//------------------------------// // 5: Appleloosa // Story: Frequencies: To End The Signal // by Lord Destrustor //------------------------------// They made camp not far from there, in the shade of a particularly large boulder; the cavernous space between its underside and the hard stone ground proving to be an appealing shelter in which to spend the night. They spoke very little, occasionally peering north towards the gorge looming invisibly in the distance. They had come so close to death. Rarity shivered at the mere thought, the memory of the falling section of steel beam replaying in her mind every few minutes. For an instant, she had thought it was heading straight for her, aiming at her very body, seeking to end her life in a single bloody hit. And it shamed, terrified her to think that, had that truly been the case, she would have been unable to dodge or avoid it. She had been utterly paralyzed, frozen in absolute terror, incapable of merely screaming while the steel fell. If that object had been on a direct collision course with her, she would only have stared at it until the moment it crushed her skull in a red splatter. She was only alive through sheer luck. What would happen once it ran out? And when would that happen? “Are you okay, Rarity?” Spike’s question cut the silence, an echoing quality to it probably caused by the boulder’s mass above them. The white mare snapped her eyes away from staring at the trembling hoof she absent-mindedly held aloft before her. “Yes, I’m fine I- I’m fine. Get some sleep, dear.” She turned away from him and began preparing for the night. He simply watched her as she winced while filing the nub of her horn, while she brushed her mane in the growing darkness, and long after she finally curled upon herself with her head on the softer section of her saddlebags. He watched her agitated form in the night, her mumbled cries and twitching limbs uselessly fighting the nightmares he knew would haunt her for many nights to come. He watched until, in a single weary blink, the shade of night was replaced by the blinding morning sun, and he found himself lying on the ground with his limbs and tail curled up to his torso. He sat up from where he lay, noticing the claw marks around him indicating his own nightmares hadn’t forgotten to pay him their nightly visit. Scootaloo was already strapping her various pouches and pockets to her body while absently gnawing on an old, dry biscuit. Rarity’s mane glinted in the sunlight as she brushed it again, returning it to the calculated shape it had lost during the night. He chuckled as he retrieved the signal detector from his bags and set it on the ground. They seemed to have settled into a routine; Rarity making herself presentable for the miles of hopefully empty landscape they would soon resume traversing, Scootaloo erasing all traces of their prolonged presence here, and himself discerning their next direction. They’d done some minor variation of that every morning since they had left Ponyville. Next they would eat their actual breakfast, pack their things, then leave. And so they did. The morning sun was rapidly heating up the land once more, ridding the hardened earth of the small amount of cool moisture it had gathered in the night. The red dust soon resumed its powdery assault on the travelers’ colors, coating the hairs of the ponies’ coats and scaling the crevices of the young dragon’s scales. “Stupid dust, stupid heat, stupid everything!” Rarity’s mood had been rather poor since dawn, and it had only gotten sourer as the day advanced. Her sporadic tongue clicks had devolved into a quiet yet constant, frustrated and mumbled rant about most of everything she could see between herself and the horizon. “Didn’t sleep much last night?” Scootaloo asked as the other two passed her. She was perched on a rock upon which she had climbed to get a better view of the path ahead. The white mare wordlessly agreed with a rather undignified grunt, raising her eyes to the sky as she answered. “I swear that damnable train wreck will give me nightmares for weeks! I’m not even sure how much time I actually slept, if any at all! I need my beauty sleep, damnit!” The young pegasus caught up to them and returned to the front of the group, ever vigilant to the dangers ahead. There seemed to be none, which, as Applejack had taught her, meant she should be even more on guard. “Hey, well, welcome to my world, a world full of endless days and horrible nights. There are snacks in the insomnia club lounge.” The unicorn only grunted at the dragon’s attempt at humor and continued on her way. Spike watched as Scootaloo climbed up and down various stones, crags and ridges, the filly observing their surroundings in every direction, constantly swerving her head left and right and scanning every nook and cranny of the ragged landscape they traversed. Over the hours, millennia of erosion had slowly become