//------------------------------//
// Leaving the Nest 
// Story: The Coming Storm 
// by Jay911 
//------------------------------//



MAY 24



        So I woke up the next day spitting out a feather.


        What the hell?! Did I rip open the sleeping bag? I wondered. I couldn’t even remember if it was down-filled.


        And why does my side hurt?


        I rolled over and got myself oriented properly - that is, lying belly-down in the SUV’s “sleeping area” - and saw something that gave me yet another surprise.


        It was a feather the same color as my new body’s coat.


        Looking myself over (and only then realizing that I hadn’t worn glasses at all the day before - apparently transforming into a mini-horse returns your vision to 20/20), I blinked in surprise to see a feathered appendage tucked against my side.


        What the hell, I repeated in my head. A quick glance on my other side proved I had a matched pair. Except, of course, for the one feather I’d managed to pluck overnight.


        So I’m a short, stubby, fuzzy talking pegasus? I wondered. How had I gone all day not noticing the wings on my sides? Well, of course that was a question with a simple answer - I’d been overloaded with changes and revelations. I just couldn’t process them all.


        The ham radio was still on, the mic stuck where I’d left it, the radio receiving nothing. The phone was still replaying my new voice over and over, even though I hadn’t been awake to open the mic and transmit.


        Shit, the battery’s gonna be flat, I realized. I squeezed between the two front seats, standing partially on the console, and pushed the vehicle’s start button, thankful I’d sprung for the deluxe model with the keyless ignition. Turning a key would have been next to impossible, even though I’d managed some mild dexterity hoof-wise.


        Luckily, the engine turned over, and the vehicle went into idle properly. I backed up into the sleeping area and lay down again, finishing off the last of the loaf of bread.


        Food and water, I reminded myself as I had “breakfast”. I’d managed to get something to drink the day before by filling a sink in the common bathroom, and later biting the top off a plastic bottle of water from a neighboring campsite. If I was going to survive, I was going to need to find a steady source of nourishment.


        Nagging (groan) at the back of my mind was another troubling thought. I was a fan of what I termed ‘apocalypse fiction’; I’d watched Life After People. I knew what was going to happen to the world if things were going the same way all over as they were at the racetrack.


        Non-automated processes were surely already gone. Some automated stuff would be giving up the ghost soon. It was surprising that the cell sites and other such stuff were still running. The ham repeater needed power too, and I proved to myself that it was still on the air by keying up and giving my distress call ‘live’. The hiss of the repeater at the end of my transmission was the only response.


        The area was served by a nuclear power plant, I recalled. Unlike what people think, an unmanned nuclear power plant isn’t going to explode or melt a hole through to the Earth’s core. Without the proper inputs, they’ll slowly go into a dormant state, shutting down and going into safe mode, for the exact insanely-unlikely situation I was living right at that moment.


        So anyway, the point is, power would last until the reactors put themselves to sleep. After that, backup generators would kick in, and likely give another three days - 72 hours - of life. Once that was gone, things would get really quiet (and dark) really fast.


        Don’t get me wrong - I had no delusions that everything would shut down nicely like that. I was particularly fearful of places like steel factories and other industrial sites that used particularly dangerous processes. To be honest, I’m surprised I didn’t see fires on the horizon.


        Not just from burning buildings - everything from the above catastrophes to the simple situation of a stove left on; aircraft too. Planes had to go somewhere, especially if the crews just vanished. Maybe the fact whatever happened did so in the middle of the night (apparently) helped limit the number of crashes, since fewer planes would be in the skies at three in the morning.


        The sound of the truck idling brought me back to the present. What could I do? I’d gone through my meager supplies, and wasn’t up to rummaging through others’ campsites for scraps. There was clearly nothing here at the track - for me or anyone else.



        It took nearly a half an hour for me to get settled in the driver’s seat. It was still quite uncomfortable to sit the “normal” way, but I grinned and bore it, so to speak. Once again Lady Luck shined on me; the power seats, power adjustable pedals, and power adjustable steering wheel made it possible for me to adjust the controls to fit my new size.


        I looked in the side mirror at the EZ-Up I hadn’t taken down. I had no idea if I could get it down without wrecking it, and even less faith in being able to re-erect it somewhere else. Besides, I was planning on going towards civilization, not away from it, and was hoping my next bed would be a real one, under a building’s roof.


        I put the truck in gear, eased the pressure off the brake, and the first known horse-driven automobile went on its way.



        I had put the ham radio on scan, searching for any signals, and only found the occasional data signal - automated telemetry - disheartening me further.


