Liquors.
Either two Stanley’s in town, or that son of a bitch must be swimmin’ in cash, Jack absently thought with a snort, a hair grateful for the brief distraction.
The sun shone almost directly overhead by the time they found their quarry, a seedy looking bar on the very outskirts of Haskill. Despite its more shabby appearance, the dump's parking lot was filled to bursting, lined with rusty, dusty trucks that made Jack's look like a Lamborghini, and a collection of bikes, one black and chrome beauty standing tall near the other less-than-stellar models, its high handlebars making it seem a lion among lambs.
Jack had always wanted a bike, secretly. Maybe a Harley. Just the chance to tear up some of the back roads during summer after the chores were done, feel the wind pull and tug at her face, feel free, but still be close to the things that she cared about most. The things that made her her...
But she never got the money. She wasn't a girl who bought things on a whim, or when other, more important things, took center stage. Any meager profit they gained out of the farm usually tended to stay on the farm: tractor parts, medicine for sick calves, apple tree saplings to repopulate ones lost in a storm, surgery for her granny's hip, saving what they could for her sister's college—Jack gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, stumbling for a few steps. Her expression changed so violently and instantaneous that it would’ve been almost comical in another situation.
The pain flared up and struck her heart with the sharp precision of a knife, leaving her weak. She stumbled forward, covering her eyes with a hand before finally turning, slumping down onto the short set of stairs leading to the bar's porch.
“Jack?” Rarity instantly questioned. Spike watched, unsure how to approach or what to do, exactly.
“They're gone,” Jack said, as if the realization happened five minutes ago, rather than bordering on two days. “Jus’... Jesus, Rare. They're all fuckin' gone.” She buried head into her hands, her entire body trembling.
Rarity said nothing, joining the woman at the steps and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
She had wondered if Jack would ever have it hit her.
“I'm sorry.” It wasn't much, but it was the only thing that could even come close to what she needed to say.
“Jus'...” Jack seemed to want to add more, but instead wiped at the snot at her nose with a sleeve and sucked in another heavy breath and leaned back, her eyes red and bloodshot. “Sorry. Right now I can't... we can't waste time.”
Spike nodded. “I do wanna see Twila as soon as we can.” He looked down at his shoes. “I’m worried about her.”
“We’ll get ya to her, sug,” Jack said, wiping again at her eyes. “I swear ta ya.”
She rose and went to the door, putting her hand on it.
“What if whoever’s in there is….?” Spike trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.
“I think, for all our sake’s, we better hope so,” Rarity replied, quickly shelving her darker thoughts for a later time. “This place is a terrible mess. No doubt it catered to all sorts of ruffians and the like.”
“It’s seen better days,” Jack agreed with a sigh. She looked behind her to her two companions. “If there’s someone in here that looks too rough, Rare, I want you ta get Spike the hell out. Alright? I don’t think that’ll be the case, but jus’ be ready.”
“You won’t hear any complaints from me on that.” She put a hand to the farmer’s shoulder. “But don’t you go getting in over your head either, Jack Apple. We’ve still a long way to go.”
Jack nodded in agreement, then opened the door. A set of chimes jingled overhead as the door was opened. Instantly, Jack was assaulted by the scent of whiskey. Normally, she’d find that nice, inviting, even, but right now there was a certain sense of foreboding to it.
At the counter was a man, his arms slumped over on the bar and a bottle almost all the way polished off tucked against his shoulder. He breathed heavily, halfway asleep, only slightly stirred by the chimes from the door. Finally, he turned his head and blinked bleary-eyed at the group. He narrowed his eyes and looked past Jack, at Rarity.
“Am I still asleep?” he pondered aloud, blinking once more, then reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a monocle, which he placed over his right eye.
“Rarity Belle?” he asked, stumbling to a stand and wiping at the blue, pencil-thin moustache above his lips. Jack noticed that for being in a biker bar, the man was immaculately dressed in a crisp dinner jacket and a set of black dress slacks. Something about him was very vaguely familiar, though his name was fuzzy, hard to summon at will. Jack glanced back at Rarity, wordlessly encouraging her.
