//------------------------------// // Solitude // Story: Sunset: Stranded // by Viking ZX //------------------------------// Chapter 21 - Solitude Day Thirty-seven - East of Hovast Climb I’ve left the Croplands behind me at last. Which is both good and bad. The good was that I was able to make good time due to how flat they truly were. Thirty miles a day was a pace I could keep. Now the terrain isn’t quite so flat. Things are getting rocky and rough again, and the builders of the roads here as often as not simply settled for going up and down instead of carving through hills or building bridges unless I’m lucky enough to use a major highway. But those are where a lot of the fighting was, and so half the time they’re in worse shape than the back roads. I almost lost my wagons the other day to a crater’s edge that collapsed. Had just one more set of tires gone over, I would have had to haul everything up and out by hand and repack it. I’m tired. So tired. And alone. I miss home. Sometimes I feel like I just want to collapse and give up. But I can’t. I can’t go back. Even if I did, the portal isn’t going to open again for some time. I’d probably starve before it did. And if by some chance my math is wrong and it did open earlier than I except—entirely possible, I did have to make a number of assumptions—what would I do? Tell her that I give up? Prove that I’m the failure she thought I was? I will not do that. I refuse. She threw me away. Plus, I’m pretty sure I assaulted a few Guard on my way out, so I wouldn’t exactly be going back to anything good. It’d be easier than here, but … What would I have if I went back? Nothing. She would take Starswirl’s books from me. She’d throw me out—or into jail. Probably a work farm, but I’d be there a long time. And when I left … I can’t go back anyway. I don’t know why I’m wasting ink writing about it. Because  there’s no one else to tell, maybe. All I have are my own thoughts. At least there’s wildlife out here. I saw something that looked like a deer yesterday. Not close, but similar. I wonder how it would taste? I’m near a town named Hovast Climb. Weird name. I’m going to look for food there. The atlas I’m following says there’s a fort. Maybe it has more meal boxes. If not, I’ll just have to keep living off dried fruit and jerky. I need to find more time to study Starswirl’s books too. I’ve been here almost a month and barely found time to look at them save a few nights. It doesn’t help that they’re dense as can be and written in barely legible old equish. Would it have killed him to hire an assistant? He had the whole coffers of Unicropolis at his disposal! I’m tired. I need to sleep. Tomorrow I’ll check out Hovast Climb. If it looks like a good place to make a stop, maybe I’ll rest there for a day and do some studying. For now, I hurt and want to stretch out on my mattress. Haven’t seen any Locust for days. * * * Day Thirty-eight - Below Hovast Well, it’s a fort all right. I could see it from miles away. Also, my legs hurt. The atlas did not make clear that Hovast Climb is at the top of the biggest hill for miles. I understand. There’s a fort, and clearly people lived all up and down what is clearly a small mountain. It’s defendable. It’s also rubble. It might have worked as a defensible location a few hundred years ago, but I guess the Locust didn’t care. Still going to check it out. There might not be much left, but I’ve made it halfway up the stupid thrice-cursed mini-mountain today to get to it. I’m not turning back now. Okay, I cursed a lot more than that. These wagons are heavy. Especially the water, though I’m currently half-empty. My legs are sore. I’m holed up beside some sort of armored fighting vehicle on four big tires with a gun of some kind. It’s a wreck, so it’s not going anywhere, but I’m out of the wind and I’m not going to be showing a light to anything down below or above with my tarp in the right spot. I’m going to study Starswirl’s books and go to sleep. Addendum to last entry: Starswirl was onto something. I’m sure of it. There are massive breakdowns here of unicorn, pegasus, and earth pony mogic. How he found them or got them I don’t know. And given where he lived, I’m not sure I want to know. I’ve started with his breakdown of unicorn magic. I think that’s the entirety of one of the volumes I stole took.  Some of it I already know. Some of it is just plain wrong—theory that has now been proven false. But then there are parts of it that I’ve definitely only seen modern theories about. Magical questions about the deep nature of magic and its connection to the Creator, to ourselves. I wanted to write for a minute just to let my head sort it out. I’m not certain I understand what he was after, but I’m pretty sure I know why. He wanted to be more. Like I do. And he was on his way before he disappeared. Did she have anything to do with that? * * * So … Sunset thought as she looked up at the shattered gates before her. This is Fort Hovast, huh? Ancient stone walls mixed with more modern metal reinforcement, but both had ultimately failed. The gates were twisted and broken, one lying on the ground, the other hanging from one warped hinge. Both were dented and scarred so heavily that even the passage of time couldn’t hide what they’d gone through. Beneath crawling vines she could see scars from explosions and other, more physical, impacts. What had once been a guardhouse had collapsed over the interior yard, brick, stone, mortar, and metal all lying haphazardly at steep angles. A bit of bone clad in cog armor poked out from under one of the stones. Here goes. She lifted her gnasher and stepped atop the fallen gate, the heavy metal all but absorbing the impact of her boots with little effort. She’d left the wagons not far behind, in a nice clear park that didn’t appear to have seen too much damage since the town had been attacked. If the fort is safe, and I find something, I can go get them. The interior space between the outer wall and main body of the fort itself was a wreck. Grass had long-since reclaimed much of the open ground, though there were still a few places that looked scorched by something, burned badly enough that the reclamation was stunted. Still what had grown was just high enough that something could hide in it if they were small enough. And while none of the wretches she’d encountered so far had shown any sign of being close to patient enough to set an ambush … Their handlers clearly are. She kept the gnasher up and ready as she neared the edge of the massive metal door, eyes hunting the courtyard for any sign of movement amid the grass, or along any of the wreckage. There was nothing. Nothing at—Wait! She swept the gnasher around at a bit of motion, only to realize that it was a small bird, similar to a sparrow, darting out of the base of an overgrown bush by the base of the fort. And only