//------------------------------//
// Chapter 14 Dusty - Part two 
// Story: Undead Equestria 
// by Sorren 
//------------------------------//

	“I don’t like this,” Altic whispered.

The five of them walked down the middle of a litter-strewn street. Apartment buildings stretched away on either side of them, each separated by a dark alley; it was a stereotypical place to get screwed over, and Dusty was just waiting for somepony to whisper, ‘it’s quiet... too quiet’.

Where’re all the zombies?” Dusty asked quietly, very well aware of the jinx he could cause with those temperamental words.

They had left the parking platform in the distance, and had since made maybe a good four-hundred yards from it; the pace was slow, terribly slow. Although they hadn’t gone far, it had already felt like they had walked miles..

Range stopped for what Dusty figured to be the fourth time, eyeing the surrounding buildings through his scope. “I have a theory to that.” He shrugged and started forward again, kicking aside an empty drink cup. “Theoretically, the zombies would die off from hunger or wound infection after the first week or two, right?”

Dusty nodded. “You’d think.”

“Well obviously, this is not the case, because we’re somewhere near two months in, and so far, they’re all still here.”

“What are you implying?” Esekiel growled. 

Range flicked his eyes towards the griffon. “I’m implying that these things have more than just primal instincts. They wouldn't be alive if all they knew how to do was eat and kill. You must wonder where they all disappear to?” He sighed at Esekiel’s flat expression. “I think they’re resting.”

Altic snorted. “What? Are you saying that you think these things are intelligent?”

Range shook his head. “Intelligent, no. But they have the basic necessities that an animal needs to remain alive. Think of a wolf; they eat, sleep, hunt, and seek shelter from the elements. These things, these, zombies, they aren’t as smart as wolves, because if they were, we would all be dead by now. No, they aren’t very smart, but they have instincts.”

Dusty nodded vaguely. “So, you’re sayin’ these things kind of act like wolves?”

Range groaned. “No, not like wolves. I’m simply trying to make a comparison. I’m saying, they’re getting smarter. These things used to launch themselves off ledges going after ponies standing on an adjacent building. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they don’t jump anymore. They have the preservation drive, which makes them much more dangerous.”

Yew coaxed a click from her twin rifles. “But they still run at you. Sure, they don’t throw themselves off of rooftops or high ledges anymore, but they’re still dumb enough to run at a pony with a gun.”

“Noise attracts them,” Range added. “They react to the smell of blood too. Gunshots don’t seem to draw them much, but sounds like explosions or heavy machinery will send them running at you.”

Dusty nodded in perfect understanding. “How’d you figure all this out?”

The gray stallion tapped his glasses. “I watched. Why do you think I’m still alive?” Continuing on the premise that his question was rhetorical: “Half the time, the damned things don’t make any sense at all. Collecting consistent observations is about as effective as trying to light a candle in a typhoon.”

They all skirted a large machine abandoned in the middle of the street. It stood six feet tall and appeared as a heap of steel on tracks. Dusty found his eyes wandering over it. It was rectangular in length with a round dome mounted atop; closer to the front, a large cannon barrel protruded from it and a machine gun was mounted just before a hatch.

“Is that what I think it is?” Yew marvelled. 

Dusty nodded, eyes traveling to the exhaust vents in the back.

Eyes positively sparkling, Range trotted up to the front and pulled himself up on the metal beast. “I wonder how many of these babies Canterlot had.”

Esekiel tapped the armoured plate siding with curled talons, receiving a deep ‘bwong’ from the steel. “Exactly what is it?”

Range propped his hooves on the turret, peering at the cannon barrel. “This, my feathered friend, is an Equestrian-defense all-terrain combat vehicle.”

Esekiel gave him a dry look.

“It’s a tank,” Range clarified. “It’s based off of a new technology discovered about two years ago. At the time, the ponies sitting on the coal mines wanted to keep it all really hush, because it could have put them out of business, so they all paid out the flank to keep ponies quiet. About six months ago, somepony blabbed and they wound up dead in an alley, but by then, the secret was out. You see—”

“Range,” Yew said in a deadpan. “Skip the history lesson. Just tell us what the thing is.”

He flushed. “Right.” He adjusted his glasses. “It’s powered by something called magical liquid combustion. A group of scientist ponies found these underground wells of magical liquid, then from there, they set to the task of building a device that could utilize it. You see, this stuff, it can’t be drawn from like gemstones, and normal gemerators won’t run off it. Some pony I can’t remember the name of figured out that the magic could be drawn from the liquid if there was only a very small amount of it. In order to utilize enough power from the fuel, they had to build a device that could separate large amounts of it into small chambers and combine the magical power again on the other end. Well, that’s just what he did. It was a crazy thought; he proposed to use magical balefire to separate the magic from the container that was the liquid. Well, it worked... explosively. In short, this reaction drives a set of gears, which turns a shaft at very high speeds. It’s genius, and incredibly dangerous at the same time.” As he spoke, he worked at prying open the hatch, which didn’t seem to want to budge.

“Somehow, this stuff is formed in the ground, some sort of seep from friendship and love or something.” He grunted as the hatch screeched open an inch. “The stuff’s crazy efficient, but they ran into a bunch of issues when the consumption waste proved toxic.” He got the hatch up a little more.

“That was still a history lesson,” Yew said with minor annoyance. “How’d they fix it?” she asked next, curiosity grabbed.

“They didn’t. They held back a month and found a way to vaporize the waste with the exhaust. Instead of coming out as a black liquid, it comes out as a black smoke, still just as dangerous, only it disappears into the air. Everypony knew it was bad, but it was cheap and there wasn’t a lot of it.

“The virus hit before anypony could take it any further. The technology’s out there, it’s just rare.”

Yew crept slowly around the front of the metal monster. “Well, why’d they leave this thing in the street? If this thing really does move around like it looks like it does, there’s no way a zombie could get to you.”

“The tracks are all tore up on this side!” Altic yelled from the other side of the tank. 

Range finally managed to wrestle the hatch open and he poked his head into the dark circle. “I wonder if anything’s salvageable.”

“Come on, Range.” Yew beckoned him. “Let’s keep moving. It’s cool and all, but we don’t have time.”

Range screamed and backpedaled, his hooves scrabbling for purchase on the smooth steel. He overbalanced and his hind legs shot into the air, then he was gone.

Yew sprang forward. “Range!”

There were three gunshots, muffled from inside the steel shell. 

There was a clunk from inside the turret, and another, smaller click. Without warning, the cannon of the tank discharged. The front end of the beast reared up into the air as the muzzle roared. Dusty’s ears rang, stunned from the loudness of the cannon. Flame and gunpowder residue shot from the end of the barrel, and the whole front of a building down the street went up in an explosion of purple and green fire.  

Before any of them could even begin to comprehend what had just happened, Range was pulling himself out of the hatch, his face smeared with grime, mane frizzled. Blood spattered his already-ruined coat. With a heavy grunt, he heaved himself over the edge of the turret and flopped down upon the top of the machine. Not even pausing to breathe, he clambered to his hooves and swung the hatch shut. The heavy steel creaked as it began to drop, but a purple creature lodged itself halfway out. The hatch slammed down on its middle section, pinning its head and forhooves to the top of the tank.

“Shoot it!” Range yelled, throwing his weight—which wasn’t much—upon the hatch to keep the creature from slipping out. The zombie lunged forwards, nearly tossing Range off the hatch as it bucked upwards. He held on, beating the thing atop its head with his forehoof as it tried to twist its head around to bite him.

“Shoot it!” Range yelled again, more frantic. Yew backed up to take aim with her rifles, but Esekiel was faster. In less than a second, he had the rifle off his back and aimed. The hammer dropped on the revolving rifle and a line of fire flashed from around the cylinder, accompanied by a crack and a bang that echoed around the streets. Range hid his face from the spray of blood and bone as she shot struck, pitting the steel of the turret below the zombie’s head.

The echo of the discharge reached them a second time, quieter. With another grunt, Range pushed the zombie back into the tank and sealed the hatch. “Damn!” he exclaimed, shaking off the blood that dripped from his head. He panted slightly and grinned, falling back on his haunches. “Theres... there’s zombies in there.”

He climbed down from the tank, looking just a little embarrassed. “In retrospect, sticking my head into a small, enclosed space with nothing but long-ranged weapons was a really bad idea.” He paused. “And then falling against the lever that turned out to be the firing mechanism for a cannon that had been loaded with a live round... Sorry.”

Dusty found himself gaping at Esekiel as the griffon returned the rifle to its holster. “What’s that rifle meant to shoot? Dragons?” he said half-jokingly.

Esekiel gave him a level eye. “Yes.”

Dusty blinked. “Wait, yes what?”

“Come on,” Yew said suddenly, jerking them to attention. “I’d bet every zombie this side of Equestria heard that cannon; let’s not sit around and wait for them.” 

As if her words had been a trigger, there was a gurgled scream from the way they had come, followed by a cacophony of others. There was a crash and the chatter of hooves on cobblestone that folded the ears of the five ponies standing around the tank.

Range positively fumed and dropped the scope on his rifle, taking a few steps backwards. “I would like to apologise for this.”

There was a splintering of wood and a shattering of glass as a group of colorfully-dreadful ponies burst out of a multi-story apartment. Range’s rifle discharged with a throaty bang, and a quarter-second later, the lead zombie kissed the cobblestone sprouting blood from its chest.

“Damn,” cursed the unicorn stallion. “I’m off mark.”

Esekiel rose to his hind legs and flared his wings. By now, Dusty had realized that the griffon did this for balance. Esekiel was still a daunting sight, standing four and a half feet tall. He fired the rifle into the group and had to beat his wings to keep himself from falling over backwards. The bullet zipped through the air and hit the lead zombie with a meaty thwack. There was a puff of red mist out the back end of the unfortunate zombie. Dusty couldn’t help but grin as five more behind it went down.

Yew made two quick motions with her right hoof and flicked her left ear. “Let’s go!” She stepped back, and the others fell in right beside her. Esekiel took the lead with Altic, and Range trotted backwards with Yew by his side.

Dusty drew Valediction, slightly confused at the sudden grouping. Seeing it as the simplest and most effective way to proceed, he took off from the ground and hovered a little over them. Esekiel gave him a warning look, but said nothing.

He couldn’t help but be impressed at his sister’s ability to command. She was a friend of these ponies, but also a leader. They followed her every command, seemingly without question.