For her part, the tailor simply stared, disbelief clear on her face. “I don’t believe it,” she said. “Francis Pottager?”
He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair, taming it a bit as he approached. “I can’t believe it!” he exclaimed, his voice raw as he stepped forward, foregoing formalities and giving her a hug. “I thought I may have very well been the last man on earth.”
Though Jack didn’t know the man nearly as well as Rarity, she accepted the hug he offered to her as well, and Spike begrudgingly did the same.
Francis shook his head yet again, rubbing at his lips and running his thumb again over his mustache. “I apologize, I must look unseemly to you at the moment, Rarity, compared to how heavenly you look.” He offered a crisp laugh. “You all look heavenly right now. A trio of angels.”
Rarity wanted to disagree with the man, but she couldn’t. His clothes were a bit frayed at the edges, but overall fine, but his face… It was drawn, with deep black circles under his eyes and a good two day stubble on his chin.
Instead, she said, “We’re just as glad to see you, Francis. But what on earth are you doing here?”
“I could ask you three the same question, no doubt. Haskill seems a fair distance from Mansfield, after all.” He offered a pained smile. “Though to answer your question, I suppose I wanted a nightcap or two.” Francis looked towards the bottle and gave a resigned sigh. “Or three. I honestly thought I was the only person alive in the entire world. No phone reception, no radio stations, no moving vehicles. Just myself and the road.”
Hesitantly, Rarity asked, “...so no Fleur?”
He swallowed. “I don’t know. Last I knew she was in the capital when I left to visit my brother.”
“Well,” Rarity said, “we’re headed that way ourselves. There was a broadcast on the radio—seems not everyone is gone. Any survivors are to meet there.”
“I wish I had heard that broadcast. I…” He put his fingertips to his brow and scowled. “Nevermind. At least now I have some direction.”
“Better than bein’ lost, ain’t it?” Jack asked.
“Yeah,” Spike quietly agreed.
“There are still a few hours left until sundown, perhaps we can make some progress? Travel together? I’ve been riding the roads only during the day—my eyes are far from what they used to be, and with all the vehicles strewn about, progress has been slow.” Francis clasped his hands behind his back. “That is, if I won’t slow you down, anyway.”
Rarity looked to Jack, thinking of the limited space in the truck. “Surely we’re better off together?”
Jack tilted her head. “Ya got a ride?”
Francis nodded. “Of course.”
“Then we’ll jus’ have a lil’ convoy,” Jack replied. “Two to a vehicle. We take it nice an’ easy.”
“We’ll be able to take more supplies, too,” added Rarity.
“Then that settles it. Francis, yer comin’ with us. We’ll ride until nighttime an’ set up camp.”
The road ahead was like the road behind them now: littered, deserted, and slow going. Although they made progress, it wasn’t as much progress as Jack had hoped. There were still some miles between them and the capital.
Even so, when they sat down for the evening as a group, spirits were high. Maybe it was seeing a survivor that, while a friend to Rarity, was outside of the usual group of people they lived with on a day-to-day basis and therefore seemed more mystical to them in this deserted world. Or maybe it was the simple fact that they now had a common goal ahead, a potential paradise, hope. Either way, there was some revelry as they grouped up and Francis cooked a few cans of beans for them to share over a fire that he had crafted in an impressive blur of motion. It grew from a few weak, trivial sparks battling desperately against the night and into a full-on respectable campfire within moments of the man striking a flint to tinder.
“Well,” Francis said to the group, “I’ll admit it’s not caviar, but the store was sadly out when I went shopping, as it were.”
“I think I’d prefer beans to caviar anyway,” Spike answered, rubbing the back of his head.
“It’s nothing to get worked up over, really,” chimed Rarity as she hastily disposed of the last of her portion. “I never saw the appeal, myself.”