apparent, digging trenches in their way and forcing the old road to oscillate down and through the criss-crossing pattern of gullies that marred the surface of the ancient plateau. The path would twist and turn, following a dry riverbed of dust for some time before ducking between the ridges to embark on another when the two shallow, immature canyons met. This went on for a while, the road jaggedly making its way south under the watchful eye of the train tracks who’d had the luxury of being built on what remained of the plateau’s surface thanks to their modernity. The road had to contend with its age-old path, decided in times immemorial by the hooves of ancient travelers who had merely found the path of least resistance across the clawed landscape. The riverbeds showed increasingly frequent signs of vegetation, solitary grasses and desiccated bushes profiting from the looser sand to reach deeper with their roots. The crumbling ridges and occasional arches became scarcer as the day went on, their opposition to the plants waning as they did. Soon, the stone that once made up the massive bulk of the kingdom-wide slab could only be seen in towering chimneys and crumbling crags, few and far between. By the time the travelers made camp that night, they were mostly surrounded by cacti and scant yellow plants. They set their bags down in the shade of a pillar of stone, under the branches of a leafless, spindly tree. Rarity had quieted down by midday, the fatigue of a bad night’s sleep followed by a busy day catching up to her. As soon as they had settled on a spot to spend the night, she had unceremoniously collapsed where she’d stood before half-heartedly wriggling her saddlebags to the side. She simply lay there for a moment, her eyes drooping while the others prepared to go to bed. “This probably used to be a beach,” she said listlessly, her gaze lost on some grain of sand, her voice cutting through the silence despite its weakened state. “What, really?” Spike drew his attention away from the two compasses, the one embedded in the steel cube having nearly finished deciding its orientation. “What I’d really what to know,” Scootaloo swallowed her mouthful of dried fruits, looking at the older mare in the dimming sunlight, “Is what that has to do with anything.” Rarity answered in a groan, rubbing her hooves over her face. “Oooh I don’t know! I’m exhausted but I don’t want to sleep yet. I suppose I’m just talking to stay awake.” Spike glanced at Scootaloo, who simply shrugged and went back to her meal, both of them hidden from Rarity’s sight by the hooves she still held to her brow. “Well, okay then. I guess talking never hurt anyone. What makes you say that, Rarity?” “Oh, it’s quite simple, darling,” the mare began, dropping her hooves back to the ground; one of them pawed gently at the sand as her voice became slightly more animated. “The sand is too light in color; it couldn’t possibly be that way if it had been eroded straight from the badlands back there. It would be just as red and full of iron as those rocks everywhere. That sand is probably full of sedimentary calcium, deposited by millions of years of marine animal shells being ground to dust.” “But we’re in the middle of a desert,” Scootaloo objected, “There can’t be fish and seashells around here!” “Do you have any idea how utterly old these rocks are?” she asked, pointing at the looming column above, “This plateau we crossed might easily predate all life on this planet. It would take millions upon millions of years to erode those massive, sturdy stones to what we see today; a lot can happen in all that time. Maybe plate tectonics pushed this land above sea level, maybe the continent closed in around this sea and made it into a lake that gradually dried off, who knows?” She chuckled, “I bet if we dig deep enough, we could even find a great number of aqueous geodes.” “Acke-what?” The filly’s face contorted in a moment of confusion, looking to the older mare for clarification. “Aqueous, dear; it basically means ‘water’. Do you know what geodes are?” She paused as the filly nodded and explained what she knew of them, reciting the lessons of her schooldays. “Well, aqueous geodes are what happens when one forms deep in a large body of water; it can trap some of that water within itself. If the geode stays in good enough condition, that water stays inside nearly forever.” “Oh wow that sounds delicious.” A small smile graced the unicorn’s lips as she blinked tiredly. “I’ve heard they are indeed, Spike. They are somewhat of a delicacy among dragons. They describe them as ‘juicy’. Maybe one day I’ll find a way to get you one.” As Spike smiled absently, no doubt lost in gluttonous thoughts, the sun finally set. Its last sliver of light dipped behind a distant hill, plunging the three in the bright dusk of the night’s immediate birth. Rarity rested her head on her crossed forelegs and yawned. “How do you know so much about