While Range believed that zombies were getting smarter, they were still pretty stupid. The twenty or so of them that decided to charge at their little group had bunched themselves together in a tight group. Range fired the sniper again and cycled to his carbine as Yew let loose with the two assault rifles on her back.

It was like shooting fish in a barrel. The zombies at the front went first, some dropping dead right away while others ran on for a moment, their brains not even knowing they were dead yet. It was a few seconds before they had all met the pavement.

Yew tossed her head and turned, balancing on her hind legs for a moment. “We need to get off the street.”

What Yew had told him back in the Hayfield tunnel was now proving true: just because you don’t see them, doesn’t mean they’re not there. Zombies poured from the most unimaginable places, out of alleys, windows, dumpsters even. Dusty groaned as he watched a few pegasi dive out of an upper story window.

“Is this normal for you guys?” Dusty asked as Yew strafed and alley with gunfire.

The group of four below him broke apart and bolted for a three story apartment at the end of the street. “Pretty much!” Altic yelled, taking up the lead. 

Dusty flew backwards above them, trying his best to keep an eye on the skies, since they pretty much had the ground covered. He was beginning to understand their tactics. Range served as their ranged attack, and often provided support. Yew served as their midrange with her twin assault rifles. Altic’s SMGs seemed best equipped for close-range encounters, and Esekiel... Dusty didn’t know what he was for—sort of a jack of all trades.

He sighted a pegasus as it barreled at Range from behind. Valediction discharged in his mouth, sending a bolt of pain through his head. A crack emanated from the pegasus’ wing as the bullet shattered the humerus and it went into a spiral and fell to the street for a cheesegrater landing.

Was his aim really that far off?

Six zombies flowed out of an alley ahead of them and Altic lit them up with her automatics, a little smirk plastered on her face. 

It only took them a moment to reach the end of the street, but to Dusty it felt like an hour. This fleeing pace was one he was still relatively new to. Sure, he had run from zombies before—not a lot, but enough to prove as an issue.

Never had he felt fear so strong; not for himself, but for Yew, and Snowglobe and Moon and the others. No matter what, they had to go on—they had to live.

“Dusty!” Yew bellowed. She stood in the open doorway of the apartment building, the others already having crossed the threshold.

Hurriedly, he dropped to the ground and rushed through the doorway, firing Valediction at the mass that charged the front steps. The hammer clicked on an empty chamber and he jumped back.

Yew slammed the door once he was through and threw her back against it.

Dusty looked up at her from reloading his revolver. “Ah’m sorry. Ah was kind of out of it there.”

The whole wall shook as the creatures outside bombarded the door and Yew was thrown to the floor with a little ‘eep’.



Altic magically yanked at his mane, dragging him away from the door and into the dark building. “Well let’s not wait to see if you’re right.”

Dusty followed as Yew led them down a dark hall.

But what if I am?” Asked Range cheekily, flipping on his light.

Altic flipped on her own light and took off at a thunderous pace, forcing the others to keep up. “Blow me!”

At the end of the hall, they passed through a doorway labeled with a plaque that read, ‘laundromat’. The pounding of their hooves on the wood floor quieted as they crossed onto the checkered linoleum. Altic sprang nimbly over a loaded laundry basket, leaving Range to trip in her wake.

The stallion stumbled for a moment before regaining himself. “I’m pretty sure that you—”

A brown mare with a charcoal mane exploded out from behind a washer and tackled him to the floor. Range screamed as he slid across the linoleum, the mare biting and snapping at him as he held her face away with his forehooves.

It was Esekiel who reacted the fastest. In glimpses of Range’s light, Dusty watched as the gray stallion struggled in vain with the braindead mare. The griffon pounced with a war cry. He gripped the zombie with his talons and ripped the mare off of Range. Dusty watched in the flashes of light in the darkness as he raised her above his head, one set of talons clutching her neck.

The whole motion took no longer than a second, but Dusty saw it all with perfect clarity. Esekiel’s free arm moved to her lower body and and clamped tight around her belly. One talon turned one way, and the other the opposite way. He wrung the mare like a towel, twisting her nearly three-hundred and sixty degrees before her spine snapped and her ribs began to crack and stab through the flesh. Like she was nothing more than an expended magazine, he tossed her away, putting a spin on her trajectory. The zombie mare hit a double-stack washer and dryer with a bong and a crunch, toppling the heavy appliances.

“Range!” Altic cried, dashing back to where he lay. “Please tell me you’re not bit!” She shook him violently, knocking his glasses off his face. “Tell me you’re not bit!”

Range groaned and sat up. “I’m not bit.”

Yew went lax with relief. “Thank Celestia.”

He levitated his glasses and returned them to his face. “Skank got a bite out of my binoculars though.” His horn glowed orange as he pulled the pair of binoculars from their strap around his neck. One barrel was crushed, and the other had a clear bite mark in it. He tossed them away.

Esekiel shrugged away his terrifying display of power, his ruffled feathers flattening and the deadly look leaving his eyes. “A lucky pony you are.”

Range seemed to notice the griffon, and took a respectful bow. “This is the fourth time you have saved my life.” He gave Esekiel a halfway-grin. “I hope I’ll get to return the favor some time.” He winced at a crash from the front of the building. “How many seconds was that?”

Yew started forward, taking the lead. “Sixteen.”

A wide grin spread across Range’s face as they took up a semi-gallop. “What do I get for being close, Altic?”

“Whatever you want if we make it out of the city.”

They burst out of a fire door into an alleyway. Altic secured the door once they were through and Range dealt with the three straggling zombies milling about in the alleyway.

The markspony grinned back at Altic. “You do realize the extremities of the word, ‘anything’?”

The steel door to the alley nearly creased in two as something slammed against the other side. The middle hinge sheared away in a little shower of brick and a zombie shoved its head out through open space between the door and the wall, trying to fit its shoulders through as well.

Esekiel lashed out and swiped a set of talons across its face. There was a spray of blood, and even as it tried to pull away, another slash tore a gaping hole in its throat.

“Help me with this!” Yew called, drawing their attention away from the gruesomely-amusing sight. She had braced herself against a steel dumpster, face contorted in strain of effort.

Wordlessly, Dusty and Esekiel jumped to her aid and, together, they pushed the steel box in front of the quickly-failing fire door.

Altic allowed herself to calm slightly and shot Range a sultry look. “Anything short of choking me.”

Yew eyed the dumpster skeptically. “Let’s move.”

They were running again, down the semi-dark alleyway. It was always running. They rounded a corner between stacked bags of garbage and an old bedframe. Ahead was another door, which Yew led them through.

They had crossed into a diner. Rotten and decayed remnants of ponies’ lunches still rested on tables and drink glasses still littered the bar along the back wall of the building. From the looks of it, the place had been abandoned in a hurry. Nearly every window had been smashed, and a hole had even been torn in the domed, aluminum roof.

Dusty expected Yew to lead them on past the serving counter and out the front, but to his mild surprise, she brought them to a stop in front of the counter and bar.

Dusty took the break thankfully, breath stabbing at his chest. He literally had no physical endurance, not anymore. “Why are we stoppin’?” He leaned up against one of the booths. 

Range hopped the bartop almost blissfully. “I’ll check the freezer.” He pushed through the stainless-steel door to the kitchen and disappeared.

“Food,” Yew said simply.

Esekiel set himself down on one of the bar cushions and placed his front talons on the ring-stained oak counter. “I could eat a cow.” He frowned a the face Altic gave him. “One of you ponies could probably eat a whole hayfield.” He chuckled lightly at himself, examining a bloodstained talon.

Altic took a seat beside him and thumped her hoof on the table. “Can it, birdbrain.”

Esekiel got a look about him, but before he could reply, Range burst out of the kitchen looking like a foal on Hearth’s Warming Eve. “Guess what?” he chided.

“You’re a coltcuddler?” Altic suggested with a shrug.

“You wish,” he scoffed. “Don’t forget: you told me anything.” He snickered at the wry look she gave him. “No. The cooler had a backup spark battery.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Cold cider and food!” His horn glowed and the door behind him burst open to accompany a food trolley loaded with all sorts of everyday food that was now a delicacy.

Dusty cast a quick look around at the others before sitting down between Altic and Yew. There wasn’t a living thing to be seen “Aren’t you all worried about the zombies?”

Range shook his head. “They disappear as fast as they come. If they lose you, they aren’t smart enough to track you down. If a pony is bleeding... well that’s a whole nother story. If you’re bleeding, you might as well be leaving pointy arrows behind you lighting the way you’ve gone.” He tossed the thought aside, digging in the food trolley from behind the bar and coming up with several colored tubs. “We’ve got vanilla and Rocky Road—”

Altic magically snatched the brown tub from his grasp. “Mine!”

Dusty more than gladly accepted a box of hayfries, the others receiving similar restaurant food.

Altic shrugged, pulling her muzzle out of the ice cream tub to look at the carrots placed before her. “It’s too bad you couldn’t cook them.” She set the ice cream aside and dug ravenously into the frostbitten plate of carrots. “Ith bether an’ gooth in a bagth,” she said around a mouthful of food, spraying carrot chunks from her lips.

Range ducked below the bar and came up again with a wide grin. His horn glowed and up floated a dozen glass bottled filled with a deep, amber liquid. “It’s our lucky day.”

Esekiel actually grinned a little as he grabbed one of the bottles out of the air and flicked the cap off with a talon. “Cider,” he complimented.

Dusty squinted over at Altic, who had already demolished half of the carrots on her plate. “Were you in Canterlot for all of this?”

“Yep,” she said casually. “It’s Dusty, right?”

Dusty nodded. “Yeah.” He realized this was the first time she had ever addressed him directly, the same with him to her.

She magically uncapped her bottle of cider and took a deep swig. “It’s obvious you’re trying to make smalltalk, so I’ll bite.” She slammed the bottle back down to the bartop. “I was an erotic dancer.”

Dusty, who had been about to take a bite of hayfry, stopped. “Huh?”

She grinned a little. “I danced in a club. It still blows me away that stallions will actually pay money to watch a mare get sexy on stage or on a pole while they drink hot cider.” She flicked her tail—a practiced movement, sleek and eye-drawing. “You have no idea how many tips I got.”

Esekiel snorted. “I think those mares that slink around the poles just look like confused firecolts.”

She gave him an angry glare.

Dusty nodded absently. He couldn’t help but think that the mare looked very nice, even covered in blood and dirt and soot. “Ah’m not gonna’ lie... if ah had bits, ah’d probably throw them at you too.”