the branch it had flown from was moving. Until at least a gust of wind swept through the open gate, rustling the grass and making the whole courtyard move. But it all moved with the wind, not against it. So it’s probably okay. The fort itself looked similar to those from Equestrian, Empire, and Plainsland antiquity. Stone and mortar walls shored up and reinforced by more modern metal alterations. Steep, wide stairwells that had been built with defensive positions in mind, then overlaid with decorative elements later, most of which hadn’t survived the battle. A lone statue looked out over the courtyard. Someone or something had ripped its head off. There was a massive set of doors off to one side of the fort, in what had probably been a stable in olden times but then, from the vehicle parked in front of it, likely made into a storage or a vehicle shelter of some kind. But part of the roof above it had caved in. And there’s no way I’m lifting those doors even if I clear that rubble. Which left her with the main doors directly ahead. She stepped off of the metal door and made her way to the steps leading into the fort proper. Signs of battle were everywhere, bones and spent ammunition casings mixed amid the craters and sandbags. She picked her way through the remains, taking care to avoid jostling any with her boots as she made her way up the steps. Must have been a real heck of a fight. The front doors to the fort were wide open, bent and shattered the way the gate had been. Something about the hinges and the frame appeared off, and after a moment’s observation Sunset realized it was because the doors were supposed to open outward. Not inward, as they currently lay. Yikes. The interior of the fort was dark and clad in shadow, but she’d come prepared. It took a second or two’s fiddling with a small clip, but a moment later one of her lanterns was hanging from one of her belt loops. The glow it cast didn’t go far, especially as she stepped inside, but it did provide some illumination. However, the flashlight she’d taped to the side of her gnasher provided a welcome, directed counterpoint to the lantern’s more broad glow, a brilliant beam that cut through the darkness like a knife. In tandem the two drove back the gloom of the interior as she made her first steps deeper into the fort. The inside was cool if still, the sudden calm almost shocking after the winds of the exterior city. The same mix of technological advancements appeared inside as well, stone walls reinforced by more modern-looking metal supports and rectangular lighting fixtures. The latter glimmered as she plied the flashlight beam over them, reflecting some of it back through dust-shrouded glass. The small passageway she’d entered opened up into a larger hall lit from above by shafts of light—though intentional or not she wasn’t certain. A few of the edges looked a little ragged, so it was possible that it was the latter, but looking up showed that the ceiling had suffered damage along with everything else, making it hard to say. The beam of her flashlight plied across bright, plastic-looking colors and symbols. Signage on a wall, damaged by the battle but still mostly legible. She stepped around what looked to have once been a sort-of bench, now a bullet-holed mess, and up to the signage, wiping away some of the dust with one hand. “Command center,” she read, her eyes following the direction indicated by the arrow. Unsurprisingly it pointed at the other end of the hall where the fighting seemed to have been fiercest. At least at a guess from the barricades there, the amount of damage, and the remains she could pick out with her flashlight. “Nothing I want there.” She turned her attention back to the sign. “Training range… Armory.” That could be useful. “Barracks … Mess hall!” That’s what I want to find first. She quickly ran through the rest of the list, skimming it but still noting anything else that looked useful. “Communications … That’s probably not going to do much.” She’d seen the radio tower and the wing of the fort that supported it on the way up … or at least what had been left of it. Communications wouldn’t do her much good assuming the rooms were even still standing. “Archives?” She thought about it for a moment before nodding. “Makes sense. Not really useful to me, though.” And given how paranoid the Cog are, they probably destroyed them when the attack started. She ran down the rest of the list, but little about it stood out to her. The fort wasn’t that large, and she’d already found what had been her highest priority. Where there’s a mess hall, there’s food. The arrow directed her toward the left side of the building. South. She let the flashlight beam lead the way, making her way across the main hall and in the direction indicated. As before, the way had been blocked by a set of large, heavy-set metal doors, but she didn’t have to worry about opening them. Someone had beat her to it. Someone very large and powerful, Sunset thought as the metal glinted under the combined efforts of her lights, refracting off deep scratches that could only have been left by claws. Very powerful. One of the doors was almost as thick as her palm was wide, and it had been dented inward by whatever had struck it. Worse, the actual center of the dent was large, but not that large. Whatever did it must have been maybe the size of my upper torso? Hopefully whatever had done it wasn’t around any longer. Or if it was, it was as dead as the rest of the facility. The sunlight faded once more as she left the hall behind, leaving her only with the pale white glow cast from her lantern and the beam from her flashlight. Which … Now that I’m in the dark, doesn’t seem like quite enough. The short hall she was following terminated in a wall, her path splitting in two directions. More signage offered directions, but the sign had been damaged by something, half of it ruined beyond her ability to understand. Still, there are only two directions. Dust flaked away from the wall as she brushed her hand over it, thick enough to cast faint shadows against the light of her lantern. That’s an “Me” followed by an “al,” so that’s the mess hall I’d guess, and the arrow is … She turned in the direction indicated, wincing as the beam from her flashlight slid over another cog body, its armor crumpled and dented. Something about the position of the body looked off, and she stopped, crouching near it and following its lines with her eyes. They’re hunched, she realized after a moment. Like they took a blow. And the front of their armor was caved in. But there’s debris on their shoulders, she thought, flicking a piece of rubble away with one finger. How’d that get there? She plied the flashlight beam up, exposing a cracked portion of the wall. The stone wall? A shiver ran through her. Something hit them hard enough that they slammed into the