Decisions
Chapter 10 - Decisions
Day Six
Holton
I—
Sunset pulled the pen away, staring down at the paper with red-rimmed eyes. I … What do I write?
She set the point against the aged paper, pushing it forward.
I want to go home.
The thought sent another ache through her chest, and she took a shuddering breath before continuing.
I want to go home. But I can’t. This— She stopped, shivered, then began again.
This is my destiny.
But I want to go home. Even if that meant leaving the palace, or Equestria.
It would have been better than this. I want to go home and I can’t. It almost hurt to put the words on paper.
This is all her fault. That much was true. If she’d just allowed me to embrace my destiny the way I should have, I wouldn’t be stuck here in an unfamiliar body, in this dying world, alone and ...
She paused before a choked, angry sob could escape her throat. Took another shuddering breath, eyes briefly turning to the scattered papers she’d gathered from the haul the night before. She’d made it back to the bookstore she’d noticed that first day at last, filling her wagon with as many relevant text, magazines, and old papers as she could.
She scribbled over the last line. I need to write this down. Just in case … A shiver rolled through her body. Just in case I don’t make it, but somepony comes looking.
This planet is called Sera. And the things that killed it … She paused. Well, I suppose they’re called Serans. But they did it to stop something called the Locust Horde.
Once more her eyes slipped to the images staring up at her from one of the faded and brittle paper she’d found at the bookstore. Sharp, vicious teeth. Thick, almost armored skin. Weapons held in clawed hands.
They’re like diamond dogs, she wrote at last. If diamond dogs were numbered in the hundreds of millions, were tougher than the toughest minotaur, and wanted to kill and destroy everything they found. They live underground--maybe did live underground, according to what the people here thought. Who knows how long, but they had technology beyond anything any of us have in Equestria.
So had the Serans, for that matter. She wrote on.
The Serans had technology too. Including a weapon called the Hammer of Dawn. Think of a giant magical cannon, firing a beam of pure energy … but in space, orbiting around their world.
They put weapons in space. Can you imagine that? Fired on chemical rockets that would put our science to shame.
First they used those weapons to beat their foes.
Then they turned them on themselves.
That’s why the horizon looks— Another shiver. —like ash. It IS ash. Millions of these “Locust” burst from the ground, overrunning city after city, killing everyone and taking what they found.
So their chairman, Prescott, gave the order. They evacuated everyone to a section of the continent built on the most solid rock they could find ... and they burned their world from orbit.
That’s why everyone left. That’s why no one ever came back.
They burned the world to ash to stop the horde.
She set the pen down, massaging her aching fingers and trying to keep herself from sobbing again. The paper had given her the numbers. Billions dead to the emergence of the Locust … and billions more would die when the strikes began. Numbers so large they barely seemed knowable.
Like burning a treeline to save a forest. Only in this case, they’d burned most of the world to try and save a small part of it.
It made her want to vomit. The destruction involved … Not even The Breaking killed so many. Millions died, but …
Over centuries. Sera had been home to billions.
All ash, burned and gone. She picked up the pen once more.
I don’t even know if it worked, she wrote. All I can find is information from before it happened. I’ve found signs that something did survive the evacuation of this city, that came back later, but …
At least now she knew why it looked like parts of the city had collapsed. They’d been tunneled into from below. Monsters emerging from the ground to kill everything they could find. To take the world as their own. Maybe.
They hadn’t even known what it was the Locust really wanted. There had been no communication. No warning. Just endless, horrible death.
I want to go home, but I can’t. I know that now.
She’d found an almanac, detailing the motions of the planet’s twin moons, charted their orbits.
The portal won’t open for at least another year and a half. By the seran reckoning.
She shivered again. It felt strange to be writing what amounted really to a note that was only to herself, but …
I can’t go home. Even if I could … I can’t.
She rolled her shoulders back, inhaling and exhaling once more.
She saw me here. This is why she didn’t want me to come. She was afraid of this world. That has to be it.