this?” Scootaloo’s question snapped the others out of their reveries. “That’s the kind of stuff I’d expect Twilight to know, not… uh, you. No offense.” “Oh I bet she does know a lot more than me on the subject, dear. As for me, well, did you never wonder why my cutie mark isn’t strictly related to fashion? The thing about cutie marks is that sometimes they may… mislead you a bit.” Rarity straightened up, looking for words. Her eyes wandered up as she recalled the past, as if trying to avoid being distracted from her memories by the faces of her audience. A shy smile crept up her lips as she continued. “After I got mine, my parents took it upon themselves to… guide me, as it were. They began searching for occupations that fit not only my interests and cutie mark, but that would also be lucrative. They wanted to send me towards a bright future, I think they really did. So, in short, I may have, upon their suggestion, taken a few geology-centered classes at some point of my higher education. I could have become a prospector or even a wealthy mine owner had I stayed on that path.” “So why didn’t you?” “Because at some point along the way, I realized that fashion could very well be more than a mere hobby. I had the flair, the talent, the drive to do it, and the –ahem- need for attention required to make it a very real career. So I dropped everything, blew the rest of my college funds into buying and renovating the old building that would become my boutique, and… the rest is history, I suppose.” “Wow.” Some nocturnal bird called in the growing darkness, welcoming the night as one would greet the day. The air remained still. “I think we should leave the road tomorrow.” Spike’s voice cut through the silence as he stared at the signal detector. “It’s pointing exactly south-east now. I don’t think the path will be useful much longer.” Scootaloo shook her head. “Nah, we should keep going for a while. If I read the map right, we’re not far from Appleloosa. We could resupply there if it’s not a ghost town yet. We’ll probably need to anyway, actually; there’s not a lot of stuff to eat in the desert.” Scratching his chin, Spike answered “Yeah, you’re right. It won’t be much of a detour, and I am curious to see how they’re doing over there. What do you think, Rarity?” The white mare was simply lying face-first on the ground, breathing slowly and regularly in the thickening shade. The two youths shared a quiet chuckle and a smile. “Welp,” Scootaloo rose to her hooves to lay her bedroll properly. “I guess us adults should go to bed too, don’t you think?” “Yeah, you do that. I’ll just watch things for a while.” The young dragon turned his back to the rest of the group, absent-mindedly scanning the surroundings as the filly lay down to sleep. There were sand, rocks, and scarce vegetation, the train tracks glinting in the moonlight some yards away, unmoving in the darkness. The sudden whisper of flapping wings made him look up to spot a bird taking flight in the night sky, diving from the column of stone above. It flew before the crescent moon and further, its presence only betrayed by the stars momentarily blinking shut as it passed. The rest of the night was quiet. The rural town of Appleloosa turned out to be even closer than they’d anticipated. By noon the next day they stood on a gentle rocky hill overlooking the community. The blue sky above was marbled with white streaks of stringy clouds, and a very faint dusty haze bleached its color. The wind whispered lightly, just enough to ease the heat of the sun as they looked down on the small town. At a distance, it seemed… startlingly normal. Ponies walked the streets in peace, stopping to chat amongst each other and generally seeming to lead the same lives as before. While attentive scrutiny could detect a few signs that not all was as well as ever -namely a few suspiciously gutted houses-, the village was apparently no worse for wear. The travelers set on the final stretch of the road leading them to the town. It was a gentle but winding slope, giving them ample time to ponder how they would approach the village, and how they would be received within. All three of them were also admittedly eager to learn how The Signal had affected Appleloosa. To say the townsfolk were surprised to see visitors would have been an understatement. Most ran away to hide as soon as the three travelers were spotted, others armed themselves as best they could, a few simply froze and stared. The tension dropped quickly when the newcomers’ intentions were understood to be anything but hostile. Questions were asked, from many mouths and from all directions. The most common were along the lines of “where did you come from?” and “what’s going on out there?” The barrage of questions left no room to answer until a loud and cheerfully commanding voice cut through the din. “Alright everypony don’t be rude now! Let our guests breathe a little, there’ll