wall with enough force to damage the rock. There was a rust-colored smear just above the center of the impact, and her eyes shifted to the back of the corpse’s skull. It was cracked and broken. I hope it was quick. She spotted a loop of tiny chain around the body’s neck and shoulder bones. Clavicle? I really need to read up more on my new body. Carefully, she reached out and tugged at the chain. A jingling sound echoed through the hall. Cog tags. Now that she had a better idea of what they were, her original reason for collecting some of them felt almost wrong. They were identification. And they were taken very seriously, from some of the literature she’d found. Moving carefully as not to disturb the body, she collected the tags, sliding them into her pocket where they would keep until she could add them to her stash in the wagons. I should probably collect more of them if I see them. That way at least someone would have a chance of finding out their fate. If there was anyone alive that even cared anymore. Besides, it’ll be good leverage for when I do find the Cog. A slight pang resonated inside her chest at the thought, but she brushed it aside. I’ll need all the goodwill I can get. It’s a little disrespectful, but I need it. As small as the fort was, it didn’t take her long to find the mess hall. And the surprise contained therein. The place had been wrecked. Skylights had shattered, the bars protecting them bent and twisted. Tables had been flipped and thrown against walls. Ancient stone pillars had been pounded into gravel, the ceiling only still standing thanks to metal reinforcing that had been added at a later date. Bodies were everywhere, most of them little more than bones amid piles of dried, blackened morass that had probably once been flesh. Smashed against walls and scattered amid empty trays and spent casings. And in the middle of the room, the largest set of bones Sunset had seen yet. Humanoid, yet easily several times the size of any of the bodies around it. Scraps of flesh hung from the bones, dried and crusty yet still looking almost like the armor some of the seran figures were wearing. Whatever it was, it had been massive. And done an incredible amount of damage to the mess before going down. But it was dead. The Cog soldiers had killed it. Her eyes locked on one bony hand, mind flashing back to the dent in the doors she’d seen earlier. A cold chill ran through her, an icy flush that added to the coolness of the fort interior. How strong was that thing? I’ve seen some pretty strong ponies, but I don’t think any of them would have been able to bend that door like that. Not without a spell augmenting them. Could the Locust be using magic? Or are they just that tough? Though in fairness, the corpse of whatever the thing in the middle of the room had been was much larger than an earth pony. A dragon could do it. Or maybe a big enough minotaur, once you had pumped enough magic at them. Neither of which I’d want to face right now. She checked a few of the bodies, but none of them had any more tags. Which was further evidence that the Cog had won the fight. At least where the mess hall was concerned. All right, kitchens. The kitchens would be near the food storage, right? The flashlight beam swept back and forth across the ruin, picking up bits of broken glass and scattered cutlery before fixing on a large, waist high desk of sorts with glass over it. It looked just like the serving areas in some of the Guard quarters or the palace cafeteria. A lot like them. Weird. But only about as weird as everything else that had been similar. Not even as weird as how identical the primary spoken language was. Part of the serving area had been flattened, likely by the massive thing in the middle of the room, scattering warming trays and leaving exposed wires dangling that thankfully were no longer powered. They’re lucky this place didn’t catch fire. Or maybe it had. That would account for some of the scorching she was seeing here and there on the walls. Though maybe explosions could have done that as well. That must be the kitchens. The flashlight beam illuminated a rolling metal door that sported a few dents, some of them deep enough that she doubted the thing would ever roll up again. But there was a normal entryway next to it, the door propped half open by what was left of a chair. It opened with a loud squeak, and she stepped into what was left of a kitchen. A skittering noise made her sweep the gnasher up. A thin, whip-like tail attached to something small and hairy went scurrying away from the beam. A rat. A sigh escaped her, her shoulders sagging. That’s the first time I’ve seen a rat in this world. I guess they got eaten by the wretches in Holton? Or she’d just missed them at the estate. Or anywhere. Creepy, but not dangerous. Unless it was a really aggressive rat. The kitchen looked largely as she’d expected it to, if abandoned and dusty. There was a whole row of fridges along one side of the wall, and she cracked one at a distance, only to shove it shut as the miasma that rolled out of it was enough to make her eyes water and her stomach churn. Nope. Knives, forks, and other cutlery crunched beneath her boots, grinding against grit and grime as she moved down the row of heavy freezers. No cupboards, at least not with anything useable left in them. She poked under a few of the food prep stations, but came up empty-handed. Plenty of pots, but I don’t need anything that large. Come on … They had to have boxed meals somewhere! Sunset ran the beam around the room again, checking each of the walls. There’s got to be some—Aha! There was a door on the side of the kitchen she’d missed with her first look, though in retrospect it was understandable. It was on the side of the kitchen that showed more damage than the others, right down to a heavy bit of stone rubble from the ceiling—Or was it concrete?