But I am stronger than she was. I’ll prove to her that this is my destiny.
Even if I don’t know exactly how to find it.
She sat back, running a hand down her face and setting the pen down atop the table once more. Outside the windows of her shelter it was raining again, heavy fat drops pelting the windows and running down the rooftops across the street.
Filling my buckets at least. She’d have water for a time yet, even if just to clean herself and her clothing with. And drink, though in small quantities.
I still don’t have a way to purify it. Rainwater was supposed to be fairly pure, but the rooftops weren’t exactly clean.
She sank back against her seat, staring up at the ceiling and trying to get the images she’d been looking at out of her mind. Her cheeks were still a little damp, but her breakdown had passed.
I haven’t cried like that in a long time.
In a way, it felt … right. There’d been so much to deal with over the last few days, from her rejection and exile, to the stress and terrors of the new world, to …
To realize I might never make it back. She swallowed the lump that was once again in her throat. What if that was the destiny she saw? Me dying, ripped apart, on some alien world?
But no … I saw a glimpse of it. And I was me. My real self, not this … weird Seran thing.
So I have to make it back, right? That’s how destiny works?
Except it wasn’t, a dark part of her mind pointed out. Not always. Cele—She had told her once that the glimpses of the future she was given seldom came to be the way she thought they did. They came true, yes, but the path wasn’t always a straight line. Nor did the result come the way one might have predicted.
She leaned forward once more, writing again.
I’m going to make a copy of my notes and leave it by the statue in a bag. Maybe if she comes looking for me she’ll find it. But after that …
She sighed again. I need to decide what to do. According to an atlas I found I’m hundreds of miles away from even the edge of the Jacinto Plateau, where everyone else was supposed to go. Over a thousand, actually. I don’t even have a good feel for how far a thousand miles is. I’ve got a way to figure it out, but … I don’t have any other means of getting there but walking.
I’m also defenseless and I’m running out of food, though I noticed a few places on my map that might have what I need.
I might be able to stay here and last until the portal opens— She pushed away the part of her mind that suggested that lonely wait was what Celestia might have seen. —but it would be a long eighteen months, and I don’t know how long the portal would stay open once it did activate. That would take more math then she’d been able to do at the moment.
I need to decide what I’m going to do. She paused, thought for a moment, and then scrawled again.
And I need protection. I need to learn more. There are “types” of these Locust, according to the paper. The little one I killed with my hatchet is one of the smallest. A “wretch.” The Locust use them like packs of hunting dogs.
The paper, at least, had included a nice diagram of the different dangerous Locusts and what to do. Mostly the instructions were “run.”
I need to decide what to do. Where I’m going to go, and how.
And … Again she paused. I need to figure out how these weapons the Serans made work. So I can use one. To defend myself.
Before I starve. She was already hungry, and her rations were getting low. And I have to eat more nuts.
She set the pen down, satisfied with her entry. Writing down her scattered thoughts felt good, like she’d been able to mostly gather them together. Plus I need to—
She picked up the pen once more, making a final note. And I need to find time to study Starswirl’s books. I chose a world that still had magic. I’m sure it’s here. I can feel it deep inside me. And there are hints of it in the writing of the Serans.
I just need time enough to find it.
“There,” she said, setting the pen down and blowing on the ink before shutting the notebook. She still felt a little wrung-out after her break-down but …
Who wouldn’t crack a little after realizing what happened here? Even thinking about thinking about it made her stomach cramp and her insides hurt. It’s … horrible.
“And somewhere here is my destiny.” Assuming she could figure out what it had to do with her wings.
She held her breath for a few seconds, then slowly exhaled, holding a hand to her chest and then pushing her worries away. Just like she’d seen Celes—her teacher do when she’d been unduly bothered by something. She’d taught it to her adopted niece.
But not to me. I guess she just assumed I knew it. She performed the exercise again, adding the recent thought to the ills she was pushing away. Now is not the time, Sunset. You’ve had your cry, you’ve let yourself worry. Now you need to act.
