//------------------------------//
// Chapter 129 
// Story: Unshaken 
// by The 24th Pegasus 
//------------------------------//



The abandoned buildings by the river: 10 Votes



“I’ve had enough of dealin’ with the mosquitos and the humidity,” Kestrel grumbled, and a quick twist of her wings pointed her towards the edge of the city, where the great river gave rise to countless little harbors and shanties along its shores. “If I’m gonna die this month, I ain’t lookin’ to do it while bein’ miserable in the swamp. Let’s go take a look about. There’s a buncha buildin’s right near a split in the river, right where it bends ‘round an island. Reckon they ain’t used much no more.”

“Here’s hopin’,” Silver said, changing course to follow Kestrel to the ground. “And if they ain’t?”

“Then we only cause trouble if we’re in trouble,” Kestrel said. “I ain’t lookin’ to shoot ponies if I ain’t gotta. Let’s try and keep things quiet in the city long as we can.”

Silver nodded in agreement, and slowly, the two pegasi circled down toward the shanties at the river. The closer they got, the more Kestrel was inclined to believe that it would make a good hideout for the gang. Here, the Maressissippi river flowed almost like a ‘D’ shape, with the bulk of the water rounding the curve while a shallower, muddier stream ate away at the fat peninsula reaching into the water, turning it into an island as it severed it from the main shore. The shanties they’d spotted from above had been built along that muddy stream, most clustered right against the water on mossy and splintering piers, but a few clinging to the drier ground away from the waters edge. Heavy foliage cluttered the perimeter of the abandoned riverfront, but there was a clearing cut through it for wagons to travel. Though the roads hadn’t seen wagons in years, it would at least let the Gang get their wagons into there without having to fight with the mud and muck of the bayou itself.

Kestrel made sure to choose some wooden planks half-buried in the dirt to land in when she finally touched down, though she noticed that even the wood under her hooves was sodden and damp from years of rainfall, flooding, and the ever-pervasive humidity slowly rotting it away. Silver made the mistake of landing next to her, and her hooves immediately squelched into the mud up to her fetlocks. “Gaauuuughhhh,” the mare exclaimed, letting a shiver run down her spine at the cold sensation. “If it’s this bad out here, I’m afraid of what it’d be like in the bayou.”

“Probably a lot, lot worse.” Kestrel raised her head and looked around, her sharp eyes surveying the abandoned riverport around them. Some of the buildings had collapsed roofs or doors hanging off of their hinges, while one had completely fallen in on itself. But most of the buildings still seemed okay, and when she kicked a post of the building behind her, it seemed solid and sound. “This place has seen better days, that’s for sure. But it ain’t all a ruin. Got that goin’ for us.”

“Don’t look like there’s nopony here,” Silver said, squinting into the darkness inside of the buildings. She kicked at an old tin can lying on the ground, so aged and weathered that the label on it had all but faded away. “Might be a place some vagrants stop at from time to time, not much else.”

“Well, I reckon we fit that definition,” Kestrel said, and she began to wander through the riverport, sticking her head through doors and windows and taking a look inside of the buildings. “Better to be safe and check, though.”



Is anybody already occupying the shanties by the river? No



The two mares took their time and searched through each and every shanty, shack, and abandoned building, but they found no sign of any squatters or occupants. The place was empty as could be, and the only indication that it had ever been occupied in the past was the trash and litter lying about, from tin cans to empty and broken bottles to spent shell casings half-buried in the dirt or swept into the corners of some buildings. An occasional bullethole decorated the walls, and Silver found a splotch of black and brown on one of the concrete foundations that likely was an ages-old bloodstain. Ponies had certainly died here in the past, but Kestrel didn’t let that bad specter of history bother her. It wouldn’t have been the first time the Gang had repurposed some long-dead outlaws’ camp grounds while doing jobs in a town. The most important thing was to not end up like the ponies who had come before them.

“I like it,” Silver remarked when they’d regrouped after sweeping through the area. “The buildings’ll keep the rain offa us, and I reckon it rains a lot ‘round here. Plus, we got the river to get water from, maybe even do some fishin’ and the like.”

“That brown river’s full of them little lobster things,” Kestrel said, remember what she’d seen when she inspected it. “Bet they’d make good eatin’. Keep our wings strong and all.”

“And all of the buildings have concrete floors. Or, well, most of ‘em do.” Silver couldn’t help but smile to herself at the thought of that. “Ain’t gotta sleep on the damp mud at night. That’ll be a nice change of pace.”

“Doubly so out here when half the damn land’s waterlogged and all. I feel like if I lie down for an hour I’m gonna sink into the bayou.” Then she pointed with a wing up the old road leading into the abandoned riverport. “It’s even got a road to take the wagons in. We ain’t gonna find that out in the bayou. And on top of that, the river behind us means we got that to protect us. Ain’t have to worry ‘bout Pinks comin’ from all directions, unless they get a skiff to get across the water like that, or attack usin’ only pegasi.”

That seemed to further cement Silver’s appreciation of the place. “That’s good. And we’re close enough to the city where we can ride on in and out as we need. Ain’t gotta take an hour to go from town to our camp, and we ain’t gotta cross the swamp to do it.” But then she turned her attention toward the deep Maressissippi river flowing around them, and the steamboat chugging against the current as it ferried passengers and freight upstream. “But we’re gonna see plenty of boats, I reckon.”

“So long as none of ‘em come too close to us, we should be fine,” Kestrel said. “And worst comes to worst, we just hide the wagons between the shacks and try to avoid goin’ to the water all the time. Ain’t too hard to make it so that ponies won’t even know we’re here. And even if they do see us, they ain’t gonna think much of us. How many other poor ponies you think live up and down this river.”

“Probably more than I would expect,” Silver conceded. “We likely ain’t the only ones.”

“I’d bet bits on it.” Kestrel stretched her wings and looked back up to the sky, where some heavy gray clouds had started to roll in. “Gonna rain soon, and that ain’t gonna be fun. What’dya think, Silvie?”

Silver blinked. “What do I think of what?”

“Should we even bother checkin’ out the bayou?” Kestrel asked. “Or should we go back to the Gang and get ‘em here ‘fore it starts rainin’?”

1.     Bring the Gang to the river. We’ve seen enough; we likely ain’t gonna find nothin’ better in the bayou. Best get everypony in and settled ‘fore it starts pourin’ buckets on us.

2.     Scout out the bayou. Last thing we wanna do is rule anythin’ out ‘fore we know what it’s got in store for us. We should check out the bayou and hope that we’re fast enough to beat the rain.