—lying pressed against the bottom of said door. A small sign simply read “storage,” but it was her best bet. And that door opens outward, Sunset thought, eying the hinge placement. So that rubble is going to have to move. Up close, it was concrete, the breaks rough and jagged. Bits of metal stuck out of it at strange angles, likely from the break. But it was leaning up against the door, balanced on one end. If I can shift it to … the left, it’ll fall clear and I can open the door. Time for the prybar. And maybe my gloves. She swung her pack from her back, picking through it and pulling both items out. And don’t let that thing fall right. If it did, it would be pressed up against the door and flat. At which point I’ll really have a rough time getting it open. If she could at all. Gotta do this right, then. Bracing one boot against the wall, Sunset drove the prybar into a gap, metal scraping against both the concrete and the metal surface of the door. She gave it a few back-and-forth wiggles, making certain it was well and truly in place … Then she heaved, pulling and throwing her whole upper body into the motion. The rubble shifted, grinding against the floor but not quite toppling out of the way. Sunset leaned back, her arms trembling … and with a sudden jerk the concrete began to move. Her elbow slammed against the door, and she let out a yelp as pain shot up her arm. The rubble crashed to the floor, heavy enough that she could feel the vibration through her boots … but toward the hinges, like she’d hoped. There was a sizable scrape and dent in the door, but with luck it would still open. “Ow.” She rubbed at her elbow as she pushed herself away from the wall, shaking away the feeling of pins and needles that had run down the length of her arm toward her fingertips. “Guess the funny bone is still a thing.” She shook her hand in an effort to drive the tingling away, fingers flapping back and forth. Still, the bizarre pins and needles sensation in her fingers couldn’t keep a smile from breaking across her face as she examined the results of her handiwork. “Now to see if it was worth it.” She reached out, fingertips still buzzing, and grasped the door’s heavy latch. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t budge. There wasn’t a lock—or rather there was, but it wasn’t engaged—but still the handle held firm. Probably seized after sitting for so long, Sunset thought. “That’s fine.” With a heavy clunk, she stuck the end of the prybar into the gap between the door and its latch. “I’ve got tools.” A quick jerk prompted a sudden creak, and the latch shifted slightly. With a second, softer jerk it popped outward, the door following a second later. Sunset wrapped her fingers around the lip, holding it in place as she removed the prybar. Then she frowned, letting her hand move back and watching as the door tried to close. “Well that’s not something I want to have happen while I’m in there.” A quick glance around the kitchen located a large pot within easy reach, and she opened the door further, slipping the pot up against the base. It let out a soft clang as the door swung into it, blocking the way. Right. Now to see if this was worth it. She traded the prybar for her gnasher once more, the beam strapped to its barrel illuminating the edge of the doorway. She tugged the door the rest of the way open, the light spilling over a long, narrow room lined with shelves. The shelves closest to her were mostly empty, but starting a few feet back they were filled with large cardboard boxes, sides covered in dust. She swept the beam around the rest of the storage area, but there didn’t appear to be anything else. Just floor to ceiling metal shelving and dust covered cargo. So what’s in the boxes? She stepped over the lower lip of the door, turning back to make certain that it wasn’t about to push its stopgap out of the way and close on her. Though the gentle glow of her lantern did draw her eyes to a latch on the back side of the door. So I probably wouldn’t be stuck in here. If there was anything worth gaining in the first place. She brushed a hand across the side of one of the boxes, the thick coating of dust clinging to her gloves like a fuzzy coat as she cleared a path across its side. There’s got to be some writing or something on here … Dust filled the air as she brushed the side several more times, tickling her nostrils. Faint letters appeared, and she rapped the side, kicking more dust into the air. I should have covered my face, she thought as the itch in her nose grew worse. It quickly became unbearable, and a thunderous sneeze filled the interior of the storage room, blasting out of her with the force of a wonderbolt. Which only served to stir up more dust, forcing her to sneeze again. And again. And again. She stumbled out of the storage room into the clear air of the kitchen, head snapping back every few seconds as her nostrils attempted to clear themselves. By the time they succeeded her eyes were watering and her vision full of spots. She shook her head, driving some of the disorientation away. A second later a final sneeze burst free of her nostrils, a thunderclap of noise that filled the kitchen and made her sniffles afterwards as she tried to get her nose under control almost quiet by comparison. “Ugh.” Sunset placed a finger against the side of her nose, blowing the other out to clear what the sneeze hadn’t managed to remove. Something hit the ground with a wet slap. If only the Guard or palace staff could see me now, she thought as she switched sides, blowing again. Blowing snot onto the floor. “Next time I’m definitely going to have to make a dust mask of some kind.” I should have thought of that before I came in here, but ...  At least she wasn’t hearing any approaching scratching sounds or oddly-paced footsteps. The fort was as dead as the city around it, empty save for her and what little wildlife she’d seen. She wiped her nose across the back of her arm, clearing the last bit of snot away. Gross. But as dirty as she already was, it wouldn’t matter much. Let’s let the dust in that room settle down and then give it another shot. And if there was nothing useful in it, then … Well, there’s still the armory. And I’ve only been in here for a few minutes. Plus I planned on spending the day here anyway. Even if this whole fort is a bust I can check somewhere else or look over Starswirl’s books again. It’s a shame I didn’t grab a book on modern magical theory and its relation to anatomy before I left. That would have made figuring out some of what he’s talking about a bit easier. Mostly as some of what Starswirl proposed had been pure theory that she could check against more modern discovery and examination. And some of it, she was certain, was just plain wrong. Or rather, had been later disproven. But there’s got to be more to it than that. He was studying ascension, and the books are about that … I think.  