“Small, manageable problems,” she said aloud, pulling her hand back and repeating the motion for a third time. She felt a little better, like she’d pulled a weight off of her shoulders. And out of her mind. “And problem one is … food.”
Water was fine—she’d found another stash of the water jugs the day before when collecting the papers and magazines she’d gathered. Her food supplies, however, were quite low. And I’m tired of eating nuts. The raisins are already gone. I can last longer without water than I can without food, but right now I’m going to run out of food before I run out of water, and finding water is actually pretty easy now that I know where to look. In fact, she was fairly certain that if she simply took two wagons instead of one and spent a few hours, she could collect several week’s worth of water without much effort.
Especially if I can find out where it came from in Holton. Sunset stood, stretching as she rose above the table she’d been reading and writing at. Old papers and books stared up at her, all open to various pages that she’d referenced and read, each painting a slow but steady picture of the world she’d brought herself to.
So … food. She walked across the small living room, over to the windows so she could look down on the streets and watch as streams of water flowed past, heading for gutters that, for the most part, still worked. It was easy to tell where they didn’t.
Did Starswirl’s spell plan to give me waterproof boots? she wondered as she eyed one of the smaller pools created by the backed-up rains. Or was that just luck?
Still need to go over his notes. Another thing to put on her list. Which by now, needed to be a real list.
Watching the rain run down the eaves and gutters of the buildings across the street from her, however, felt good. Like she could imagine that it was washing away her own worries and concerns.
It was always nice when it rained like this in Canterlot, Sunset thought as the wind picked up, fat droplets splattering against the windows with heavy, wet splats. Half the city took a break and just let it happen, let the rain wash everything off, all the dirt and dust going into cisterns or down the mountain to the fields …
She pulled her thoughts back, though gently. Can’t do that here. You’ve got work to do if you want to eat. And you want to eat, don’t you? Her eyes drifted away from the windows, toward her dwindling stash of food and its few remaining cans of nuts. Besides nuts.
Food. She moved back to the table, this time taking a seat on the opposite end from her spread of books and papers. I need to find a source of food. And cooking equipment. The stove in her current shelter didn’t work, whatever fuel source it had used long-since cut off. Best place to check for both of those would probably be the camping store on my map. It might have been cleaned out when everyone left or … I might have gotten lucky.
“A camping store might carry food. But even if it doesn’t, they’d have a small camping stove of some kind, wouldn’t they?” She could remember the one the Guard had used when she’d been taken camping, a small portable thing for heating water—which could purify it—and preparing food. She rose for a second, grabbing her coat and pulling the map out of the city out of its pocket.
She thought back to her view from the tower as she spread the map on the table. It’s not far away, I think. “And there did look like there were similar stores nearby.” In Canterlot there had been pockets of different shopping areas, each with a bit of variety but also with a bit of a theme so they would attract the right customers.
At least, it had always seemed like it from those zoning meetings Cele—her mentor had required her to sit in on. Some sort of social “law.” Hotels’ law? There had been a name for it.
But it was a social law, not an actual one so … The same should hold true here. She found the campstore on her map, then compared that to the mark that represented her current position. It’s .. a bit of a walk, but nothing too bad. I’ll definitely get wet, though, she noted with a glance at the window. And this is wild weather, so it could last for days, or be gone in a few hours. So no point in waiting it out.
I hate it when my mane gets wet though. Almost on instinct she reached for the “bubble” of magic she could feel inside her, but once again it remained just as stubbornly out of reach, slipping out of her mental “grasp” like a bar of soap out of a foal’s hooves.
She let out an annoyed huff as she gave up. I will figure out how to access my magic. I will. For now, however, without a rain shield or even a quick-dry spell … I’ll have to use one of the umbrellas from downstairs.
It’s a tool, like the others. The thought helped her feel a little better, but still held a hint of having lost some part of herself. It’ll have to do.