be plenty of time for talk later! Come on now, shoo!” Rarity’s ears perked up as she recognized to whom belonged the familiarly accented voice. The crowd parted away from Braeburn’s approaching figure, the young stallion waving his hat around to disperse the ponies. “Now don’t be too put off by the townsfolk, friends,” he spoke around the brim of the hat still clutched in his mouth. “We’re all jus’ curious is all! We’ve not had guests in over a month!” He put the hat back on his head and finally opened his eyes, having held them shut as protection against the flopping headwear for the last several seconds. His eyes immediately lit up upon taking a good look at the newcomers. “Why hello there! I recognize you! You’re that friend of cousin Applejack’s! Miss… uh,” He faltered, his brow furrowing in a moment of hesitation. “Rarity,” said mare answered. “Oh, right! How could I forget such a lovely name? And Spike! Friend of the buffaloes! And this little lady I haven’t been introduced to yet!” He had tipped his hat to Rarity while she reminded him of her name, shook Spike’s hand vigorously as he greeted him, and held his hoof to the filly for the same. “Scootaloo,” she stated simply as she returned the hoofshake. “Well, miss Scootaloo, it’s a pleasure to meet you, and a real darn joy to see you both again! What brings you folks all the way down here to AAAAAppleloosa, if you don’t mind me askin’?” “Well,” Spike began, “it’s kind of a long story, but-“ “Say no more, little buddy! Where are my manners? You must all be mighty thirsty and hungry after that walk of yours through the desert, and I didn’t even invite you for a snack or anythin’. Shame on me! ‘Sides, like my papa used to say: any long story deserves to be told over a good meal. Now follow me!” The energetic stallion immediately turned and walked away, motioning for them to follow. The trio exchanged unsure glances, but ultimately found no objections to the idea of food and shelter from the sun. They hurriedly caught up to the perky farmer, passing the buildings and houses of the mostly-intact town. It didn’t take more than a few passing glances around for Spike to spot what had happened to the few houses that lay in skeletal ruins; a green house sporting red planks, a shed’s roof covered with a scab of haphazardly-nailed red boards, both patches matching the remains of a partly-collapsed shack off the side of the road. A few piles of scrapped lumber lying uselessly, nearly out of sight but still visible in all their discarded decay. The tall, red clock tower missing one of its faces entirely. Even Appleloosa used to have its fair share of unicorns. Braeburn kept talking as he led them through town, mostly about the ponies who had accosted the travelers upon their arrival, and their reasons for having such an insistent curiosity. “ …She has a cousin in Hoofington, you know, so she’s rightly curious about what’s happened and all. I don’t really know what’s got Dust Bowl so agitated though, he usually keeps to himself…” The apple farmer led them to a modest house on the edge of town, overlooking the orchard. A few trees seemed to have been felled and dragged to the side some time ago. They entered the dusty home, all four filing inside the one-pony living space. The sunlight of the advancing afternoon made its way inside through a remarkably unremarkable window, casting a bright patch of light perfectly centered on the modest table off to one side of the main room. The sunlit square propagated light in every direction, illuminating the entire space. Very few decorations adorned the room, practical and austere furniture lining the walls in every corner where an armful of simple farming tools didn’t litter the floor. The host directed them to sit at the radiant table, gallantly taking Rarity’s bags before heading off to an adjacent room, where he was heard fidgeting with what sounded like plates and glasses. He came back soon after, carrying upon his back a carefully-balanced tray of apples in a great bowl and a pitcher of water. Spike’s stomach groaned eagerly at the sight, reminding him of just how long he had gone without fresh, proper food. While Scootaloo had been an absolute boon in that regard, even the foraging she had been so diligent about had not come close to topping their dried rations as their main source of sustenance; and although the wild berries and surprisingly flavorful roots she had routinely found were a welcome addition to their diets of the past weeks, they could simply not match proper cultivated food. Braeburn put the offered meal down on the table and sat, transfixed for a moment by the spectacle of Spike literally swallowing one of the fruits whole without chewing. “So,” the earth pony began, his face bathed in the reflected sunlight of the table. “Just what brings you ‘round these here parts, folks?” Scootaloo washed down her first bite of apple with a bit of water, Spike’s own