Why else would they be shelved with other potentially dangerous magics? So far, they aren’t living up to that. There had to be a reason. And I’ll find it. She opened the door to the storage room once more, watching as motes of dust glimmered under the sudden light. Still, it wasn’t enough to make her wrinkle her nose again. She slipped back inside, ready to duck out if pressed. “Okay, let’s see what these are.” The lettering on the side of the box she’d brushed off was clear now, simple to read. Even better, it was exactly what she’d been hoping to find. “Individually sealed ready-to-eat meal packets: Omelet Breakfast. One hundred and twenty. Yes!” She moved over to the next box, grinning as she carefully wiped away the dust over the letters there. “Individually sealed ready-to-eat meal packets,” she read again. “Stroganoff.” Again, the box claimed to hold a hundred and twenty of the meals. That’s food enough for months. Years. She ran the flashlight down the rows of shelves, counting dozens of boxes. I could live here. “I can’t,” she said aloud. The Locust would find me. “But I could.” More importantly, if she could figure out how to pack it, there was enough food in the boxes to easily last her the trip to the Jacinto Plateau. Twice over. Maybe more. If it’s still good. She set her gnasher down atop one of the empty shelves, its light pointed at the nearest box. Carefully, trying not to disturb the dust, Sunset peeled the tape holding the box closed back, folding it out of the way and then opening the container itself. Revealing rows of neat little prepackaged food boxes, identical to the ones in her wagon and standing on end like decks of cards. Two deep, she guessed as she counted out the top layer, first in one direction and then another, coming up with a multiplicative value of sixty. “So that’s a hundred and twenty meals. At three meals a day, that’d be forty days worth of meals. Almost more days than I’ve been on Sera.” This single box. She turned toward the vast array of other boxes on the shelves. More importantly still, each box was two layers deep on the shelf, or at least this one had been, as was the one next to it. And different flavors too. There might be some in here that are actually edible! She would dump any of the lasagna she found, however. That deserved to stay behind. On a whim she pulled one of the meal boxes up, eyeing the stylized gear symbol stamped on the front. Other than the emblem, the box looked identical to the ones she’d been eating from the camping store. “Well at least something good came from climbing up here,” she said, letting go and then shoving the meal back in line with its siblings. “Two boxes of these, and I should have food for the rest of my trip.” Maybe three boxes if things got slow. I haven’t exactly covered a lot of ground the last few days. The downside was that even one box was heavy. On the upside of things … I can pick and choose from all the options to make my own boxes. It’s not like anyone else is using this stuff. Later. She shoved the box away and turned for the door. Right now, there was still one other location in the fort to check, clear on the other side of the building. The armory. Unsurprisingly, it had been hit harder than the mess hall. The hallway leading to it was littered with bodies and damage of all kinds, from dangling light fixtures to whole bits of ceiling that had collapsed. The trail continued through the fort, arriving at what looked like a desperate last stand with dozens of barricades and even heavier, mounted weapons that were now twisted and broken. Bodies had been—at least going off of their twisted positions—mutilated and butchered, the bones broken and scattered. The door to the armory itself, however, was shut tight. It was a massive metal thing, more like the door to a bank vault. And just as secure, with scrapes, scratches, and even blast marks showing where the Locust attackers had tried to get in. Only to give up, Sunset mused as she came to a stop in front of the massive door. I wonder why? She played the beam of the flashlight back and forth across the heavy-looking metal, eying its old scars. Why stop? There was a wheel-style handle on one side of the door, clearly part of the mechanism for opening it. Only someone had wedged a massive piece of metal between the spokes of the wheel, effectively locking it. Why didn’t the Locust just remove that? Sunset wondered as she plied the beam across the door once more. Are they just that unintelligent? Or—? The answer came in a horrific, stomach-churning flash. Or did they decide to make sure whoever was inside could never get out? She wrapped her hands around the metal bar and heaved, muscles straining. At first it refused to move, but then with a shift it slipped to one side. She adjusted her grip and heaved again, her muscles burning with the exertion of trying to lift so much weight. With a gentle rasp the bar began to rise, but her arms were already shaking. She let it drop, the bar rattling slightly and ringing as it hit the ground. I need better leverage. So I can use my legs. Once it was high enough, she could let it fall to the side and it would be caught by the wheel itself. Then she could just drop it on the steps. Heave! This time the bar moved a lot more readily, rising up into the air until it began to waver from side to side in her grip. She pushed to one side, the bar toppling … And with a loud clang as she let go, it caught itself against the spokes of the wheel, just as she’d hoped. A few hand-over-hand pulls with her tired arms, and the bar dropped to the ground with a ring that made her wish she could fold her ears back. She stepped on the bar with her boot to help quiet the noise, then turned her attention to the wheel holding the armory door shut. Arrows inscribed on the metal made it clear which direction it needed to be turned in order to open or close it, and she wrapped her tired hands around the outer rim, squeezing down and twisting. At first the wheel held firm, and she put her whole weight into it. With a faint squeak it gave, her body jerking to the side before she compensated and relaxed her arms. Once moving, the wheel turned easily, and Sunset spun it, listening as there was a deep thunk from somewhere inside the door. She pulled, and slowly the massive heavy door swung outward, bringing with it a dry, musty scent. As heavy as it was, it moved smoothly, swinging on massive but apparently well-cared for hinges. She backed up with it, not wanting to risk the door being even somewhat closed behind her. Not when it was so heavy. Only when the door was almost at a ninety-degree angle did she stop pulling, letting it swing just a little bit further until it had run out of momentum. Thankfully, it didn’t seem inclined to swing back the way it had come, staying in place even when she gave it a slight push. Good enough. She stepped around the edge, a musty, familiar scent entering her nostrils. She knew what it was even before the beam of her flashlight played over familiar armor and mummified figures. Dead cogs. Starved maybe. Or run out of air or water. There were six of them, three of which were laid in repose, their mummified arms little more than dry sticks crossed across their chests. The other three were in various positions around the room, slumped in chairs or up against the walls. They weren’t guarding anything, Sunset noted as she took in the most bare racks and walls. This must have been where they were pushed to. And then the Locust sealed them inside. A stack of cog tags sat atop a lone table, holding down several pieces of paper covered in writing. She stepped past the body closest to the door, noting the pistol still clutched in its dried fingers as she did so. Carefully, she slid the cog tags aside