        It hadn’t occurred to me until then to try the car stereo. I had to stop in order to gather enough dexterity to turn it on and change stations and bands.


        There was nothing but static - and the occasional “dead carrier”, meaning an open channel with no audio - on the FM band. I thought I’d hit pay dirt on the satellite band, but it turned out to be pre-programmed broadcasts - the way a lot of stations were run these days, computer-driven playlists being pumped out without an operator at the board.


        I saved the AM band for last. AM signals go a long way, and if I was lucky, I might come across someone who was in the right place for their signal to bounce, or skip, to me.


        A frown crossed my furry face as the only signal I picked up was one, solitary, weak and distant pre-programmed station playing the same Beatles tune over and over.


        I turned the radio off again and turned my attention back to the road. Surprisingly, it was empty; I’d expected driverless cars to be crashed into one another and scattered along the ditches and shoulders. Then again, I reminded myself, whatever happened did so at three-thirty in the morning.


        I got onto the 35 and headed south towards the lake. As the road was clear, I could go whatever speed I liked, and the truck was just fine at 150 kilometers per hour. Fifty over the limit… in Ontario, if you get caught going that fast, your vehicle is seized and you have a mandatory court appearance.


        I smirked. If I managed to catch the attention of a cop today, I’d gladly take the ticket in exchange for being in the presence of another person. Then again, would he dare to stop a vehicle driven by a grey-and-purple pegasus?


        I howled with laughter for fifteen minutes at that thought.



        A short while down the road, my joviality gave way to surprise and shock, sort of. I was seeing other living creatures, but I shouldn’t have been so dumbfounded.


        In a pasture adjacent to the highway was a cluster of cows, milling about, chewing on grass, and doing what cows do.


        I’d pulled over and shut off the engine to make things as quiet as possible. I rolled down the window (why do we still call it ‘rolling’ down the window when it’s just a button now?) and listened, trying to determine if any of them were talking.


        “Hello,” I called out after a moment’s silence. They mainly stared back at me or continued on with their day.


        “...Moo?” I said questioningly.


        The one or two that had been watching me turned back to their grazing.


        Feeling foolish, and disheartened, I sighed and powered the window back up, starting the truck and carrying on.



        Ninety minutes later, I was in the city. There was nothing more of note than there had been at the racetrack. The roads were devoid of traffic, but to my surprise, most of the traffic signals were still working. Evidently the power was going to last longer than I thought… but I couldn’t count on it working forever. I needed supplies and fast.


        A nearby shopping mall was my goal. I stopped in the fire lane - again, like when I’d been speeding, go ahead and arrest me, I’ll kiss you for it - and tumbled out of the truck, not having planned for a way to disembark gracefully.


        “Fuck,” I mumbled, rubbing my probably-bruised rump with a hoof. And not cluing in that I shouldn’t really have been able to bend that way. In any case, I went to the mall doors and found them locked.


        Of course… the mall would be closed at 3:30 in the morning, I chastised myself. I looked around for something to break in with. I thought momentarily of just bashing at the glass with a hoof, but knowing my luck, I’d get badly cut and end up bleeding to death right where I stood, or limp for the rest of my days… however long that turned out to be.


        I found a trash can halfway down the fire lane with a lid on it, with the metal flappy bit that acted like a hinged door. I managed to kick it off the top of the can and boot it back to the doors, then pick it up in between my front hooves. Rearing back and up, I lifted the can lid over my head and flung it at the doors.


        BWNNNGG!


        It bounced harmlessly off the laminated glass, and I ducked and sidestepped to avoid getting hit. The evasive maneuver was unexpected and so I fell over on my side.


        I growled and stood back up again, going over to the lid and kicking it again. It skittered across the pavement and rested against the door.


        Thinking about it for a second, I grabbed at the lid with my hooves/forelegs again, trying and eventually managing to prop it up so it was resting against the glass, on top of the metal frame of the door.


        I turned around and measured up the distance, parking my rear hooves over the propped-up trash can lid, and prepared to let loose with a kick.


        Here goes nothing.


        I shifted my weight forward, then lashed out with a mighty buck - or as mighty as I could muster.


        “Oof!” I cried out as the door and trash can lid rattled. I looked over my shoulder(s?) and saw that, to my surprise, the glass had weakened and broken in a little bit.


        I kicked again, and again, and lifted both my back hooves off the ground and bashed as hard as I could one more time, and the glass panel, even though held together by plastic laminate, had peeled away from the frame far enough to let me in.


        I ducked under the crash bar on the door and squeezed my way inside, wishing I’d brought a flashlight. Power was on, but only the power that would have been on in the middle of the night, meaning most of the lights were turned low, and I’ve never really seen a mall where the light switches are readily at hand. Hoof. Whatever.