Range gave Dusty a look over his glasses. “Step lightly, mate.”

Altic rolled her eyes at him. “Cool it. Everypony’s allowed to look.” She turned to Dusty. “I’ll tell you what the bouncers used to say. Look all you want, but touch and I’ll break your hooves off and ram them down your throat.”

He nodded again. “Got it.” He blinked the awkward expression off his face. “How’d you make it this far?”

She took another drink of cider. “Get this. I had heard all these radio broadcasts about these issues and a huge sickness in the central city. The club I worked at was a bit out of the downtown district.” She cleared her throat. “So it’s latenight; just about this time is when the broadcasts stopped. So, this real oddball at the bar goes crazy and hops the bar and starts eating the bartender. That was the very first time I ever saw a zombie.”

Dusty tucked into the hayfries as he listened intently.

“It was really another twelve hours before things really got bad. There were zombies, lots of gunfire... I hid under the bed in my apartment through it all. I don’t know how long it was, but when I finally crept out from under that bed, it was all quiet...” She stared down at the bar. “I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do. I spent a few days slinking around, dodging those things, running when they saw me. There were other ponies, but you couldn’t trust them. They’d rather shoot you in case you were infected then see if you were fine... Not to mention I looked like a piece of candy to any half-crazy stallion out there.”

Dusty made a motion towards her. “How’d you end up so...” He made another motion towards her. “You?”

She pushed a carrot around her plate with a distant expression. “It was maybe a week or so in... I was poking around this hotel, and there were these survivors. I was too scared to face them, so I hid in the janitor’s closet. They were two stallions. I listened, and there were these other ponies. I could see them out the door. There was a stallion, and a mare, a little short.”

The diner had gone quiet, everypony listening intently to the light-blue mare. Dusty felt a little bad for invoking this mood in her. Something about the way she was speaking leaked sadness like a wet sponge. Her tone lacked its normal on-top-of-the-world air, and was now low and meek, as if she were being forced to tell something she didn’t want to.

“At first, they just talked... But then the two stallions attacked them. They shot the other stallion and beat the mare down, took their guns. They pulled off her barding... The bigger one held her down and—” She choked back a small sob, eyes shimmering. “I was too scared. By the time I had worked up the courage to try and help, they had a gun to her head and... and...”

Range hopped the counter to stand beside her, resting a hoof on her shoulder. Take it easy, Altic.”

She pinched her eyes shut. “There was a fire axe on the wall. I snuck out of the closet and levitated it off the wall, and went up behind them. The first one didn’t even see it coming. The axe sank to the handle in the back of his neck.” She spat the line like she was mad at it. “The other one shot...” She shook in Range’s grasp. “Her guts sprayed me... That’s when something inside me changed. I pulled the axe out of the one I’d killed, and I swung. The first one hit him i-in the leg. He went down, and I swung again, this time in the side. He cried; he asked me to stop. But... I j-j-just swung, and swung, and swung.”

“It’s okay,” Range muttered as she leaned into him. He shot a glare to Dusty, and the pegasus made an apologetic gesture. ‘How was I supposed to know?’ he mouthed.

“If ponies could be so cruel... Then we’re no better than those fucking zombies!” She pounded her hooves on the bar in anger. “If I could kill a pony, kill a pony in front of their very eyes, hack them up with a fire axe, then I could kill a zombie. Now... now it’s just a matter of pointing, and pulling the trigger.” 

Dusty realized his mouth had fallen open a little and he hurriedly closed it. “Shoot, ah’m sorry for—”

She straightened up suddenly, eyes cold. “This infection was the best thing to happen to Equestria in years. We’d forgotten who we were. There was no love, no morale. The ponies that lived, lived for a reason, I say. You need friends in this mess. Without friends you either go insane, or die alone.” She turned to Dusty. “Tell me, Dusty, where would you be without your friends? And don’t say you don’t have them, because I can see it in your eyes.”

Dusty swallowed. He was scared, scared that this mare was making sense. “Dead somewhere in the desert...”

“When this is over... if, this ever ends, we’ll be able to start anew. Ponies will learn to love and care and help one another, like we used to. I wasn’t alive in those years, but I’ve heard stories, stories of what we were like.” She wiped a tear from her eye and gave Dusty a perfectly-level look. “I know that this... all of this, has made me a better pony. How about you?”

He was at a complete loss for words. It felt like somepony had shoved an egg beater in his good ear and turned his brain to mashed potatoes and gravy. “Ah... ah don’t know.”

She polished off her bottle of cider. “When you find out, make sure to remember the past, to better the future. The only thing left for us is each other... friends.”

“She makes a good point,” Esekiel said quietly, never looking up from his talons, which were scratching something into the oak bartop. “This is a time of redemption, not just for ponies, but for everyone. Griffons, zebras, ponies... everyone.” He looked up at Altic with a new admiration. “You’re a wise mare.”

She laughed cruelly. “I wanted to be a poet. Dancing was just to get me the money I needed. I got stuck between point A and point B and I never picked up the pen.”

The griffon shrugged. “It’s never too late to start.”

Without warning, Dusty doubled over, a searing pain in his belly. To save the sight from the others, he leaned over, trying not to heave as the saliva in his mouth began to taste like salt. Another heave wracked his body and everything he had just eaten came back up, spattering to the floor.

“Yew patted him on the back. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he choked, head spinning.

Range clicked his tongue worriedly. “That’s not a very good sign.”

Dusty pushed Yew away and stood, a little shakily. “Don’t worry about me; ah’m fine.” He winced. His stomach ached and his head hurt, his limbs stiff and sore. The worry he felt in his mind was daunting, but he didn’t allow his body language to show it.

Yew sat back, eyeing him worriedly. “Dusty...” She sighed, shaking her head.


*              *              *




“It’s been hours,” Moon fretted, having just arrived to see the two mares. They all sat atop the first boxcar, looking out over the city.

Sage sat perfectly still, Jade leaned up against her. “How long has it been since those gunshots?”

“About half an hour.” She sighed. There had been a sound like a cannon blast, then a whole cacophony of gunfire. “There’s more than one of them,” she added.

Jade nodded, her ears perked. “It sounded like four ponies.”

“Think Dusty’s with them?”

Jade pointed to the building the pegasus had had disappeared to, then squinted off towards the left. “Maybe. It makes me wonder how he could have gotten so far from that building.

Sage shrugged. “Maybe he took a detour... A mile long detour.”

Moon stood, flicking her ears dismissively. “You sent for me, Sage?”

Sage brushed Jade off and scrambled to her hooves, making a small ruckus on the wooden roof of the boxcar. “Yes!” She trotted to the edge of the boxcar and started down a mounted ladder. “I wanted us to look over our supplies. I had already planned on having everything counted by the time you got here, but...” She cast a look to Jade and blushed slightly. “Cuddles ensured.”

Moon followed her down while Jade flared her wings and gently lowered herself to the track. “Makes sense.” She grinned a little. “So, did you even take a look?”

Sage frowned at the mangled remains of the boxcar door. It had been smashed and splintered, bent aside and torn from the tracks. “Yeah, it’s pretty bad.” She pulled herself up onto the lip with a little grunt and forced the door open. “There was some sort of fight in here. I had only peeked in the door.”

Moon made a sour face as she followed Sage. Blood had sprayed the walls and whole sections of floorboards had been torn up or smashed. Barrels of expiring apples lay scattered about the floor, many crushed. 

Moon picked up a small movement in her peripherals and jumped, spinning towards the darkness at the end of the boxcar. Jade jumped and flared her wings with a little squeak. “What was that?”

The wooden floor creaked as the previously-unseen shape moved out of the dark corner.

Moon sighed. It was Brick, minus the machine gun. “Hey, Brick,” she greeted casually, squinting a little to see him better. “What are you doing in here?”

He rolled his eyes and sat back, nodding towards a trail of blood on the floor. Moon followed it with her eyes to an immobile shape sprawled out in a corner.

“Is it one of us?” Sage asked, taking a step forwards.

Brick shook his head.

“Zombie?” Sage suggested.

A nod.

Moon nodded back. “Right. Good idea clearing out the cars.” She noticed a small stack of good apples in one corner; that had probably been his doing.

Brick nodded with a grim expression. He turned back and stooped down over the limp shape. Fastening his teeth in the end of its mane, he drug it backwards across the floor in a smear of clotted blood.

Moon stepped around him as he headed for the door and plodded to the back of the car, squinting against the darkness. A wooden crate sat cockeyed against the back wall. With the aid of the light from a hole in the roof, she crept forward, spotting a trail of blood across the floor. The trail ran from the middle of the car to the back wall, then over and behind the crate.

The blood started little warning bells ringing in her head, so she levitated forth her shotgun, the blue glow of her horn lighting the surrounding air like a match struck in the dark. her ears picked up the sound of Jade and Sage muttering nonsense behind her, not giving anything a second mind.

She placed a hoof on the box, and with a bit of effort, tipped it away from the wall. It clunked to the ground and the front supports shattered, causing it to tilt and tip again.

Moon gasped. A purple mare lay on the floor against the wall, her flank rising and falling slowly. She sported several deep gashes on her back and face and a nasty wound on her hind leg.

Moon felt her heart skip a beat. Cautiously, she prodded the mare in the side with the barrel of her shotgun. Moon jumped back as the mare’s eyes shot open. They swirled in their sockets for a moment before looking up at Moon, the whites bloodshot.

She let out a long breath that gargled in her throat. “It’s about time.”



She coughed. “About time you found me.” Her eyes darted to the pistol on the floor. The clip was out and empty, the final bullet jammed in the slide of the weapon. “Tried to do it myself.”

Moon’s heart sunk. She sat back and sighed, the shotgun in her magical grasp suddenly feeling very heavy. “You know I don’t want to.”

The mare nodded ever so slightly. “It hurts.” She bared her teeth. “It hurts, in my mind. Half of me wants to die, and the other half of me wants to tear your throat out with my teeth.” She tensed and her pupils dilated. She bared her teeth and glared up at Moon. Then it was gone, and the mare was back to her pained self.

“W-why didn’t you call out?” Moon asked.

The mare closed her eyes and sighed. “Thought I’d bleed out... b-but I stopped bleeding. By then, I was too weak to yell.” She clenched her teeth as her body convulsed. “Soon would be nice,” she gasped.

Moon flicked the safety off. “I’m so sorry. I really—”

“Shoot me!” she cried somehow managing to push her front legs under her.

Moon took aim.