and looked at the first slip of paper. It was stiff and yellowed, but the writing was still legible. Amy. If you’re still alive— She pulled her eyes away, brushing the paper aside and looking at the next one. Mom— The next. Sofia— She pressed her palm down over the stack of messages, blocking her eyes from reading any of the remaining text and closing her eyes. I don’t want to read these. It felt … wrong. She opened her eyes again and gathered their tags, slipping them into her pocket, refusing to let her eyes slip to the pages again. If anyone asks … Who am I kidding? With the state of everything, no one will. The rest of the armory told the story itself. Scratch marks on the walls, both as markers for how many days they’d been inside the armory, and around some vents where they’d tried to find a way out. A pile of trash and empty meal boxes. A closed ammo case next to it that she almost reached for, only to realize it was likely another kind of waste. Twelve days, she thought, counting the marks. They lasted twelve days. What must that have been like? A shiver ran through her as she imagined sitting inside the armory, slowly waiting for the end to come. Nope. Not thinking further on that. She turned her attention to the mostly empty racks. She wasn’t actually sure what she was looking for. Certainly nothing specific. Even with the practice shots she’d taken with her lancer—which had jerked so hard it had almost hurt—she still had plenty of ammunition left over. She’d hardly used more than a few magazines. Likewise she still had plenty of ammunition for the gnasher left. But what else could be in an armory? That had been the real question. She played the light over the various racks. Most of them were empty. A few held weapons both familiar and unfamiliar, though in low numbers. One had a massive sight on it that reminded her of her binoculars. A sniper’s weapon, perhaps. She moved to the next row, and her eyes fell upon something she’d not encountered yet. Not hanging in racks. Armor. Several pieces of it. Resting in silent anticipation. It wasn’t hard to see why it was still there, nor the pieces next to it. From the lettering stenciled beneath it in black text on bare metal it was a smaller size than the empty racks nearby. Small enough to fit … me? It did look like it. She set the gnasher aside and then reached out, lifting the chest piece from the hooks it was hanging on. It actually let out a click as it came free, as if it had disconnected from something. It was surprisingly lighter than it looked, though it was still quite heavy. I’d definitely feel it if I wore it all day. But it was armor. It would be better than wearing nothing but cloth or her leather jacket. The inside was padded, the material giving somewhat as she poked it and then molding around her finger. She lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “Well that’s interesting.” Certainly something the Guard in Canterlot would have liked to get their hooves on. The openings looked to be the right size for her. The base certainly did, and the shoulders looked about the right width. I guess I’m lucky I’m small? She didn’t feel small, but apparently she was. And there were straps for adjustment, all of which were currently extended to their full length. It was just a chest piece. There was no helmet, or even some of the shoulder armor that the other soldiers had. Maybe it attaches? Instead, it would be almost like wearing a vest. And she was going to try it on. She set the armor down, noting that it held its shape standing, and shucked her backpack from her shoulders. That she set next to the gnasher before picking up the armor once more, eyeing the twin “circles” on the front and wondering what their purpose was before spinning the unit around and lifting it up over her head. It took a bit of work to get her arms through first, the lower half the armor surprisingly snug as it passed by her shoulders, but then with a sudden drop the piece fell into place, the shift in weight almost staggering her back. “Heavy,” she said aloud, twisting and feeling the armor shift and slide on her shoulders. Worse, it was almost uncomfortably pressed up against her front. Stupid teats. There was no way it was supposed to be sliding around, however, so she began cinching down straps, tightening the armor around her. It took a minute or two to get it right, as clearly there was an order to it and her first few tries ended up with the armor feeling lopsided or off balance. But after a few false starts, she managed to figure out the proper order to tighten the armor down in—bottom, top, middle, rest of top—and once she did, the weight settled quite a bit more evenly across her whole torso. “Huh.” She hopped up and down a few times on the balls of her feet. “It’s heavy … but not as bad as I’d expected. Definitely weighty, though.” And if I added more armor, it’d be even heavier. “And sturdy,” she noted, rapping her knuckles against the material. But as dangerous as this world is … A brief memory of the flare of pain she’d felt across her back as the wretch in Holton had clawed her bubbled to the surface of her thoughts, and she shivered. I’ll get used to it. The rest of the armor … She eyed the other pieces sitting in the racks. I can try them. But if nothing else, I should keep this. It was a bit awkward to fit the pack back over the armor until she let some length out in the straps, but it did fall into place. The added weight was even more on her shoulders … but at least for a short time it would be okay. Maybe she’d even get used to it. She glanced at the mummified remains once more as she left the armory, a shiver running down her back. Some of the armor looked perfectly usable, but there wasn’t a chance she was going to touch it. Corpses and a few jumps aside, her expedition to the fort had been a success. Time to get the wagons and load them up! * * * Day Forty - Fort Bendal Found a bunch of food in the fort. Some armor too. Took the day off after loading it all. Did some reading and got some shooting practice in, since the fort had a range for it. I’ve got a long ways to go, but at least I can hit targets. As long as I only fire a shot or two. The lancer kicks like an earth pony trying to win one of those challenges at a fair. At least the armor helps with that. Not because it makes my arms stronger. But because it gives the back end of the weapon something to hit that isn’t my shoulder. Still, it’s got better range than the gnasher. I took some shots with that too, and it’s a bit easier to hit with. The spread helps with that. It’s easier to hit something when what you shoot sprays an area. It comes with a trade-off though. I took some shots at a tree to compare the impact. The gnasher has the spread, but it’s sort of like spreading the weight out over a larger area: Easier to hit, but less overall