        All the shops were shuttered too, with their glass or mesh/metal barriers drawn. This is going to be harder than I thought.


        My hooves made loud clicking sounds on the cement floor, making me feel exceptionally conspicuous. It was a conflicting feeling - on one hand (and I’m deliberately using ‘hand’ here, lack of hands be damned), I desperately wanted to find another living creature; on the other hand, making enough noise to be heard all over the mall made me fear that something bad would come looking for me.


        There was no way to deaden the sound of my hooffalls, though, so a-clopping I went through the corridors.


        Even though it had only been a couple of days, there were smells in here that made me think something bad had happened already. Going against my good sense, I followed one scent to the supermarket anchoring one corner of the mall. I couldn’t get in past the barricades, but what I could see of the meat counter through them seemed to not be too bad off, and the power was still on. It still smelled like it was rotten beyond belief.


        I decided to come back to the grocery store later, after I had checked out the rest of the place. Maybe I could find a master key somewhere to open everyone’s barricades, or maybe another shop would be open. Failing that, I’d have to figure out how to breach the shutters, and a couple of good kicks probably wouldn’t cut it this time.


        Passing up the useless jewelry shops and clothing stores, I decided the next stop was the food court. Actually, back up a second. I said I bypassed the clothing stores, and I just want to touch on that a second. On the first day, after having my little crying jag, I tried to put on some of my clothes, but none of them fit at all, of course. They were too small in places and far too big in others. And I had a fur coat on, anyway, in the middle of a particularly warm spring. I won’t say I didn’t feel conspicuous every now and then remembering I was strolling around naked, but let me point out that I never once in my (human) life saw a horse that wore clothes, and I’m reasonably certain that (a) nothing in the stores would be my size, and (2) the turnaround time on alterations right now was probably pretty grim.


        So anyway, my naked self strolled on down to the food court, which was in the lower level of the mall at the other end. Backing down the escalator, I wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that it was switched off. I didn’t have to have a death grip on the rails like I had on the ped bridge at Mosport, though, so that was half-decent.


        Naturally, none of the stores were open in the food court either, but a couple of them didn’t have shutters, and I hopped the counter at a burger joint, despite the stench coming from within. From my time as a youth working in a movie theater, I knew how to turn on the soda fountain machines, and I stood there pouring myself cup after cup of Coke and guzzling it down. (Probably not very wise considering I’d get more hydration from straight water, but when you crave something, you go for it.)


        After three extra large drinks, I hiccuped and then let out a ghastly belch which echoed throughout the entire food court.


        I blushed as I ducked my head and pushed on the door between the front counter and kitchen side. Not very lady-like, I commented to myself.


        The odor was nearly staggering in the place, but I had to eat something, so I found a broom and unlatched the freezer, after turning on a grill and a deep fryer. Inspecting the freezer while I let the kitchen warm up, everything looked good, and the power was on in the freezer so everything was still well-kept. So I pulled out a brick of burger patties and a bag of fries, and set to making a meal.


        Do you know how difficult it is to use a spatula with hooves? I ultimately had to trap it in between both my forehooves just to make it work. I only cooked two patties at first in case the meat was truly as bad as it smelled, but the entire bag of fries went into the two baskets in the deep fryer.


        The smoke banked down in the place and triggered the fire alarm; it was then that I realized I’d forgotten the exhaust fans. Hooves over my ears to stop the bell from assaulting them, I pushed the ‘on’ button on the fan system with my elbow (?). Eventually the smoke and gases started clearing out, but the bells and strobes continued.


        By the time I found the panel to silence the alarm, my fries were done. I flipped the burgers as I munched on salted golden fried potato goodness. They weren’t bad, but weren’t as rich a taste as I’d expected them to be, after not having eaten anything of substance for a day or two.


        Finally, the burgers were done, and I realized I’d forgotten cheese. Oh well, next time. So I scooped the patties off the grill with the spatula, put them in between a bun, and set it down on a tray. Gulping down the butterflies in my throat, I dipped my head and bit a chunk out of the burger.


        Gack!!


        I spat out the horrible-tasting disaster of a burger. I couldn’t even salvage the bun, I was sure. The meat looked fine, but it was absolutely disgusting. Maybe this place failed its health inspection - but that didn’t explain away the bad smells everywhere else.


        I went around to the front side again and shoved a hoof against the little tab on the ‘water’ spigot on the fountain dispenser, chugging down fluid straight from the pipe, to rinse the taste out of my mouth. As I was drinking my fill and then some, a sound from behind me made me freeze in place.