Now for the real questions. First, what’s the best route from here to there? The map gave her a wide array of options, but … With all the damage this city has done, who knows how often I’ll have to backtrack to take a detour. Her journey for water the day before had led to her marking several of the massive sinkholes left by the invasion on her map, denoting areas where the damage was too severe for her to safely pass, or where the crashed carriages were too thick to easily pass through with her wagon. But that had been in a different direction than the one she would be heading in today.
“That route passes by a checkpoint,” she said aloud, just to hear her own voice. Almost without thinking she reached over and tapped one of the buttons on the children’s book she’d recovered from the school.
“The dog goes ‘woof,’” the tinny voice said. It wasn’t much, but it made the small living space feel less alone.
“I haven’t seen a dog,” she said aloud as she tracked several possible paths through the city streets. “Or anything other than the birds, actually. Not even mice.” A cold chill crept down her spine, nothing to do with the faint coolness of the room, and her mind slipped to the wretch she’d killed at the school.
That’s probably why. The feel of the hatchet at her hip was a comforting weight, even in her own shelter.
She laid out three primary ways to reach the shop before deciding it was good enough and moving onto her next question. “Do I bring one wagon? Or two?”
She realized she was looking at the children’s book again and scowled, shaking her head and stepping away from the table. “On the one hoof, I don’t know if I’m going to find anything worthwhile in the area. On the other … if I do, I’d rather bring as much of it back at once as possible with all this rain.”
She let out a low hum. “And the wagons have rain guards.” She’d not tested them yet, but surely they were more than decorative. “Making one trip in this weather would certainly be better than two …”
Another small gust of wind kicked fat drops of rain against the window, heavy splats sounding across the room and mixing with the faint drumming of the roof. Definitely better.
“Possible cons … I’ve never connected two wagons together.” It didn’t appear hard, certainly, but many things appeared easy until they were undertaken. “It’s morning, so I’ve got time … And the rain might stop.”
The last observation was what made the decision easy. Sunset turned for the steps, stopping only to gather her coat and her pack before she headed down the rear stairs. A precaution. Just in case. I’ll connect two of the trailers together, and if the rain’s let up by then, so much the better.
As it turned out, connecting the trailers together was easier than she’d even expected, the most difficult element of the entire project following instructions she could only passingly read. Still need more practice, Sunset thought as she locked the door to her temporary home behind her, rain already drumming against the umbrella she’d picked out and spilling over the edges. Maybe a few hours of study tonight. Or a day off. I could use a rest day. With actual rest.
“Once you have food,” she said, pausing as she turned away from the now-locked front door to check on her rain collection. She had half a dozen buckets set out now, carefully arranged so that each one spilled into the other as it filled, like some of the cascading, interconnected fountains in Canterlot. If … a lot simpler, and made of plastic, repurposed tubing, and tape.
Satisfied that the rain was filling them swiftly, she picked up the handle of the lead wagon and began to make her way down the street, the constant tap-tap of the rain against her umbrella merging with the faint scritching sound of the wagon train’s tires rolling over the paving stones and the wet, smacking thump of her boots.
Holton looked different under the rainfall. The slick of rain gave everything a gleam, like it was new, rather than old and run down. Except for the parts that were really run down, which the rain made somehow look all the more ancient.
It cleans everything off pretty nicely too, she noted, her boots splashing through a puddle of water cutting across the middle of the street. Ahead of her one of the divots left by the city’s attackers loomed, now a temporary pond, and she made her way around it, the wagons bumping and rattling behind her as their tires met the broken paving stones. This place will look different after the rain is gone and it dries out. Probably a lot more green.
Speaking—or thinking of which—I don’t even know what season it is. To her surprise, one of the things that had been made abundantly clear by the texts she’d found was that the inhabitants of Sera didn’t have even a rudimentary form of weather or seasonal control. They simply let their world do as it wanted.
Though the larger shock to her had been that no one controlled the sun or the moons here, a concept she still found herself struggling with. The sun for this world was massive, many times larger than the smaller sun that her homeworld had danced with. The moons simply freely spun, following orbits all on their own that they had kept for what the serans believed was millions of years.