impact unless you hit with a lot. Which means being close. The lancer isn’t as easy to hit with, especially after the first shot, but that shot does incredible damage. I’ve compared the ammunition they both shoot, and while the pellets the gnasher fires are pretty sizeable, the bullets used by the lancer are as large as one of my fingers. In other words: harder to hit, but more of an impact at range. Now if I could actually hit something, but that’s what practice is for. Starswirl’s theorems and notes on unicorns are giving me a headache. I’m going to study his book on earth pony magic tonight. Addendum: Okay, I know the three were divided back then, but so much of this is just junk. Did Starswirl even talk to an earth pony? Clearly not. * * * Day Forty-three - Red Forest (Again, actually named that) I’m getting better at hitting targets. Plenty of trees to shoot at here, and I haven’t attracted any unwanted attention yet. I almost wish I would. Today I caught myself explaining Starswirl’s theorems to my hatchet. I like my hatchet. But it can’t talk back. It would be nice if it would. I want to hear someone. Anyone. Not a Locust. But anyone else. There’s been a question on my mind the last few days, too. Ever since I left Bendal. I keep finding evidence that there were other people living out here. Outside of Bendal it was a fortified hotel I found along the road. Gardens, towers, the works. All of it was abandoned when I found it. More emergence hole craters nearby. The question is then: How long did they last? Clearly they were surviving like I am. But eventually the Locust came for them. Every time I’ve stopped, the Locust have shown up as well. Is that what it’s like for everyone out here? Evidence so far would suggest yes. Which might also mean I’m the only one left out here, as aggressive as the Locust seem. I wish I wasn’t. I’m getting closer to Jacinto, though I’m still a long way off, but it’s closer than ever. I’m almost halfway there now, I think. Almost. I think this forest is called the Red Forest because of the soil. There are a few pictures in the atlas, and it looks like I’m moving from a forested area to a drier, hotter climate. I’m glad I grabbed those extra water jugs. The pictures show a lot of windswept rock and an environment that looks a lot like the edge of the Badlands. I don’t think it’s quite that, maybe more like the rocks of the San Palomino, or maybe some of the desert around Appleloosa, but I’m going to want to watch my water carefully. It’s going to be a few-hundred miles to cross it. But once I do, I reach the reason there’s a desert there at all: The Hospar Mountains. They’re massive, huge, and rocky. There are paths through them, but I’m guessing it won’t be easy. But they’re the last major obstacle between me and the Jacinto Plateau. I’ve come so far, but I still have a long way to go. I wish I weren’t making this journey alone. Sometimes I even miss her. She doesn’t deserve that, but I do anyway. I shouldn’t. Starswirl really should have at least talked with an earth pony before coming up with such ridiculous theories. No wonder his work fell off in his older years if this was the kind of weirdness he was working on. I thought these books were going to talk about ascension, or have stuff like his mirror spell or even something more advanced and powerful in them. Instead he’s talking about how earth pony hooves might be different from unicorn hooves? Come on, Starswirl. I’m going to read about Sera tonight instead. * * * Day Forty-five - Red Forest This forest is massive. And there’s actually wildlife. None of it is friendly. I miss those weird horses. * * * Day Forty-nine - Edge of the forest I’m calling it the edge. The forest has been thinning out and the trees are getting sparser. The land is opening up. It’s hotter and drier too. The wind is getting dusty. I found a pair of goggles in a small tourist stop shop earlier today, and I took them, along with a dust scarf. They had some other stuff, but that looked the most useful. Oh, and a map. Like the Holton map, but it’s of the desert, and it shows a bunch of common water locations. Given that I’m going to be following the road, it shouldn’t be that much of a problem, but just in case I have to take a detour,  I’ll have it. I’m camping tonight in an old diner called “Major Burger.” The sign still works, and almost gave me a heart attack when it lit up at sunset. Found the controls in the back and almost turned it off, but if it does this every night, turning it off might be suspicious. I’ll just sleep somewhere the glow doesn’t bother me. The air feels drier. I’ve probably got another fifty or so miles to go before I’m in the desert proper, but the terrain has been in my favor. * * * Day Fifty-one - Esperanza Desert Made good time today. Glad I didn’t follow the larger highway. I saw it on the horizon, with a big chunk taken out of it. This road might be dirty and cracked, but it’s on the ground and solid. Almost stepped on a snake earlier today. Given how deadly everything else here is, I think I was justified in shooting it. Especially once it started chasing me. Addendum: Shot another snake that was trying to approach my camp. A warning on the map says that I need to make noise, like a bell, to drive them away. It’s not great, but the warning says they’re deadly so … Great. Managed to make some wind chimes. I hope that works. * * * Day fifty-two - Same Didn’t sleep well last night. Kept worrying about snakes. The chimes seemed to work though. Weird. I wonder why? Road was downhill today. Made good time. In another Major Burger (I guess they really liked these things). * * * Day fifty-four - Same I’m writing this after dark because I didn’t see the lights until after dark. But I see them now. There are lights. I sound like an idiot. Atlas and the map both say it’s an imulsion refinery. There could be people there. Why would the lights be on otherwise? I’m going to get closer tomorrow and see. * * * Day fifty-five - Still the desert It was Locust. Locust were running the refinery. I managed to get away without them seeing me, but I’m not stopping tonight. I want distance between us in case they send out any patrols. At least the land isn’t flat here. As much as the road winds between all this rolling rock, they’re not going to see me unless they’re right on top of me. Same goes the other way. * * * Day fifty-seven - Desert Still alive. Water’s getting low. I’ll have to stop soon and gather some more. There’s a stop on the road coming up soon, a small town called Derelict. Again, that’s the name. I’d say it’s ridiculous, but we have Ponyville. Anyway, small town at a road junction. A few hundred people around a water source. I hope the wells are still good. * * * Day fifty-eight - Derelict I see why this place was named this. It really is the middle of nowhere. Storm on the