        “Oh my God,” someone said.



        I stared in abject shock at the figure before me.


        Roughly the same size as me, a light pink micro-horse stared at me with wide eyes from under an orange and .. peach, shall we say? … multi-hued mane. It was wavy and surrounded her head in a style that looked rather human in nature, falling to a point just above her shoulder blades.


        Eyes with surprising yellow irises blinked once, then twice. “Are.. are you real?” came her voice again.


        I only nodded, too surprised to speak. Finally, after a few seconds, my wits came back to me. I’d finally found another survivor - or rather it was the other way around, it seemed. “Yes,” I said, nodding again. I didn’t know what else to say.


        Feeling something different about my form, I looked behind me and noticed my wings were spread wide as if I were a peacock or something. Damn you, I couldn’t get you to do so much as twitch when I wanted you to move, and now this? With a large amount of concentration, I was able to force the appendages to fold up.


        She approached the counter, and I myself blinked as I recognized that she was different from me. For one thing, she didn’t have wings. For another, she had a tapered conical protrusion sticking out from her forehead in the same color as her coat. A horn? She’s a unicorn? A miniature unicorn? A … minicorn?


        “Where did you come from?” she asked, still breathless and in disbelief. “I know you haven’t been in here all this time, I checked the whole mall out.”


        “I.. uh.. just got here,” I explained. “I was out at Mosport for the weekend… I found myself like this when I woke up Saturday.”


        “Same here,” she said, nodding and gesturing to herself with a hoof. “But we’re different.”


        “Yeah, I noticed,” I acknowledged.


        “Have you seen anyone else?”


        I shook my head. “You’re the first,” I replied.


        “Uh-huh,” she nodded. Then she took stock of my location. “What were you doing, trying to get something to eat?”


        “Yeah,” I responded. “But I think it’s gone off. Tastes vile, in any case.”


        She smirked. “Did you try to eat meat?”


        “Yeah,” I repeated, quizzical. “What?”


        “Don’t you know ponies are herbivores?”


        “Herb.. wait. Ponies?”


        “Yeah. Ponies… you know, little horses? That’s obviously what we are. Or some strange alien version of them.”


        “I thought ponies were a specific breed of horse,” I admitted. “With long manes and tails, and bred for… you know, I’m going to stop right now before I let my dumbness leak out.”


        The unicorn giggled. “Maybe that’s for the best. Now come on out of there and I’ll take you back to my place for a nice salad.”


        “Y-your place?” I asked as I clambered over the counter.



        ‘Her place’ turned out to be the Wal-Mart in the one wing of the mall I hadn’t visited yet. She’d heard the fire bell going off during my hopeless cooking attempt, and come running, worried that something attached to her hideaway was going to burn down.


        In the middle of the furniture section of the superstore, she’d carved out a decent nest. On one side, it was walled off by tall shelves she’d evidently pushed into place from the shoe section. Tarps from the camping and outdoors areas were fixed from there to the ground a dozen or so feet away to give her a private bedding area with a couple of mattresses and blankets on the floor. The former aisle had been repurposed, blocked off with shelving and carts to form some storage and a passageway to the electronics section, where two of the largest televisions were each set up with a game console and a DVD player. All the other televisions were on, set to seemingly random channels. Across the other side of the electronics section, all the laptops that would run were opened up and surfing various Internet sites, except for one computer which displayed the lock screen.


        Going the other way from the central nest area, a pair of low coffee tables had been set up, one as a prep table and the other obviously for dining. A shopping cart with greens and other non-meat products from the grocery aisles was at the end of the prep table.


        “Welcome to Casa Jill,” the unicorn said, lifting a hoof and waving it before us.


        “You did all this?” I said, impressed.


        “Yup,” she nodded. “If I’m stranded here, I should live in style, right?”


        I turned to look at her. “Stranded?”


        “I live… lived… in Calgary,” she shrugged. “Was visiting friends. When I woke up like this, and with everybody gone… well… I didn’t feel like taking over their home. Y’know?”


        I nodded, getting the picture.


        “So, like I said, I’m Jill,” she went on. “What’s your name?”


        I winced and tried to change the subject. “How far did you come to get here?”


        “Not as far as you,” she said. “My friends’ place is over on Finch.”


        “Did you set up any radios? Try to call for help?”


        “Well, I did turn on as many news channels as I could,” she said, walking towards the bank of TVs and gesturing at them with a hoof. “The ones that are still on the air, they’re just showing empty studios. It’s like everybody vanished in the middle of whatever they were doing. Pretty freakin’ creepy if you ask me.”


        “Yeah,” I agreed.