“Now!” Her eyes changed again and the threatening look was back, then it was gone again. “What are you w—” The weapon fired off in the dark, blowing out the mare’s skull and tearing a hole in the wall behind her.”

Sage practically materialized at Moon’s side. “What happened!?”

Moon ejected the spent shell from her shotgun, watching as it arced to the ground in a thin trail of smoke. “Infected,” she said in a voice just above a whisper. She turned away. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice me.”

Sage flushed. “I was talking to Jade.”

“Talking,” Jade added with a blush to match, “sure.” She tossed her head so her dark-red mane fell into her eyes. “We’re really rough on food here, Moon. We’ve only got two barrels of water left, but that shouldn’t be too much of an issue since we’re out of the desert. It’s the solids I’m worried about.”

Moon couldn’t believe the way in which the two mares had just shrugged the whole ordeal off. She had just shot a pony through the head, and they acted as she had done nothing more than scratched her ear.

Moon sighed and hung her head. “We’ll have to make do.” She looked back to the purple mare, leaking a pool of blood onto the floor from her head. “Come on. Let’s take care of her.”


*              *              *


“It’s going to rain,” Esekiel said, so surely that it may have already been raining and they hadn’t noticed it.

They currently paced over a hoofbridge spanning a large courtyard. The courtyard below was a sea of multicolored shapes. None of the group knew why there were so many zombies in that one spot, but they were glad that the mass hadn’t spotted them.

Dusty, who hovered along a little above the ground, looked around for clouds, which he spotted miles away. They were a grayish-black, and floated low to the ground, stretching away across the horizon. “How do you know they’re comin’ towards us?”

“I can smell it.” As if the sky was trying to back the griffon up, thunder rumbled in the distance.

Range made a sour face. “I don’t want to be caught out in that storm.”

Altic looked over at him. “Why not? We haven’t had rain in a month.”

“Exactly.” He levitated a wood chip from his bag and bit down on the end, holding it in the corner of his mouth. “Without the weather pegasi controlling the weather, things get pretty crazy. The weather goes rogue. This storm is going to be nasty. Without ponies to discharge the thunderheads...”

“Rain and electricity,” Yew muttered.

“We’re probably looking at a full-scale lightning storm,” Range continued. “It’s a good thing we’re all wearing metal.” Thunder boomed in the distance and he folded his ears. “That was sarcasm, just so you all know.”

They reached the end of the hoofbridge and wound up on some sort of campus. Buildings popped up here and there between sidewalks shaded by large evergreens sprouting from the browning grass.

“Okay, flyboy,” Esekiel cast a prying eye to Dusty. “You flew up and saw the sky back there. Which way?”

Dusty thought a moment, trying to work around the now-constant throbbing in his head. He pointed off between two, double story buildings made of tanned brick. “That way. We cross the campus, ah think it is, then come out in the streets. Then we have to go a few blocks on the streets before we can get to the tracks.”

Yew drew their attention with a quick toss of her head. “How are we supposed to get to the train if it’s where you say it is?”

Dusty acknowledged her with a nod. “There’s a maintenance staircase on every track support.”

Atlic gave a little sigh of relief. “Thank Celestia; I hate ladders.” She looked around at their puzzled expressions. “What? Who’s idea was it to stack a bunch of steps on top of each other and expect a pony to climb it vertically? Hooves aren’t meant for that.”

Range rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t a matter of ergonomics; it was a matter of getting a non-pegasus pony to go up with as little space and resources used as possible.”

“Still, I hate climbing ladders.”

Range got that look about him. “I don’t know, Altic. You could probably move up a ladder pretty fast if I put a bucket of rats at the bottom.”

She glared at him. “I hate you.”

Their crossing of the courtyard went fairly easily. Three times, Range had to stop them to pick off a zombie from a distance, but apart from that, the campus was dead.

No matter how much Dusty thought about it, he just could not wrap his mind around how zombies reacted to gunshots. He remembered back to Desert Sage, where several times, hordes of zombies had come running when they had fired their weapons. Then there had been times when they wouldn’t come at the sound of gunshots, or times when they would just come charging out of an alley for no apparent reason. It was a temperamental system, and you never knew what would trigger it.

Yew gave Range a nudge. “Mr. tour guide, what place is this?”

The stallion looked around with a half-frown. “What, this?” He read the answer from Yew’s deadpan expression. “It’s a school, an advanced school for learning the industrial arts. At the rate the roster would fill up for this place, you’d be lucky to get in if your grandparents signed you up when they were still bucking every night.”

“Is that where you learned to be such a know-it-all prick?” Altic jabbed. 

Range grinned. “No no, all we had when I was a kid was a little something called a library. You graduated from elementary school, and from there on it was up to you.”

“Back in the day...” Altic drawled in an old, rickety voice. She grinned at him.

“Back in the day...” Range said dangerously, “young mares liked young stallions, and weren’t attracted to know-it-all stallions that were twice their age.”

She blushed at him, a little shocked, and drove a knee into his ribs. “It’s a thing,” she pouted. “I’m allowed to like ponies who are bigger and older than me.”

Now that Dusty decided to pay it mind, he noticed the differences between the two. Altic was a few inches shorter than the average pony, while Range was generally a little taller. The two had about a six inch difference between each other in overall height.

Yew groaned and pushed in between Range and Altic. “Honestly, do you two have to talk about sex all the time?”

Range craned his neck to look at Altic over Yew’s back. “Really, Altic. It’s like a waiter at a restaurant who waits us, and he’s like, ‘what would you and your daughter like today?’ And then we say something like, ‘we’re dating’. Then there’s that really akward moment before the waiter asks if we’d like some water.”

Altic rolled her bottom lip out at him. “It’s not that bad. Besides,” She switched to a more insistent tone, “you have no reason to complain about a mare as young as me, liking a know-it-all dorky pony like you.”

Yew hung her head and sighed. “And, they’re talking about sex again.”

“Are you even of age?” Range asked semi-seriously. “Or am I a statutory rapist?”

She snorted. “Barely.”

Range smiled and rolled his eyes. “Let’s make a compromise. You’re young and attractive and hot-to-trot, and I am one lucky stallion who still can not stand your personality.”

“Opposites attract,” Yew chimed.

Dusty didn’t really find much point in partaking in conversation, so he mostly remained silent. Apart from Yew, he didn’t know any of these ponies too well, and the last time he had tried to start a to start a conversation, Altic had a breakdown. He was a little surprised that he and Yew had not yet had the predictable, how-have-things-been talk. He and his sister had always had a sort of thing between them. They never needed words; just about everything about one another they already knew or discussed in body language.

It was relatively nice to experience no real issues on the wide-open campus, however, the bodies were another story. Zombie carcasses lay everywhere, strewn about the sidewalk and grass.

Range stepped carefully around a teal unicorn in a dried pool of blood. “I don’t like this.”

Altic walked with a little caution, but otherwise seemed unphased. “What’s there to worry? They’re dead.”

“Exactly.” Range peered closely at the bloated body of an earth pony. “But these bodies aren’t any older than a week.”

Esekiel flicked his tail with a dismissive air. “I guess we’re not the only survivors in a city of over a million, big shock.”

Amongst one of the larger piles of bodies, Dusty eyed the corpse of a mare in battle saddle. Her guts had been torn out and she had a single bullet through her forehead. She didn’t have the zombie look about her though.

From the way things looked, there had been a group of ponies. They had lost one, and shot her, then kept going.

It was another six-hundred yards before they came across the other used-to-be survivors. They all lay in a circle, surrounded by shot and charred corpses. There were three of them, all stallions. Two had been shot like the mare, but the third was little more than scattered remains; he had been the last.

Yew breathed a sigh. “Well, that’s it for them.”

For the rest of their trot across campus, there was nothing.


*              *              *


“Come on!” Snowglobe grunted, focussing with all of her magical strength on holding the two ends of a pipe together as she welded the seam with an oxy-fuel welder and filler stick.

“Come on you piece of—” A stray spark jumped from the pipe and landed in her mane, sizzling. She jumped back and batted the putrid-smelling flame out with a forehoof. “Damnit!”

Hurriedly, she went back to her weld before it had a chance to cool.

One thing she had learned about generators: kicking them normally helped. Simply kicking this engine was not the case, though she wished it were. Kicking this iron beast would only reward her with a broken hoof.

Finally, she finished the weld and sat back to examine her handiwork, rubbing a hoof across her brow.

“Looking good.”

Snowglobe squeaked at the foreign voice and spun, brandishing the still-lit torch as a weapon.

The red pegasus who had sneaked up behind her jumped backwards, nearly falling off the elevated track. “Whoa!” he cried. “Take it easy!”

Snowglobe went lax and put out the torch. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Copper flared his wings and smoothed the ruffled feathers. “I didn’t mean to,” he said with a halfway grin, running a hoof through his copper-colored mane.

Snowglobe listened closely for the ‘bwong’ of the steel as it cooled and retracted. “Well, you did.” She shrugged with a guilty expression. “Sorry for trying to burn you.”

He returned the shrug. “S’fine... So, how are things going out here?”

She blew air out her nose. “Not good, not bad.” She thought for a moment, recalling a fact about the red pegasus. “You’re from that REA wagon that crashed, right?”

He nodded like she had stuck a sour note. “The one and only... considering all the others are dead.”

“Sorry.” Snowglobe folded her ears.

Copper waved it away. “It’s fine. It’s just sort of, why me, you know? I survived the infection, somehow, and now, the only of a dozen that lived... Apart from Candy, maybe.”

She nodded. “I worked at a hospital part time, mostly doing electrical maintenance. The day I was called in was the day they locked the whole building down because of the virus. I mean, I’m not anything special — I’m just lucky.”

He sat back on his haunches and spread his forehooves. “Aren’t we all?”

Snowglobe tested her welds with the head of a wrench, magically banging it against the steel. She grinned at the sound. “Perfect.”

Copper grinned and shifted on his haunches. “You’re quite the mechanic.”

Snowglobe was sure she picked up something in his voice and blushed. “Erm, sorry.” She tossed a wrench into the open toolbox by her hooves with a clatter. “But I’m taken.”

He got a puzzled look about him before realization dawned on his face. “Oh... Oh no.” He laughed. “That was a compliment, not a pick up line.”

Snowglobe glowered at the way the situation had just backfired on her. “Sorry... I figured, since you were a stallion and I’m a mare, and we were both alone, you would only try something because it seems that’s how it always works.”

“I don’t like mares,” he replied simply.