“No kiddin’,” Jack agreed with an empathetic nod. “Last time I tried it was salmon roe an’ it was… alright, I guess. But why eat the eggs like that when ya can fry ‘em?”
Rarity gave her a blank look. “That sounds even more revolting, if that’s possible.”
Francis chuckled. “Now, now, Rarity. It’s better than you’d assume. In fact, when my father would host a fish-fry, I’d almost jump at the chance for them.”
“Plus with a fish-fry, after ya eat the eggs, ya got a full-on fish ta chow down on,” Jack agreed. “Compared ta that ‘teaspoon an’ yer finished’ crap the hoity toity do.”
“I can’t believe you went to fish fries,” Spike admitted to the man. “Rarity always said that you were a proper gentlemen.”
Francis raised a brow, giving his monocle and adjustment as he looked over to the tailor in question. “Did she now?”
She blushed furiously. “I-I… Well of course! Who wouldn’t?”
“Well, some of the other upper class would argue against it. Not that they’re always worth listening to in comparison to the cream of the crop I’m sitting by.” He chuckled. “They don’t understand what makes a gentleman, at times.”
“Really?” Rarity asked, surprised. “I’ve always seen you leading the pack, so to speak. It’s hard to think they might disagree with you on much.”
“Well, they see the way I treat my brother, I suppose.” He tapped his temple. “Not to mention a few of my eccentricities, such as my vehicle choice.”
“But your motorcycle's cool!” Spike blurted out. He looked at the three. They stared blankly at him until he awkwardly returned his focus to his meal.
Rarity glanced at the vehicle in question before looking back at Francis. “I’ll admit it’s… not what I expected. Yet it does seem fitting, now that I think about it.”
He chuckled again. “Fitting? Perhaps I come across as the dashing, romanticized modern cowboy, riding against the norm of the dull and stuck-in-their-ways townsfolk?” He nodded with vigor. “I like to at least pretend so.”
Rarity’s blush deepened, but she said nothing. Yet inwardly, it was still something of a shock, her recent revelations into the noble’s character. She’d always admired the man as one of the Camelot gentlemen. He set the bar that most others tried to emulate. Not only was he sophisticated, intelligent, and handsome, but he was generous and entertaining, standing up for a great many ideals other nobles fell far short of.
But then she’d seen him mount his motorcycle in one deft motion, starting it up and riding down the road with just as much poise as a stroll down the capital streets. It was a clash of what she’d envisioned, and yet it still felt true to his character. It didn’t lessen who he was or how he acted. And that was very strange to her.
“Yer alright,” Jack remarked with a grin. “Anyone that stirs up those dullards can’t be too off the mark.”
“Well, I’m pleased to hear that, Miss Apple. And anyone that’s a friend of Rarity can’t be too off the mark either.”
The farmer gave a tap to the rim of her stetson. “Well, there are worse gals ta be around, that’s fer damn sure.”
After the meal, the group split up, Jack and Rarity opting for the cabin of the truck. Francis, proving again to be a gentleman, chose to sleep outside on a blanket. Spike joined him, wanting to be away from the girls at least for a night.
Jack gave a small sigh as she looked out the window.
“Feelin’ like I’m gettin’ emotional whiplash. Today’s been nuts.”
“I have a feeling we’re going to be saying that a lot from here on out.”
“I hate ta think that yer right, but ya got a pretty nasty record on bein’ jus’ that.” She let her hands rise and fall. “Sorry ‘bout the funk I was in earlier. I, uh…”
“It was necessary.” Rarity turned towards the farmer. “None of us can be strong all the time, Jack. Do you feel up for talking about it now?”
“I dunno,” Jack replied. She looked out towards Francis and Spike and then turned to face Rarity again. “I dunno,” she repeated. “Feels like if I say anythin’ on it, it’ll break a spell or somethin’. I might start cryin’ an’ never stop. Jus’—” she sucked in a breath and clenched her eyes shut for the second time that day.