mouth currently busy crushing a second whole fruit while Rarity seemed lost in some uncomfortable thoughts. “Before we get to that,” she said, contemplating the apple in her hooves before reluctantly deciding that the second bite could wait for her to finish her sentence, “How’re things been going around here?” “Well, there ain’t been much going on since that day where all the unicorns went…” The stallion waved a hoof in the air, apparently looking for a proper word, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his movement was awkwardly reminiscent of the rude circular motion usually depicting mental instability. “…loopy, I guess.” He ignored Spike who seemed to have taken a sudden and keen interest in something located in the confines of his dusty bag. “When they got violent, most of us just hid somewhere. When we came out, they were gone. I guess they left ‘cause they didn’t want to do any more damage. We... found notes of apology and such, and they even buried some of the poor folks they got. And then… well, nothin’. We had maybe two visitors, not countin’ you, since then. Is it true what they said? That it happened like that everywhere?” “As far as we can tell, yes.” Rarity almost whispered, stubbornly avoiding eye contact with everyone present. The blonde pony leaned back in his chair, the act bringing him out of the bright zone of light bouncing off the table. “How?” he simply asked, “What the hay happened?” “That’s why we’re here, actually,” Spike said as he theatrically slammed the detector on the table, its cover open to show the compass’ needle crawling along. “We’re on our way to find out. There’s this… soundwave, this Signal in the air, that no one can really hear, that did this to the unicorns. I don’t know how many sources of it there are, but this compass points to the nearest one. And that’s where we’re going right now. We just thought we’d resupply here before moving on.” “Besides, it’s just plain good to know that Ponyville’s not the only town left in Equestria.” The stallion was silent for a moment, looking blankly at the table. Scootaloo returned to her apple after speaking, her companions already doing the same. “Now that you mention it,” Braeburn straightened up as he talked, “How’s Ponyville? How’d it go over there? How’s… the family?” Immediately, the farmer found that he didn’t quite like the uncomfortable looks shared between the young dragon and the other adult present, and that the immense grief that momentarily twisted the pegasus’ features was an extremely ill omen. “Ponyville… it, uh… it was pretty bad,” Spike eventually said, keeping his eyes glued to the thin red needle. “We had something like seventy unicorns over there. I don’t really know how many ponies there were in total, but last I heard there was a hundred and eighty left. Total.” “What about the Apples?” “Big Mac is fine,” Rarity began, taking it upon herself to approach the bad news with some tact, “still working on the farm as usual. Granny Smith is still the same comforting pillar as always. I would have expected her to be quite shaken and stressed by the recent events, but she just seems to believe that everything working out just fine in the end is simply set in stone already.” “Heh, well of course you can’t bring her down! Good ol’ Granny…” The stallion smiled in the silence. “But… is there something you’re not telling m-“ “Applebloom is dead.” The light itself seemed to drain from the room at Scootaloo’s blunt words. The three other occupants could only let their mouths hang open for a few seconds, both Spike and Rarity the first to recover enough to share a glance between them. Braeburn stared at the filly for a time before looking down and bringing his hat to his chest. Before anyone could say anything else, the young pegasus had dropped to the ground and passed under the table on her way to the door. “I need some air.” Were her only words as she exited, the subtle crack in her voice lost in the creaking of the door as it closed; a firm impact, though lacking the violence of a true slam. The cold void in the air lingered, with only a few distant sounds from outside to remind them that they hadn’t all suddenly gone deaf. It was finally Rarity who chose to break the silence, avoiding Braeburn’s gaze by staring at the young dragon across the table from her. It didn’t matter much, as the stallion remained hunched over, his mane hiding his face as best it could. “Applejack… she took it pretty hard, honestly. I was there when… when she was told about it.” Her own tears sprang forth. “I’ve never seen her so… so utterly destroyed as that day. Never before, never since. I… I could swear I h-heard her break. I couldn’t even-“ “Enough!” A hoof slammed on the table. “That’s enough! Just, just stop talking!” The white mare turned away, a choked apology escaping her lips. The two ponies stood frozen in place. “She didn’t even want us to leave,” Spike continued, hoping