She blinked. “What?”

He rubbed his neck. “To put things in slang... I’m a coltcuddler.”

Snowglobe nodded slowly, her mouth forming a silent, ‘oh’. After a moment, she shrugged. “Good for you.”

He grinned at her. “Most find it funny when I say that.”

She shrugged again. “Well, I like mares... so... really not that much of a shocker. We’re both in the same boat.” She frowned at her metaphor. “Except we’re paddling different ways.”

Copper chuckled. “That’s one way of putting it.”

There was a deafening crack of thunder and Snowglobe jumped like a spooked cat, the hair on her back fluffing up. There was a chilled blast of air, and with it came a cover of thick clouds, blotting out the sun.

Copper unfurled a wing and slung it comfortingly over her back. “You’re fluffy,” he commented with a curious frown.

Snowglobe gave him a skeptical look. “Are you sure you’re not just telling me you like colts to put me at ease so you can catch me off guard in a situation where I can’t say no without making things really really awkward?”

He laughed again. “I’m still allowed to like you as a pony and not an object, aren’t I?”

They both tensed at the flash of lightning nearby.

Snowglobe’s mind was chocked full of controversial thoughts. For some reason, she was finding great comfort from Copper pressed against her, his wing over her back, his warmth. She felt good and bad about it at the same time. She felt bad, because it felt like a betrayal to Dusty, liking the touch of another pony, and good, because it was cozy.

Somepony needed to beat some sense into her. Either she was turning straight, or she had a thing for pegasi. Sure, Moon was still quite a sight, and Jade was eye candy. Recently, though, she had been looking at stallions, pegasi to be exact, the same way she looked at mares.

A raindrop fell her her nose and she sneezed.

Copper looked around at the cloudy skies, mane whipping about his face. “It’s getting pretty nasty.”

Snowglobe nodded and turned her back to the wind, shrugging Copper’s wing off and immediately wishing she hadn’t exposed herself to the biting wind. She took up a rather large wrench from the toolbox and fitted it around a bolt that fitted the pipe clamp to the engine.

With a bit of effort, she levitated herself up to the steel plate just above the driving wheels. “The good news is, I’m almost done.”

“Well, what’s the bad news?” Copper flared his wings to fly up and land beside her.

The rain started to pour.

With a little trick her eldest brother had once taught her, Snowglobe conjured a small shield over both of them. The rain struck the surface and ran across the magical sphere to pour over the sides in a thin sheet.

“No bad news.” She twisted the wrench. “Everything’s going...” She grunted, focussing with her magic to yank the wrench around. “Fine.” She tightened four more in silence, then levitated herself up to the top of the locomotive. Copper remained beside her to keep under the magical umbrella.

“What’re we doing up here?” he asked.

Snowglobe peered at the talon marks scoring the steel. “Dusty said we were having an issue with boiler pressure before we stopped, so I’m checking the safety valves.”

Copper nodded, then frowned. “I thought you said something about specializing in generators? How do you know so much about steam?”

She gave a little laugh, pacing across the top of the engine in the increasing wind and rain. “I specialize in all generators. What did you think they used to make power before gems?”

“Steam,” he answered flatly.

“Exactly.” Her eyes picked out something. The first safety valve had been damaged, bent over and crushed against the top of the engine. “Well that’s not good.”

Carter clicked his tongue. “Can you fix... whatever it is?”

Snowglobe shook her head. “No, we need a whole new one, and given the fact that finding a pressure release valve for an engine this size while stuck on a elevated track in the middle of a zombiefied city...” She let the sarcasm in her voice finish her sentence for her. “We can make do with one, but it’ll be temperamental and there’s a chance that the boiler could build pressure faster than the one valve can release it.”

Copper’s expression changed from mildly-intrigued to worried. “What happens then?”

Snowglobe looked up. “Boom.”


*              *              *




The explosion rocked the entire building as four ponies and a griffon took cover behind the walk-in kitchen counter of an apartment.

“There!” Range said, his voice rustled. “You wanted a door, Yew? There’s your door!” 

They were reminded of the great urgency of the situation when the front door to the apartment rattled and shook.

Dusty scaled the counter and trotted through the clearing plaster dust and smoke to the now-gaping hole in the wall. The rain had seemed to let up a little bit, but still poured heavily just outside. The next building across was only half as tall as the one they were in now. Luckily, they also weren’t on the top floor of this current building. The next rooftop over was about ten feet below. The jump to the building was not a pretty one, ten feet over an alley seven stories down.

“What have we learned from this experience, Yew?” Range said irritably as he examined the jump.

“That you’re always around to blow shit up,” she answered with just as much rustle of the nerves.

“Until I run out of explosives.” He shrugged and shook his head frantically. “No, what we’ve learned is, when running from zombies, never go up!”

“Yew’s skepticism became prominent as she stood right before the jump. “Next time, we’ll stay on the street and get eaten.”

Range still managed to rant as he backed up and readied himself to take the first jump. “I always heard stories about ponies who went into some sort of retreat and allowed themselves to be trapped on a rooftop.” He drug his hoof across the fake wooden flooring. “And I would always wonder, how the hay would a pony be stupid enough to allow themselves to be trapped on a rooftop?” His eyes darted to Yew. “Well, now I know.”

Yew opened her mouth for reply, but Range chose that moment to rocket forward, hooves sliding a little on the rain-slicked floor. With a yell of either determination or fear, he sprang off from the lip and soared out into open air. He seemed to hang there, suspended for a minute, forehooves drawn up to his belly with his hind legs extended.

He landed ten feet below and rolled to the left to land painfully on his side, crying out. “Son of a whore!” he screamed, rolling in agony.

The door split down the middle as the horde assaulted the other side.

Dusty flared his wings and hovered up off the ground, floating himself out over the open space between the two buildings.

Altic jumped next, clearing the gap with feet to spare and landing nimbly.

“Come on!” Dusty yelled, trying to stoke Esekiel and Yew into faster action.

The door burst. Yew had the failing barrier covered, and opened fire with her assault rifles. Nonetheless, they advanced through the shredding fire of the hollow-point rounds, maintaining a tight group. If they were to fan out at this point, it would all be over.

Esekiel stood a little behind her, firing with his own weapon, the bullets tearing through rows of infected and pitting the wall in the hall outside the door. He seemed to be fighting a battle with himself, glancing towards the jump, then to Yew, then to the zombies.

“Go!” Esekiel yelled suddenly, grabbing Yew by the tail and yanking her behind him. He slid the rifle back to its holster on his back and stepped forward.

She tried to protest. “Bu—”

“Go now!” he bellowed. Lunging forward, he swiped madly with his talons, making himself some sort of hybrid between a griffon and a blender. By now, the seemingly never-ending horde had pushed the fist five feet into the apartment.

Yew shook her head and reached for the firing bit. “Can’t!” And she was right, at this point, she could not longer make the jump, not without running momentum. Dusty tried to catch her attention, but she didn’t seem to realize he was there. If only she would jump, he could catch her.

Somehow, Yew managed to avoid hitting Esekiel as he hacked and slashed, pushed steadily backwards.

Dusty felt terribly helpless. From here, he couldn't do a thing, and Range and Altic were ten feet down, unable to aid as well.

Esekiel and yew were pushed to the very edge of the building, fighting side-by-side, ringing up the body count.

Esekiel looked over to Yew, his face reading agonizing remorse. “I’m sorry for this.”

Yew blinked and looked over at him. “Sorry for whaaah!” She cried out as he picked her up off the ground.

Dusty’s world slowed, eyes unbelieving. Esekiel made to hurl Yew, throw her towards the door inside the apartment, and to her death. The griffon’s words flashed in Dusty’s mind, and only now did he understand exactly what Esekiel had meant. ‘If you spend enough time around me, you’ll soon learn, I will do whatever I can to survive.’

“Yew!” Dusty yelled, horrified. Esekiel had her over his head, talons clutched on her neck and back while her hooves churned helplessly at the air.

Esekiel slowed, his sure movements slacking. His head turned back, pained eyes focussing on Dusty. They darted to Yew in his grasp, then to the advancing horde. Dusty could almost sense the gears in the griffon’s head whirring.

When Esekiel looked back to Dusty, remorse read deeply on his face, his expression layered with that empty look of sudden realization.

He turned and swung the mare around, letting out a yell of physical exertion. Yew left his grasp, soaring out over the alleyway in a tumbling mass. She whacked to the building below and rolled to a disoriented stop.

Esekiel screeched and turned back to the apartment, but by this point it no longer mattered. He had spared his last few seconds on Yew. The first zombie struck him square in the chest; he managed to withstand the blow and tear its throat out with a yell and a grunt. His hind paws slid right to the very edge and he reared up flaring his wings. Spreading his arms out, he turned his head to the sky in a final cry. Lightning flashed, lighting his silhouette, every feature on his brown and black coat, every feather.

“Fuck me.”

The entire mass of the horde struck him and his paws slipped from the ledge. He soared backwards, out into the air. It was only a second before he disappeared into the prismatic waterfall. He fell amongst them, wings flared uselessly, eyes screaming.

Dusty looked away. The sound of body after body striking the pavement reached his ears, and he winced.

Yew had landed in a heap on the roof, moaning. Dusty landed beside her, helping her to a sitting position.

Miraculously, the remaining zombies who hadn't fallen had either given up, or were too smart to jump.

“Esekiel!” Yew gasped, pushing to her hooves unsteadily. She rounded on Dusty. “Where is he!?”

Dusty placed a gentle hoof on her shoulder and shook his head.

Tears filled her eyes almost immediately, and she shoved him away. “N-n-no! No, he can’t be dead!”

“Ah’m sorry, Yew.”

“No!” she screamed, running over to the edge of the building to look down. “No! he was the closest thing I still had to family!”

Dusty blinked, confused and hurt. “W-what? But, Yew, what about me?”

She backed away from the edge and glared at him through heaving sobs. “What does that matter!? You’re going to die!”

His eyes went wide. “Yew...” He fell back on his haunches, the cold realization finally hitting him. He was going to die. The infection was in him. He could feel it, spreading, altering him.

“Sweet Celestia... I’m gonna die.”

Yew seemed to realize the implications of what she had blurted, and her ears folded flat to her head. “Oh, Dusty. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” he interrupted. “You’re right.” Suddenly going numb, he flopped over on his side. “Ah’d been tryin’ not to think about it... but ah have to face it.”