“I’m in the same boat, believe it or not.” Closing her own eyes, Rarity quietly said, “I keep my focus on the three—well, four of us, and the drive to the capital. I can not, I will not, allow myself to think of… everyone else. Not in any specific terms. Right now? No news is good news. Because if I were to find out for absolute certain that they were all… they were all…” Her voice cracked as she bit her lip to stifle a sob.
Jack forgot her own sorrow for a moment as she leaned across the seat, bringing Rarity into a tight hug.
“Oh sug,” Jack muttered out. “I’m sorry. It’s gotta be hard fer ya too.” Instinctively, she brushed her hand across Rarity’s hair, tucking it behind the tailor’s ear. “I’ve been the shittiest friend ta ya.”
Rarity shook her head and pulled out of the embrace. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jack. You’ve kept us going, kept Spike calm, too. We’re all hurting in our own ways and being inconsiderate in our own ways too. This is all just… so much.”
Jack offered her an expression that was a cross between a grimace and a smile. “I know, sug. An’ yer handlin’ it better than I am. So, jus’, consider this an apology ahead of time if I bite ya. It’s gonna be hard. Fer both of us.” She touched slightly on the elephant in the room. “Stephanie… wasn’t she at Camelot durin’ all-a this? Do ya think maybe…?”
“I don’t think much,” Rarity said quietly, her voice brittle. “We’ll be there soon enough, and then we’ll see. Until then… until then, there’s hope, isn’t there, Jack?”
“There’s hope,” she repeated in earnest agreement. She gave a small, encouraging stroke to Rarity’s temple. “An’ no matter how it turns out, I’m here fer ya, sug. Okay? It ain’t much, but ya can count on me.”
Rarity gently nodded her head. “I know all too well. Thank you, Jack, and, for what it’s worth, I will do my best. I know we don’t always agree on how things should be done but… I still get that there are things needing doing.” She sighed. “And Francis will be a big help too, if… if things are worse than we imagine.”
“I almost don’t wanna say it, sug, but how could things get worse than we’re thinkin’?” she asked, turning to lean back on her seat. “Because a lot of what I’m thinkin’ is pretty…” the farmer let her words trail off, closing her eyes.
The tailor barked out a short laugh. “Well, we’re a fine pair. One lost in a worst case scenario and the other just avoiding it. Our friends would be disappointed.”
“Hell, Twi aside, I think we’re managing better than most could,” Jack answered. “Can ya imagine Dash on her lonesome, with nobody ‘round ta feed that ego?” She weakly smiled. “Bet good money she’d talk ta herself worse than you do. Not ta even mention Pinkie.”
Rarity gave a weak chuckle, but was otherwise silent. Finally she asked, “Do you think we’ll ever see them again?”
Jack bridged her hands together in thought. “Do ya want what I think, or the logical reply? B-because they’re two different sides of a coin.”
“I know you’ll give an honest answer, either way.”
“Then I’ll tell ya what I think is the truth, rather than facts. An’ the truth is…” She nodded. “Someday. Maybe a long time comin’, but someday. I got faith in all-a them. They’re all fighters in their own way, ya know?” Jack looked over to Rarity. “Don’t think we’d be around jus’ ta have the others gone. That’s my gut instinct. That’s my truth.”
Again, Rarity was silent. But this time, it wasn’t fear or worry that held her back, but firm agreement with the farmer’s words. Whatever would happen, she believed in all of them to find a way through it.
“Well,” Jack said under her breath. “Long day tomorrow. Unless ya needed ta say some more ‘bout, ya know, I think we should catch some sleep.”
“I’m alright, Jack, thanks. Goodnight.”
“Night sug.” She lowered her hat over her head and leaned back, trying to get as comfortable as she could on the worn seat. “Who knows? Maybe tomorrow we’ll get ya inta a proper bed instead-a this.”
“That would be muchly appreciated, dear,” Rarity replied, her tone a mix of amusement and annoyance at the discomfort.
Giving one more small, weak laugh, Jack drifted off into a fitful sleep.