horizon. Huge wall of sand. Glad I made it to shelter. Going to wait it out. * * * Day fifty-nine - Derelict Storm’s passed. I hope I don’t get caught in one of those. Sandstorm, to be more precise. Found a well. Took some priming, which did make me worry since I had to sacrifice some of my remaining water, but the pump started working. There’s even a windmill so I don’t have to pump it myself if I don’t want to. I’m going slowly, filling a sacrificial jug and then filtering it into a normal one. It’s slow work, but it gives me plenty of time to read. Starswirl’s books continue to puzzle me. I’ve moved to the one on pegasi now, and it is just as inaccurate as the one on earth ponies. I mean, it gets some stuff right. The magic theory is decent, and close to the reality. But had he ever met a pegasus? I know he had to have—he was Princess Platinum’s personal advisor for a while. Had a tower in Unicropolis and everything. She spoke with the pegasus commanders. So then what is all this junk I’m finding? Pegasus magic is weakened by contact with the ground? It’s called being grounded, Starswirl, and that’s not true at all! And this bit about pegasi needing to copulate during a thunderstorm in order to “spark” their magic or giving birth to an earth pony is just ...  It’s so bad I wonder if it was deliberate. There’s bits of genius buried in there, but it’s buried. Maybe this is why the books were considered hazardous? Not because of what he was attempting to do—which I’m still not sure of, no apocalyptic spells here, nor does any of this seem to have much to do with alicorns—but because Starswirl was a bit of a bigot and most ponies forget that part? But there are plenty of other records from small-minded ponies that are still out in the open. What makes these books special? Starswirl was supposed to be smart. Surely he wasn’t this dense. Why was he wasting time on—? Hmmm. I have an idea. Just an idea. I’ll need to get deeper in, though. And it’d be easier to check if I had access to Princess Platinum’s diaries. The parts about other ponies, not the other bits. At least the seran books are interesting. I finished the book of essays on magic earlier today. Confirms my theory that if there is magic here, modern Sera doesn’t recognize it. Which begs the question of why? I can feel magic inside of me. I’m not using it, but it’s not going away either. Clearly there’s something magical, or the portal wouldn’t have worked. But even digging through the essays, a number of the “wizards” didn’t even count themselves as such. It was an act. Can they just not use it? Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to do here? Bring them magic? But if that’s the case, why can’t I use it? How can I bring something I can’t use? I can’t even tell what kind of magic it is, though that’s splitting tail-hairs pretty closely. We’ve got types of magic in Equestria, but it’s a science there. That, and I’m not sure they need magic here. They have weapons orbiting the planet that can burn the surface to ash. Before the end of the Pendulum Wars, the Union of Independent Republics was working to send people to their moons. To walk on them. They did send people into space alongside their own satellites. We’re a century at best from being able to do that in Equestria. If that. I’m pretty sure most ponies haven’t even ever considered it. Oh, and those winged serans? It’s artistic and symbolic, I think. Related to their worship of the Creator. Or their Creator? That’s a question I’m not thinking too deeply on. I’ll just get a headache. I’m here. Whatever happens, happens. I’m going to make the most of it. It’d be nice to have an idea of what she was keeping me from. Wind’s picking up, and I can see clouds on the horizon. If it’s a storm, I’m going to take shelter in one of the big trucks that was left here. Addendum: Wild thunderstorms are terrifying. * * * Day Sixty-three - Desert. Stopping at a vehicle rest station to rest up and drink some water. My skin is grimy and dry, and there’s dust everywhere. The wind just will not stop. I’m finding dust and sand everywhere. If I don’t eat in shelter it gets into my food. Why would anyone live out here? I’m making good time at least. The land for the last day or two has been pretty flat, though still somewhat up and down. Gets nice when I’m at the top of a hill though. I can sit on the lead wagon and ride until the ground levels out. I think I’m getting used to the armor. Might be because I’m getting fitter. I’m pretty sure I’m more muscular than when I arrived. Going to finish eating and then keep pushing on. Hopefully this wind lets up. * * * Dat Sixty-four - Desert Made a sail from one of the tarps. Worked pretty well. A lot easier than walking. * * * Day Sixty-seven - Desert I wish I had someone to talk to. I’m so lonely. This morning I felt happy when a lizard ran over my boot, because it was at least something. I can see some foothills now. They’re a smear on the horizon, but they’re definitely the precursors to the  Hospar Mountains. My map says there’s another Major Burger ahead (seriously, the people here must have loved these) so if I can reach it by tonight I’ll make camp there. Addendum: BIG spiderwebs all over it. Heard a creepy sound. Gnasher or not no way I’m sleeping there. Moved on. * * * Day Sixty-nine - East of the Hospar Range These mountains are massive. Titanic. Not as tall as Mount Canter, but easily wider. More squat. Heh. Kind of like the horses. Anyway, I’m at another truck stop. I’m tired, I’m sore, and I’m dusty. But this place was abandoned with a full cistern. Can I say “hot shower?” I could, but I’d have no one to say it to but myself. So I’ll write it. I’m going to sleep in tomorrow. Shower tonight, wash my clothes, sleep for tomorrow. I’ve earned it. I’ve looked at the math. In the last few weeks, almost sixty days, I’ve traveled almost eight hundred miles. About fourteen miles or day, give or take a little. Except I wasn’t going anywhere a few of those days. So it’s probably more like fifteen or sixteen miles a day. Being able to ride or use the wind the last few days really helped. I’m still a long way from the plateau, with a whole mountain range to cross, but I’ve never been closer. Tonight I’ll rest and look over the atlas. See if I can’t find the best, safest, quickest route across. It’s going to have to be safe. If there are still people on the other side of these mountains … then there are probably Locust too. I’m going to need to be careful. Oh, I discovered by accident that I can “attach” my lancer or my gnasher to the back of my armor. Did it by mistake and got stuck to the side of the wagons while I was eating lunch. I’m sick of being alone, but I’m kind of glad no one saw me struggling to figure that out. It must have looked humiliating. Tomorrow I enter the foothills. I’m close. Just a little further.