Yew nudged him back to his hooves. “There’s nothing I can say, Dusty. You’re my brother, and I’ll always love you.”

“We need to go!” Altic hollered to them over a clap of thunder. The rain had begun to pick up again, and with it came more lightning and wind. Range leaned heavily on her shoulder, his left front leg held off the ground.

“What happened to Range?” Yew asked.

“It’s either a really bad strain or a fracture... or both,” Range answered.

Yew threw a look to Dusty, then to the elevated track, which was only a block away. The engine crouched upon the tracks, the lamp slicing into the rain, lighting every tiny drop of water like a million tiny fireflies. “Come on, we’re close.” It was obvious she was fighting back the tears, the pain. her body shook and her breath came in irregular bursts.

Range looked around in a squint of pain. “Where’s Esekiel?”

Yew hung her head and fought back another sob. Dusty shook his head at Range.

“Damn...” Range shook his head slowly. “I’m going to miss that bipolar griffon.”

As they descended the stairs, there was no idle talk, no banter, only silence. Loss had struck them all, and Yew was taking it the worst.

Dusty felt numb, not the cold kind of numb, but the just-got-shot-and-going-into-shock kind of numb. Every sound seemed to be reaching him through a brick wall; his vision was blurred and under-contrasted. The world didn’t seem real, and if it wasn’t real, then what was the point of trying? Twice, Yew spoke something to him, and twice her words went completely over his head, lost in irrational thought.

He registered them hitting the street, and a while later, the maintenance staircase up the support beam to the bridge looming up ahead.

He was yanked back to reality by a sharp pain in his head.

“Dusty!” Yew said irritably, hitting him again. “I’m talking to you!”

He blinked a few times. “W-what?”

“There’s a pony calling you.” She motioned towards the sky.

There from above, a gray mare looked down at him from the elevated track. “Dusty!” she called. “Is that you!?”

“Yeah!” His voice rasped as he yelled back.

“Who’re those ponies with you!?”

“The kind that aren’t dead!” He hung his head and turned to Yew. “She was gonna be the one, Yew.”

She gave him a sad look, then headed off, leading the way. The track support was just ahead now, a metal switchback staircase.

His head throbbed again. Rubbing his eyes with a forehoof, he groaned. He rubbed a hoof over his eyes and groaned; blood matted his coat.

He was running out of time.


*              *              *


Excitedly, Snowglobe climbed the staircase alongside the coal tender to the hoofplate of the locomotive. “They’re back!”

Copper, who had been standing in front of the firebox, wings spread out as he warmed himself, jumped. “Who?”

“Dusty.” She magically turned a few knobs that Dusty had taught her the operation of, coaxing a hiss from the engine. Magically, she started floating coal to the firebox, layering it evenly, feeling the air around grow hot. Reaching over, she pulled the lever that activated the coal screw below the floor.

“Is the engine ready?” Copper asked, looking around.

“I never had time to fix the valve timer, but that doesn’t really matter at this point. It’ll still work fine.”

There was a blinding flash of light and a bang that seemed to shake the world. A power pole fifty feet away went up like a torch, liquid fire shooting down the wires and burning the rubberized outer coating.

Copper jumped backwards, rearing up on his hind legs. “Son of a..” His eyes darted about frantically. “We have to get off of this track.”

Snowglobe nodded. They were the highest thing within a half-mile radius. It was a rather unfortunate bonus that their engine was made entirely of iron and stood fourteen feet tall.

The wind picked up, throwing the rain horizontally against the side of the cab.

It was maybe five minutes before Snowglobe heard the clatter of hooves on the metal staircase leading to the cab, and four ponies charged into the small space. The first one was Dusty, then a brown mare and a gray stallion leaning heavily on light-blue mare.

“Dusty!” Snowglobe cried, meeting him halfway across the cab.

“Hey,” he said in monotone, avoiding her eye. He pushed by her and examined the gauges. “You’ve done good keeping things prim. We’re basically ready to go.”

She blinked, taken aback by his lack of... anything. “Y-yeah, but I can’t guarantee that nothing’ll go wrong. I made do with what I had, which wasn’t much. We just plain lucked out that this bucket had an oxy-fuel welder on board.”

“Good enough,” he said in the same monotone voice, avoiding eye contact with her completely. He reached up and sounded the whistle twice, then turned to the blue mare. “Run back down the train and make sure everypony’s on board.”

The mare gave a quick salute with and dashed off.

Snowglobe couldn't help but notice that all these ponies were absolutely filthy. They were sopping wet, but that didn’t mean they were clean. Their coats were stained with soot and grime and blood, and a bunch of other stuff Snowglobe didn’t even want to imagine.

The lightning struck again, somehow louder than it had already been.

Snowglobe crept up behind Dusty as he continued not to look at her. “D-Dusty?”

He ignored her. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.” He Tensed up, shaking slightly, back still to her.

Snowglobe moved up beside him, placing her hoof at the base of his neck. “D-Dusty?”

“Ah’m sorry,” he whispered.

She shook her head in confusion. “Sorry for what?”

He heaved a long breath, then slowly turned towards her. His bloodshot eyes looked half-dead at her, their shine almost completely gone. “There was a cut on my belly... a small one. Ah figured it was just a scrape... It was that or the ear... ah don’t know which.”

It was like getting hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. Snowglobe stepped backwards, shock, and uncountable other emotions playing across her face. “No...” She looked at him in disbelief. His disconnected expression looked back, like he wasn’t really there. “No! Nonononono! Dusty!”

“Ah’m sorry,” he choked.

She lunged forward, pushing him against the wall of the cab, tears streaming down her face. “I hate you!”

He slinked back. “Ah’m... A-ahm sorry.”

“How could you!?” She pushed him again, but this time the brown mare pulled her back. “How could you make me care for you, then do this!?”

He only shook his head, eyes focussed on the ground. “Ah’m s-sorry.”

She collapsed against the brown mare, sobbing. “W-who the hay a-are you anyways?” she asked to the mare, trying to distract herself.

The mare stroked Snowglobe’s mane gently. “Yew. Dusty’s sister.”

Snowglobe glared at Dusty. “You never told me you had a sister.”

He still wouldn’t look directly at her. “Didn’t tell anypony... Ah thought she was dead—figured it wouldn’t be worth tellin’ anypony... After all, who would need to know about my dead sister?”

Snowglobe was out of words to speak. She had nothing—it was as if her brain had just shut down. She only sat there, quietly, until the light-blue mare returned.

“We’re good,” she said to Dusty.

Dusty nodded slowly and placed his hoof on an operating lever jutting from the floor, clicking it forward. “Ah need ponies to shovel,” he muttered quietly. “Two for the speed we’re gonna need.”

The light-blue mare looked at the gray stallion like she expected him to do something, and he snorted at her. “Sure, just let me shovel coal with my leg that I can’t stand on.” He shrugged and watched the mares go to work, carrying loads of coal to the firebox. “I really would help if I could.”

Dusty opened the throttle and the engine lurched forward, the cars clacking in their couplings.

The gray stallion got a sort of look about them as they headed off, and looked to the light-blue mare. “So, as Altic and I were discussing earlier, we still have a track to clear.”

The mare who had been addressed as Altic kneed him in the ribs as she walked by levitating a shovel of coal. “Not now, Range.”

He rubbed the spot sorely. “What?” I’m sorry, but I think that’s a rather large problem we have yet to deal with.”

Dusty motioned Range over to him, out of the other Ponies’ earshot. “You thinkin’ what ah’m thinkin’?”

Range nodded. “That you aren’t going to be able to clear those tracks without catastrophic damage to the engine?”

“Exactly.”

Range sat back and raised his voice. “That whole district beyond is a sea of zombies. They’re so thick you could cross em’ in a boat.” He sighed. “Believe it or not, but you stack enough zombies on the track and it can actually stop a smaller engine.”

Dusty leaned in to whisper something else to Range, but Snowglobe drew his attention. “What are you two whispering about?”

Dusty shook his head at her and turned away, back to Range. “This engine ain’t gonna make it much further. It took a beatin’ when we got attacked by griffons, and it’s as old as dirt as it is. Things are clackin’ an’ it’s leakin’ in spots ah don’t know where.”

“You’re saying we’re gonna need a new engine?”

“As much as ah love this old thing—she eats too much coal and drinks too much water. Even if we do fly her out of here, findin’ enough water an’ coal to go on is gonna be a task. No matter what, this engine ain’t gonna last forever, an’ ah’d rather leave her before she gives up on us.”

“Smart. But I don’t think we can find a working engine left in this city—the army cleaned Canterlot out.”

“Dusty almost grinned. “In a shed past the railyard at the end of the tunnel, is a first generation, gem-powered single unit.”

Range’s ears perked. “How do you know it’s still there?”

“Because ah locked it there last time ah used to work here, and it was still there when ah checked back about six months ago. You see, that engine was gonna cost me my job, so me an’ a few colleagues locked it in a condemned shed at the back of the railyard. Nopony would go near it ‘cause there’s asbestos warnin’s everywhere. Yard manager threw a fit when a state-of-the art engine went missing, never did find it... Ah think he actually got fired for that.”

Range snickered. “That is genius.”

Dusty shrugged. “Ah still got fired.” His face returned to it’s empty look. “It’s gonna be your job to make sure the ponies on this train get out of Canterlot.”

Range opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated. He nodded. “You have my word.”

Snowglobe knew that Dusty knew that she was there, but he purposefully kept his voice low. Altic and Yew were busy, hardly even noticing that the stallions were talking. Over the sound of the engine, she was unable to pick up their voices, and didn’t like the fact that she was left out of the conversation.

“Snowglobe, the gray mare behind me,” Dusty continued. “Have her get that gem engine working if it’s not ready to go. She can fix anythin’ if she knows how it works...” He looked around quickly. “And keep this all quiet. Ah know some ponies won’t agree with what ah’m about to do. It’s a gamble, but it’s the only way ah see out of it.”

Range nodded again. “Understood.”

They broke apart.

Altic glared at Range, asking the question Snowglobe had thought better of: “What was that all about?”

Range placed his good hoof on her muzzle and grinned. “Don’t worry about it. Just think about what happens when we get out of the city.”

Altic went a deep shade of red. “Maybe we’ll get a bed for once... The ground makes my back sore.”

Yew hung her head. “Two bits says I know what they’re talking about.”

Range grinned, ignoring her. “You never should have made that bet, Altic.”

She smirked, going on the defensive. “Please, I can handle anything you can dish out.”