        Thankfully, before she could ask her question again, my stomach chose that moment to grumble.


        “Oh! I promised you some munchies,” she said, and hurried over to the prep table. With a dexterity that I found hard to believe, she took some of the fresh fruit and vegetables from the cart, peeling and chopping them, rinsing some of it through bowls of water, and placing it all in a large salad bowl. When she was done, she somehow managed to balance the bowl on her back, and walked back over to me, reaching up and taking the dish with a hoof before setting it down between me and the TVs.


        “Lie down and have something to eat,” she urged. “I’ll be back with a drink in a sec.”


        I did as instructed and nibbled at the garden of variety before me. To my surprise, it tasted quite good, and had an almost spicy tang to it, even though I hadn’t seen her dress it with anything.


        Momentarily, she brought back a small pail of water, carrying it by its handle between her teeth. “Eere ya oh,” she said, setting it down carefully beside me, and then lying down herself in front of the bowl, snatching a tomato slice from it and chowing down.


        “Thanks,” I said between bites. “I probably would have tried to choke down meat for a stupidly long time before I tried this.”


        “No problem,” Jill laughed. “So anyway, what’s your name? Where are you from originally?”


        My face reddened. Wait, can we blush in this form? “I don’t wanna talk about it,” I murmured.


        “Hey, come on now,” she said, poking at me with a hoof. “We could very well be the last two people, or ponies, in the world. The least you can do is tell me who I’m sharing my supper with.”


        Guilt racked me and won. “It’s…” I began, then grimaced. “I’m Tom.”


        “‘Tom’?” she echoed. “I’ve never met a girl named Tom.”


        I stared at her for a long minute, and just as I began to respond, her eyes widened. “You haven’t yet,” I said tinily.


        Yep, we can blush, as is evidenced by her cheeks getting even pinker. She bent both forelegs at the elbows to cover her muzzle with her hooves.


        “Oh I’m sorry!” she said, clearly hiding a grin. “You just look like-”


        “I am, as far as I can tell,” I bit out, frowning and diverting my attention to the food.


        “Really?”


        “You wanna see for yourself?” I shot back.


        Her expression changed as she realized how on edge the whole situation made me. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I’m so sorry.”


        I chewed on it - and a leaf of lettuce - for a minute before I shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it,” I said. “And you had no way of knowing.”


        She nodded. “Believe me, you are very much a mare.”


        I raised an eyebrow as I turned to stare at her. “How are you such an expert?”


        She smirked again. “Don’t take it the wrong way. Just, if you hadn’t said your name, I never would’ve known.”


        “Yeah, well… if we find anyone else, let me keep them in the dark, okay? At least until I find the right time on my own.”


        “I promise,” she said, putting a hoof over one of mine. “Your secret is safe with me.”


        We ate in silence a bit more, until she said, “I wonder why this all happened anyway. I mean, the whole pony thing.”


        “Your guess is as good as mine,” I said in between bites.


        “I like your radio idea,” she said. “Maybe we can find someone else, or someone who knows what happened.”


        “I have one out in my truck,” I said, gesturing vaguely toward the parking lot. “It might make sense to put it indoors and install a bigger antenna to get better range.”


        “Sounds like a plan,” she said. “Although it sounds like you’re planning to move in with me.”


        My brain stopped for a second at her accusing tone. “Buh,” I managed. I intended to argue that there was safety and strength in numbers, especially right now.


        She blurted out a laugh. “I’m just messin’ with ya. Of course you can stay. My Wal-Mart is your Wal-Mart.”


        “Thank you,” I finally said.


        She rose to her hooves. “You stay put and finish eating. I’ll set up a place for you.”



        I devoured the salad, watching the wall of TVs. As she’d said, the channels that were still broadcasting were showing either bars and tone or empty news studios where nothing at all stirred.


        This is looking bleak, I told myself, but then had to remind myself that to me, Earth’s known population doubled from the time I’d woken up that morning to now.


        Jill was a friendly, happy creature. I had no idea what she had been like as a human, but as a unicorn… a unicorn pony, I had to remind myself… she was certainly very accommodating and supportive.


        Well, maybe not that supportive. She took me to show off the sleeping arrangements she’d made while I was busy eating - she’d partitioned off another section of the furniture area, with another pair of mattresses and some tarps. But inside my cozy little den, all the blankets and pillows were adorned with Disney princesses and the like.


        “I got you some stuff to make you feel right at home,” she said teasingly. “Have a good night, Tom.”


        “Night,” I grumbled, but as I entered the shelter this stranger had built for me out of the blue, I couldn’t help but allow myself a tiny smile.