to bring up a more neutral subject. “She doesn’t want anyone to leave Ponyville. It’s like she thinks the entire rest of the world is on fire or something. She’s paranoid, controlling and aggressive these days. And since she basically controls all the food in town and has her own army, no one dares stand up to her.” Braeburn finally looked up as Spike talked, confusion and disbelief slowly creasing his face. “I think,” Rarity interjected, “she is… scared. I believe she feels responsible for everyone’s safety, that the least of her mistakes could cost somepony’s life. It’s holding her back, paralysing her.” She locked eyes with the farmer. “Braeburn, she needs help. She needs her family’s support.” “Yeah. She needs it more than her friends’, obviously,” Spike added. “At the very least she’d see that Ponyville isn’t the center of the world.” Braeburn’s eyes had wandered back down to his hooves, and he didn’t bother looking up to ask: “How? How am I s’posed to have a word with her? Walk all the way to Ponyville? Wait for the darn train to come pick me up? Did y’all even see the sodding thing anywhere lately? She ain’t exactly next do-” “We did, actually,” Rarity cut him off sternly, holding a hoof to silence the earth pony when he looked back up, ready to continue his rant. “It crashed in that gorge two days north of here, taking the bridge with it. We passed the wreck just before it collapsed. I don’t think the road north is an option anymore.” Pre-empting whatever the stallion was about to say next, Spike simply stated “I could send her a letter. It’d get to Ponyville in minutes.” The usually perky farmer lost himself in his thoughts for a moment, looking increasingly defeated as the seconds ticked by. “You’re right,” he relented, “sounds like she really needs some friendly words.” He rose from his seat, heading for the adjacent room. “I’ll have to think about this for a while. You’re welcome to rest here for the night, I’ll set y’all up later.” There was so much pain in his tone, so much sorrow. It sounded like a complete stranger to Spike. It was enough to make him regret coming here. Bringing news, he realized, now meant bringing bad news, no matter to whom or from where they came. They would probably spread much sorrow on their journey. Would it have been better to lie? Would it be best to do so in the future? He cast his gaze back to the detector, its red needle twitching south-east, pointing almost mockingly at the source of this suffering. His eyes narrowed and fire swelled up in his gut in a moment of overwhelming rage. Whoever or whatever caused this all would be made to suffer. He would make It squirm, make It regret, and, if at all possible, make it beg for release. He swore it to himself as he watched the stallion turn away, a stallion broken by the mere mention of the distant atrocities caused by The Signal. Before he could leave the room, Rarity asked him if there was a place nearby for her to clean herself a bit. The farmer spoke of a shower outside, behind the house. The white unicorn looked horrified for but an instant, before donning a bright, somewhat forced smile and declaring that it would be just perfect. Both ponies left the room after the exchange, leaving Spike quietly sipping water alone, thinking. Thinking about the Apple family, about the train, about its passengers, about The Signal and the countless ponies ruined by it. Thinking, inevitably, about Twilight. Hey Fluttershy. We’re alive, we’re safe, we’re getting closer. That letter is for Applejack. Fluttershy, as Spike already wrote, we are still in good health, don’t worry about us. I am sorry for leaving so suddenly, but I feel Applejack wouldn’t have let me otherwise. Take care of yourself dear. I miss you, and Applejack and Twilight as well. I promise we’ll come back. P.S. Scootaloo is with us. I suppose it would have been a good idea to mention this sooner. The piece of parchment was wrapped around the sealed envelope, its edges creased around the stationery to keep it clinging securely. Three ponies, each of a different tribe, each one damaged in their own way, observed the young dragon burning the light bundle of paper in a tongue of green fire. The sparkling cloud of smoke and dust headed north. The four stood in the morning’s light, the sky a beige haze above their heads in the young day. The juvenile pegasus, the white unicorn, and the young dragon sporadically adjusted their bags, trying to acclimate themselves to the recent increase in weight from the generous supplies provided by the earth pony. Their farewells were not a happy affair, their wishes of mutual good luck and good health were spoken without smiles, but they still remained honest and truthful. The three travelers left, leaving the farmer to his duties and obligations. To his grief. They turned their backs on him and walked away in the dusty, hazy air, heading south-east and leaving the road behind.