Snowglobe had to leave; the built up tension was just too much. Snowglobe turned away and set a slow pace for the carriages. She wondered if Dusty would miss her presence. In his state, probably not. “I’m going to to talk to Moon,” she called out.

No response.

She sighed as she scaled the coal tender in the wind and rain, not even bothering to conjure her magical shield. They were moving quite fast now, still on the elevated track. Lighting struck regularly, lighting small fires to buildings and trees, only to have the rain wash them out a moment later.

Mane sopping, she pushed through the mangled door of the first car to nothing. Rain slicked the floor inside from holes in the windows and roof. She shivered; the rain really was cold.

Leaving the empty carriage behind, she moved on to the second. They were all in here, all twelve of them. It hurt her soul to know that they had started this journey with almost sixty ponies. Two fires had been lit on the wooden floor of the car, burning strips off wall paneling and remnants of what had been the seats before the griffon attack. The smoke wisped up to the ceiling and out a hole in the roof near the back of the car.

Moon picked Snowglobe out right away from where she sat with Jade and Sage near the fire. The pink mare whom Snowglobe had somehow not learned the name of sat with them, foal wrapped in her forehooves. Upon approach, Snowglobe realized Jade and Sage to be asleep, the dark pegasus wrapped tightly in the turquoise mare’s grasp.

“It’s about time we got moving again,” Moon said once Snowglobe had sat down, looking in a motherly way at Jade and Sage. “These two haven’t slept for days.” Her eyes sparkled for a moment before she looked up at Snowglobe. Worry immediately clouded her face. “What’s wrong? We’re moving again, so that means Dusty has to be back... Right!?”

Snowglobe sniffed. “That’s just the thing... He’s... H-h-he’s...” She couldn’t finish.

“Dead?” Moon asked, her voice squeaking.

“N-no.” Snowglobe slumped.

Moon’s features flooded with understanding. “Infected,” she whispered, eyes going unfocused. Her eyes drifted backwards to her shotgun tethered to her saddlebags.

For the second time this hour, Snowglobe let the tears come, crying openly. “Moon, I just don’t know what to do.”

Moon wrapped a hoof around her neck.

Snowglobe tensed. The weirdest sensation was filling her body. Her mane was fluffing out and every hair along her spine had begun to stand straight up. “Do you feel that?”

Moon frowned. “Feel wha—”

There was a flash of light and a crack of thunder that seemed to tear the air in two, leaving a painful ringing in Snowglobe’s ears.

Moon jumped into the air. “I think that hit us!”

Jade and Sage flew awake in a tangled mess and the pegasus let out her signature squeal. “What was that!?”

There was a sudden rush of air and the scenery outside the windows went dark.

Snowglobe trotted up to the window, fearing the worse. She breathed a sigh of relief. “We’re in a tunnel.”

“We’re on fire!” Moon yelled.

“What?” Snowglobe spun around. Moon’s words had been no lie. The whole back of the the car they were in was aflame, and the whole one behind that had already gone up like kindling. The fire whipped sideways from the forward momentum of the engine in the tunnel.

“You have got to be kidding!” Moon screamed as ponies fled around her to the front of the car. “There is no way we can be that unlucky!”

Jade balked at the quickly-spreading flames. “Did... we just get struck by lighting?”

“Somehow,” Snowglobe answered. She looked over to Brick for advice, who sat calmly in the corner of the room, the fire reflecting in his eyes. He was once again wearing the gun. Despite the urgency of the situation her mind wandered to a matter not really important at the time. “How much ammo do you have for that thing?” she asked trotting over to stand beside him.

He glanced to her, then reached back and tapped the ammunition container mounted to the weapon, giving a little shrug.

“Only one?” Snowglobe asked worriedly.

He nodded.

Snowglobe harrumphed. “I’ve been meaning to ask, if it isn’t too blatant... Are you mute, or do you just not like to talk?”

He only grinned.

“Damnit!” Moon screamed, pounding her hooves on the floor, looking like a schoolfilly in a temper tantrum. “Damn this luck! Lighting!? Really!? Come on—it’s just not fair!”

Smoke was beginning to fill the car, trapped in the confines in the tunnel. Although the wood was wet, it burned like dried pine needles.

“Are zombies and griffons not enough!?” she went on. “What did we do to deserve this!?”

Snowglobe trotted up to the brown-maned blue mare and placed a hoof on the small of her back. “At least nopony died this time.”


*              *              *




Dusty hung his head out of the cab window, straining to see down the tunnel in the light of the headlamp. Altic had fled to the back cars once the lightning had struck, leaving Yew to shovel coal alone. The feeding screw below the locomotive deck was doing much of the work, but extra was still needed.

Ears perking suddenly, Range limped over to the left side window and peered out. “How fast are we going!?” he yelled into the wind.

“About sixty,” Dusty replied.

Range pulled his head back in, looking rather nervous. “You’d better brace yourselves.”

“Range?” Yew asked.

The stallion sat back. “These tunnels have steel doors installed on either side. The army had them installed a few years prior with intentions of being able to lock down the city, were the need to arise.”

Dusty opened the throttle. “Let me guess...” The already-pounding pistons picked up the pace on the slight downward angle, aided by full steam from the boiler. “They’re wide open?” he pleaded.

Range braced himself against the back of the hotseat. “Locked and sealed. Who could have guessed?”

“A little easy on the sarcasm,” Yew said sourly, tossing down the shovel.

Range gave her a smirk. “Well, I was just—” The whole engine jerked like a wagon crashed into the side of a barn. Range’s head whipped forward, glasses flying, and he spun over the top of the hotseat like a pinwheel. He thudded down on the hoofplate, right on his bad leg.

Yew didn’t fare too better. He whole body shot forward and she toppled to the floor.

Dusty, having braced himself against the front wall of the cab, received only a small bit of shellshock.

Range screamed in agony from where he rolled around on the floor, muscles contorted.

The engine howled out of the tunnel in a rush of smoke and twisted steel, shedding remnants of the containment door like a second skin. The driving rods chewed up chunks of steel, clanking and screeching in protest. The burning cars trailed out next, the flame soaring now that it was once again exposed to fresh air.

Dusty stooped down to help Range up. “You okay?”

“No,” he gasped, barely making it to his hooves. His face was dead white. “Where’re my glasses?”

Yew looked around and spotted them in the corner of the cab. She brisked over and picked them up, then returned to Range and shoved them haphazardly onto his face. “Did you land on your leg?”

He nodded, eyes pinched tight shut. “Shit it hurts.”

The Big Buck was no longer traveling on an elevated track, but at ground level between factories and industrial buildings. This was one of the lowest places in Canterlot, and apparently it was also the dirtiest. It was definitely a more industrial district. While everything in Canterlot above had been nicely-colored, the buildings farther down were just about every color of the dirt spectrum.

Dusty didn’t like the way the engine pitched and groaned as it rounded casual corner at high speeds, but he couldn’t slow it now. If what Range and him had discussed was true, it wasn’t long before the army’s improvised blockade.

The rain had stopped for the time being, but thick clouds still blotted out the sun.

Yew gave Dusty a light nudge. “Where do we refuel?”

He nodded ahead. “There’s a coal and water tower ahead.” This was another lie.  They had removed the coaling tower from the main line of this track quite some time ago. Now, most steam engines had to take on water and coal in a siding.

She fixed her eyes on him determinedly. “I’m with you till’ the end, Dusty.”

He shook his head. “Ah don’t want you around for when ah go.”

Yew gave him a hurt look, and intended to reply, but was interrupted. “We’re on fire!” Moon yelled, scrambling over the coal tender.

Dusty cocked a brow at Moon as she stopped before him. “What, how?”

“Lightning,” she panted. It was—” She stopped when she looked into his eyes. “Sweet Celestia...”

He blinked, feeling the blood as it ran from his eyes and down his cheeks. “Ah... only think ah got an hour at best.” His eyes drifted past Moon, to the railyard that was looming in the distance. He searched for the old locomotive shed amongst the others.

“I can’t believe this.” Moon tore her eyes away from Dusty. “Y-you can’t die.”

Dusty almost told her to stop right there and then. He didn’t think he could handle one more pony mourning for him before he was even dead.

She laughed, trying to cover pain with humor. “D-do you... do you remember that one time back in the hospital, in the hallway, w-when the lights went out?” she reminisced. “And you saved me from myself? And that pony thought y-y-you were...”

He went to place a hoof on her, but stopped halfway through the gesture. Something inside him was wrong. He wanted to hurt her. The mare in front of him made him angry, and he had to hurt her.

“Dusty...” Moon squeaked when she looked up at him and hurriedly scooted back, throwing glances to her shotgun. “P-please don’t. Not now.”

He took a step towards her, teeth bared, bloody saliva dripping from his lips. All he saw was her, and he had to hurt her, had to bite her.

“Dusty!” Moon yelled. She magically raised the shotgun, still not pointing it directly at him.

It was gone. Dusty fell back on his rump. His mouth tasted like copper and his head spun like a top. Both Yew and Moon looked at him fearfully. Range didn’t exactly looked scared, but unnerved nonetheless.

Dusty turned away in shame. “Leave me be.”

Zombies were now appearing quite commonly, alongside the track or lumbering around in the distance, some of them unfortunate enough to be standing on the track.

Dusty turned to Range. “You should get back to the cars. We’re stopping soon.” He gave the tiniest of nods in Range’s direction, and the stallion nodded back.

“Right.” Range stood up, balancing on three legs and nearly falling over. He sighed, and motioned towards Moon. “Blue mare.”

Moon pointed towards herself. “Me?”

“Yeah.” He breathed a long sigh. “I’m going to have to have to ask for your assistance.”

Moon cast a long look to Dusty, then nodded. “Sure thing.” She offered him her shoulder, and the two made for the first car.

“Dusty,” Yew said once they were out of earshot. “I know you. I know something’s up.”

He blinked, trying his best to look innocent.

“What are you planning?” she pressed.

He rubbed his neck. “It’s best you don’t know.”

She stomped her hoof. “Damnit, Dusty! I abandoned you once—I’m not going to do it again! This time, I’m going to stay with you till’ then end.”

He shook his head. “Ah’m sorry, but ah can’t let you.”

“No, Dusty, I can’t just le—”

“No damnit!” He screamed, taking a step towards her and feeling terribly guilty as she shied away. “This is what ah have to do! This is my time, not yours! And for everything Celestia still stands for, ah ain’t lettin’ you fall with me.” He softened his tone. “You still got a life to live, whatever of it there may still be left to live. It may be my time, but it’s not yours... not yet. Not now.”

