//------------------------------// // 2: Reservoir Dogs // Story: Crystal Apocalypse // by leeroy_gIBZ //------------------------------// “I’m sorry. Somebody cut the rope I used to climb down. I’m not sure how to get out of here now.” Sugarcoat said, sitting back down next to Lemon Zest. The other girl only nodded, staying huddled in a ball, back pressed against the wall of the reservoir, and what precious little shade it could provide. Sugarcoat noticed that both canteens she had left with her had been emptied – some of their water muddied the grey sand of the floor. “I’m going to look for another way out. We shouldn’t stay here – you need medical attention.” She said, standing up, starting away. “Don’t go. Can’t leave.” Lemon Zest muttered, still trying to stare at the ground. “We have to leave, I’m not dying here. Neither are you.” “No way out. Already checked. Walls too high to climb. Sprained my ankle trying too. Just stay” “Yes, they might be too high for you to climb, but I’m not you. I can see.” “Still. Don’t go.” “Listen, Lemon Zest. We need to get out of here. There’s a grate a few metres above us. If I can figure out how to get up there, it should lead us to freedom.” The green-haired girl remained silent, and so Sugarcoat got to work. The bricks weren’t as tightly fit as Lemon had insisted they were and, with more effort than Sugarcoat would have liked to expend working in the afternoon sun, she had managed to pry out quite a few of them – working away at the corroded cement and plaster with her screwdriver, one of the few things she still owned after her supplies were stolen. Carrying the bricks over to the grate wasn’t too easy a task either, but it was better than lying around, waiting to die. She didn’t know how long Lemon Zest had been here – but a number of half-remembered biology classes implied that it could have only been a week or so, at most. She would have thirsted to death otherwise, and a lack of any provisions seemed to prove that was the case. Of course, Sugarcoat thought – carrying yet another few pounds of bleached cement – there was the mystery of her eyes, or lack thereof. Lemon wasn’t in any state to talk much, let alone explain something as traumatic as that. Did it happen before she was dumped here? Or afterwards, with somebody climbing down – just like she had – only to viciously maul her? The former seemed more likely, thought the girl as she began to stack the bricks into a rough staircase; anybody evil enough to blind an innocent teenager was definitely evil enough to kill her – for food. Cannibalism wasn’t exactly rare in the Wasteland, especially amongst those already lacking a conscience – a nasty side-effect of Canterlot High going the way of Hiroshima. Sugarcoat herself had never attempted it though, taking solace in the fact that merely thinking about it was enough to break her usually-stoic demeanour. “Hey, Su. Still there? Or just a nightmare. Another one of the Heart’s tortures?” Lemon asked suddenly, as Sugarcoat was building. “Yes, Lemon. I’m here. I’m real. What is it?” “I hear rocks. What’s happening?” “I’m making our way out of here. It’s good to hear you talking again though.” “Yeah, kinda hard to do with a sore throat.” She said, coughing for what was hopefully just effect. “I know. I’m thirsty too.” Sugarcoat said, before returning to work. The sun was beginning to set, casting rays of pink, gold, purple and dark blue into the clouds of smoke above. If nothing else, the end of the world did result in some nice sunsets. However, the sunset always brought the cold – Sugarcoat noticed as the wind chilled the reservoir, sending shivers down her spine. Casting a glance to Lemon Zest, she saw that she wasn’t in any better shape. Her clothes, tattered like the rest of the world, were thin and short and bloodstained beyond all recognition. “How’s it going? Can we leave?” Lemon asked anxiously. “I’m nearly at the grate – that’s a few metres above where you’re sitting. We should be out of here by tomorrow morning.” “Then what?” Sugarcoat didn’t reply, and continued to stack the bricks. Another hour passed – the moon rising angrily in the sky – a glaring white eye to the world below. Sugarcoat preferred the sun. As she worked though, she heard something. It was faint, repetitive, and almost ceramic: A light clicking sound to accompany the dull clunks of the concrete. “Hey, Su?” Lemon stuttered, her teeth chattering from the cold, “What did you bring with you?” “I have my clothes, some tools, a spear, and enough food for another day. The rest of my things were stolen earlier today.” “S-s-so no blankets or anything?” “No, my sleeping bag was in my rucksack, which is who knows where by this point. How cold are you?” “Real cold. Like, like that time we got locked in a cider fridge cold.” Sugarcoat allowed herself a smile. “I remember that – I thought that those hicks were going to kill us.” “Yeah, Big Mac was so mad I tried to steal his truck. I think he called his whole family over, and like, every one of them had a gun. Even the kid. Never thought I’d be running away from a fifth-grader before.” “And then we ran into their cellar to hide, and we hid in their freezer.” “Didn’t I drink, like, half their entire harvest?” Lemon Zest chuckled. “Yes. You were so drunk I had to carry you out of there, all the while avoiding the hundreds of angry hillbillies patrolling the farm. One caught me in the leg with birdshot.” “Man, I could go for some cider right now.” “That would be nice – although let’s try asking for it this time.” “Sure. If we survive, we are going back to Sweet Apple Acres and apologising.” “That sounds like a plan. Knowing the Apples, they probably doing rather well for themselves. Their Luddite resilience can't hurt in a time like this.” Sugarcoat said, sliding the last of her bricks into place. Although fairly impressive for half a day’s work, the staircase only reached about eight feet into the air – not nearly the height of the grate above. Sugarcoat climbing down, and went to sit back next to her friend. “Are you done. Can we go yet?” “I’m not nearly done. But I’m tired and you’re still cold.” “Everything’s cold. I’m super cold. Colder than a volleyball match at the North pole cold.” Sugercoat laughed, taking off her overcoat. “It’s good to see some of that Lemon Zest brand humour again. You look a little better after the water, at least.” “Yeah. Thought you were a hallucination at first, actually. Like, a mirage or a fever dream.” “Well, I’m not. Mirages don’t share stories about teenage antics they got roped into after losing a bet, do they?” Sugarcoat said, handing over her jacket, “Anyway, here’s my jacket. It should keep you warm. Warmer than nothing.” Lemon Zest took it gladly, and managed to negotiate in on. The scuffed bomber jacket didn’t quite fit her, but then again, it didn’t quite fit Sugarcoat either. They ate dinner after that – sharing a tin of baked beans and a bar of chocolate. Once that was finished, the moon high in the sky, and Lemon Zest had passed out next to her, using her remaining satchel as a pillow, Sugarcoat too turned over, and tried to sleep. She was tired – and her whole body ached, from head to toe, both from exhaustion and from thirst – but she was happy. She had found her friend, and she was going to save her life. It was progress – after years of walking, running, fighting and hiding, she had finally managed to find somebody who wasn’t a sociopathic killer, or a dried-out corpse. Yes, her supplies were currently gone, and likely never to return, but she wasn’t alone anymore and that was confirmation enough that Sunny Flare could be found.