Yew fell back, stunned. For what seemed like the first time in her life, the mare had no words to speak.

Dusty looked back at the gauges. Everything was in check except for the boiler pressure, which was high. He looked back to Yew, and placed a hoof around her neck, leading the saddened mare to the back of the cab. “Come on. Let’s get you back with the others.”

“Dusty,” she said meekly as he led her towards the carriages. “You know I love you, right?”

He nodded. “Ah do. An’ ah love you too.” He felt weak; his whole body trembled.

It was a moment before he and Yew dropped down on the coupling platform at the back of the tender. He heard yelling from the cars behind, and saw the smoke from the flame rising into the air. Everypony had pooled in the first car, Snowglobe and Moon amongst them. The two mares spotted he and Yew, and rushed to meet them on the platform of the car, just outside the shattered doorway.

Dusty released Yew as Snowglobe trotted up and nuzzled into his neck. “It’s just not fair.”

He rested his head on the back of her neck, drawing in her scent. “Ah know it’s not.” He wrapped a hoof over her back in a tight hug, which she returned. 

He could have stood there forever, like that, wrapped in an embrace with the mare he could have very well come to love, but there was something that had to be done, and he was running out of time.

Regretfully, he pulled away from her. Her eyes tracked his hoof as it drifted to his right foreleg, and undid the straps holding Valediction and its holster to his leg.

“Dusty, no,” she argued meekly.

He passed her the aged revolver, and she took it absently in her magic. “This has been mine just about my entire life. Now ah want it to be yours.”

The mare sniffed. “B-but, Dusty, I don’t even like to use—”

“Then give it to Sunny,” he interjected. “Just... hold onto it... Ah sure don’t need to anymore.” He glanced back, ahead of the engine. The railyard was close now. It was time to make his move.

Dusty looked back to Snowglobe. “Promise me you’ll settle with a good mare, or stallion.”

She nodded and grinned just a little. “I promise.”

He looked over to Yew, who had so far remained silent. “And don’t you ever stop being bossy.”

Yew smiled sadly. “I never planned on it.”

“Good.” He stepped back to the coal tender and reached his hoof down, yanking the release lever on the couplings. The mechanism released and the cars began to drift away

Snowglobe balked at him. “What are you doing!?”

“Ask Range!” he called over the roaring of the wheels. “I explained it all to him.” He stood perfectly still, watching the gap slowly spread to a few feet. This was it.

The gap reached five feet.

“I love you Dusty!” Snowglobe called, tearing up again.

Ten feet.

“You’re the best brother a mare could have!” Yew called.

Fifteen feet.

Moon pushed between Snowglobe and Yew. “Just so you know, you were totally on my list of relationship possibilities!”

Dusty grinned.

Twenty-five feet.

Brick appeared on the roof of the carriage, a sad smile spread across his face. He stood up straight and raised his hoof in a salute.

Fifty feet.

Soon, they were nothing more than specs, drifting away into the mist. Then, they were gone, and that was the last time he would ever see them.

The engine was streaking through the railyard by the time he had scaled the tender and returned to the cab. His eyes picked out a familiar engine shed, doors still sealed and locked just as he had remembered them. 

His attention drifted to the controls. The engine was at war with itself. The gauges danced, half of them high, and several running into the red.

“Too much pressure,” he commented to himself.  Normally, the safety valves would handle this issue, but for some reason, pressure did not seem to be venting correctly. The coal screw below the deck still supplied the firebox with coal, and he pulled the lever to slow it.

Nothing happened.

He pushed the lever forward, then all the way back, but the screw still continued to work on its own accord. A quick glance to the pressure gauge told him that it was still steadily building. There was still a ways to go, and the pressure was rising too fast.

“I need to vent the pressure,” he whispered. 

Frantically, he looked for other means of releasing pressure. Stuck by a thought, he reached up and pulled on the whistle, it’s chime screaming low and loud through the city. Next he opened the throttle wide, giving the engine full steam.

It was a mind-boggling sight: a million pounds of steel screaming down the track at seventy-six miles per hour.

The whistle cut through the city like a hot blade through butter, stirring every zombie within earshot and drawing them towards the sound.

There was just enough slack in the whistle cord for him to tie it around a pressure knob, leaving the whistle calling on its own.

Glancing out the window nearly stopped his heart. The engines blocking the track were just ahead, side by side. All he had to do was clear one track and they’d be set.

Readying for the impact, he braced himself against the front wall of the cab, and waited, heart pounding in his head.

The larger engine collided with the front of the smaller in an almighty clash of steel. The engine, while small, still weighed enough so as it was not casually batted away. It stuck where it was as the Big Buck augered into it. The frame of the smaller engine proved weaker, and crumpled like a soup can under the seventy mile per hour impact. The Big Buck shook as steel met steel, nearly lifting off the rails. The smokeboxes of both engines burst, filling the air with an explosion of smoke and soot. Wagon-sized chunks of steel rained about from both engines.

The smaller engine folded, smashed like a bug on a windshield. It’s wheels broke free of the axles and went flying like three foot, thousand pound frisbees, tearing through the trackside buildings like they were made of tissue paper. The engine folded in two, smashed between the Big Buck and its own coal tender, the middle blasting into the air as it was crushed in two. 

The remnants of what had been the impending engine flaked away, strewn about like a thousand black bits hurled across the ground. Some shreds managed to get under the wheels, and the Big Buck shuttered as it flattened them, bouncing on the rails.

Dusty slumped to the floor. Miraculously, the engine had survived the impact, but definitely not unharmed. The smokebox had been completely disemboweled, along with the cladding on the superheating chamber. Black smoke poured around the cylindrical shape like a cocoon. Still, on the downhill slope, the monster machine was now traveling flat eighty.

Zombies. There were zombies everywhere, drawn from the inner city by the loudness of the engine. They ran behind the engine, beside it as it overtook them. Steel ground on the tracks below, only adding to their rage. The entire front of the engine was a mangled mess, the headlamp, somehow having survived, hung by a single wire, shining down and to the right, at the ground.

Through it all, the whistle cried its goodbyes into the gloom.

The gauges no longer read anything right; they spun and danced like ponies at a ball party. The only ones still functioning properly were the boiler pressure and water level dials. The boiler was nearly a hundred PSI past the safe limit, and hardly any water remained. Dusty reached for the water injector, but nothing happened. There was a powerful hiss of steam into the cab as the pressure plug melted.

He was driving a bomb. Without water, the steel boiler would stretch under the building heat and fracture, releasing all the pressure at once.

A stagnant gauge whirred to life as the front right piston exploded in a small burst of steam and steel, sounding like a small bomb. Rivets along the engine’s length popped and cracked. The boiler was now a hundred and fifty pounds per inch past what it was rated for; it could literally go off at any second.

Head spinning, Dusty flopped down in the hotseat, allowing himself to go limp. A sharp, left curve loomed ahead. At this speed, there was no way the engine would make the corner.

Ponies were right; your life really did flash before your eyes. Dusty sat back in the cabin, simply letting himself relax. A knob popped right out of the wall in a burst of steam and shot away like a bullet, but he hardly noticed.

He saw flashes of everything. His foalhood, leaving his parents, parting with Yew, growing up, work, jobs, mares, Desert Sage, the hospital... Snowglobe... Yew...

The Big Buck hit the corner at eighty and the wheels screeched, grinding against the rails. The steel groaned as the engine pitched dangerously to the right.

In a daze, he reached up and drew back on the throttle, cutting off steam to the pistons.

He felt it. The engine may have been able to flex in the middle, but that didn’t keep it from tilting up on the rightside wheels.

Dusty pinched his eyes shut.

The engine passed its centerpoint of balance and the wheels lifted from the track. A million pounds of steel hovered in the air for a second, suspended by momentum, before it smashed to earth in a deafening crash that shook the entire city. Steel and steam flew as the engine slid on its side, tearing up the earth and cutting through old apartment buildings like they were card houses.

The coal tender broke free of the coupling and slid away, parting from the engine for the first time.

Friction grabbed at the round top of the engine, and the still-spinning wheels faced the air as the mighty beast rolled to its back. Nothing obstructed the Big Buck’s path as it cut a swathe through the city, whistle howling. The earth shook again as it crashed down on the left side. Eighty more feet it slid before grinding to a stop in the middle of a large park surrounded by double-story buildings.

The zombies followed by the thousands, flooding the park from all directions like rising water engulfing an island.

The engine groaned and settled, steam leaking from multiple tears and gashes, the wheels that had not been destroyed in the crash spinning down.

Dusty blinked his eyes open, laying in a heap on the side of the crushed cab. Blood from a gash on his forehead ran into his eyes and mouth. He reached up a hoof from where he lay on his side and wiped it away. A sharp pain in his chest told him that there were broken ribs. He tried not to look at the bone protruding from the knee of his front, right leg.

By now, he figured he would have gotten over the fear, but it was still there. This was it. This was where he was going to die, in the wreck of a once-proud locomotive, alone.

He looked up through the window above him to the cloudy sky. The knob the whistle cord was tied to broke away, and the chime whistle died, the air going suddenly silent. His eyes darted to what was left of the gauges. The boiler pressure gauge still climbed. It had now gone past the red, and all the way back around to the zero. Dusty estimated it was somewhere around six-hundred now.

Slowly, his eyes drifted back to the window. As if aided by some terrestrial presence, the clouds parted, allowing the golden sun to shine down upon the engine through the window, lighting the inside of the crushed cab a beautiful orange-yellow.

The zombies were pooling now, pressing up against the engine and climbing up and onto the dented steel.

Dusty pinched his eyes shut. “Ponies always say something awesome here in the movies.” He laughed, coughing up blood in the process. “But I’ve got nothin’.” He thought for a moment. Slowly, a grin spread across his face. “Yippie-ki-yay motherf—”

The boiler ruptured, releasing thirty-million pounds of restrained pressure. The cylindrical shape of the engine blasted apart with such force that a shockwave trailed across the ground like ripples in a pond, shattering windows, tearing everything within a five-hundred foot radius to ribbons. It took a moment for the sound of the blast to catch the destruction it had caused, as loud as a thunder strike. Steam flew and a million pounds of steel took to the air, soaring off into the midst of the storm.

The steam spread from the boiler began to dissipate into the air, forming a rainbow in the sun’s rays that shone down upon the scene of destruction.

The city of Canterlot fell into silence.