Could we do that? She wondered. Simply coax the sun and moon into a stable rotation around our world’s gravity. Or is there a reason we don’t?
So many questions, and after only a few days of poring over a few books. How much more could I learn here?
Up ahead an intersection terminated in a massive sinkhole, tiny waterfalls cascading over the edges and down into whatever depths it held. Sunset stopped, tucking her umbrella into the crook of her arm so that she could use her hands to mark the obstruction on her map. One … two … three … four … she counted. Here. She scrawled the massive sinkhole on her map, eyes coming up to check for any signs of a way around it, but finding none. Not that she would risk traversing with her wagons, anyway. The sinkhole had taken half a building on one street corner with it, leaving a precarious, steep pile of rubble extending down into its depths. She could envision the brickwork sliding, taking her wagons down with it, and maybe even her.
Nope, let’s go … She eyed her map for a few moments, looking up to check her position. Left. Right there. The change wouldn’t put her too off of her course. I’ll just need to make sure to take a right … there. Six intersections down.
A gust of wind slipped down the street as she returned the marker to her pocket, jerking her umbrella back and sending droplets of rain spattering across her face. “Sunspots.”
She froze for just a bare instant as her mentor’s old curse slipped out of her mouth, then scowled, yanking the umbrella back into place and shielding her face as a second gust followed the first. Don’t think about it. Just … don’t.
The street that was her detour route had suffered some damage after the invasion—or attack, whichever it had technically been. It had been split into two by a narrow crevasse that ran almost perfectly down the middle, and she kept her distance from the bricks around the edge, instead working her way across the uneven bricks along the side of the street, the empty wagons bouncing along behind her.
Water damage. She’d seen something like it in Canterlot once. A pipe had burst during a heavy rainstorm, the water eating away at the ground around it until a portion of a street had caved inward. From the look of the water flowing off of rooftops and out of nearby ruined gutters, rushing down into depressions among the bricks, flowing to the center of the street where they vanished … Probably flowing into what’s left of that sinkhole back there and … wherever it goes. She glanced back at the hole, her eyes picking out shattered and overgrown street on the other side, but not any sign of the bottom.
I wonder how long that took? Thankfully the damage ended shortly before the street did, and she resumed her course, the wet slap of her boots against tiny puddles bounced back at her from the empty, blank buildings around her. How long has everyone been gone?
Yet another question she didn’t have an answer to. It’d be nice to know, but … Not essential.
She slowed. Ahead of her the street was partially cut off by another collection of barricades. But only on one side. The rest of the barricades extended into a small nearby parking lot. Another checkpoint, perhaps. Or a defensive position.
Tents of some kind had been set up in the “back” of the barricades, right up against a few of the buildings. They were weathered, the material faded and torn in places. She stopped, and she could hear the faint pats of rain striking them bounding down the street in time with the drops hitting her umbrella.
This wasn’t on my map. I must not have been able to see it from the tower. Like everything else, there were signs of battle and damage around it. One of the tents furthest from her position looked damaged, partially melted. As if it had been burned.
Once again she tucked her umbrella into the crook of her arm, carefully pulling her map out of her pocket and marking the checkpoint—or whatever it was exactly—for future reference.
The real question now is do I check it out now? Or later? She stared at the small checkpoint for a moment, running her eyes over the weathered concrete and sandbag barricades, then the worn, tattered tents. They weren’t cloth—not pure, anyway. The sound echoing from them as the rain drummed down was reminiscent of the same material that made up her umbrella. Some kind of plastic-based tarp, perhaps?
Her eyes shifted to the side of the street opposite, searching for a path through the transports there and finding a clear one. Or I could cut through the checkpoint itself, she noted, eyeing the clear openings in the barriers on both sides. Through them, she could make out what looked like low desks of some kind, or maybe seats, and she made her decision by stepping forward for a closer look.
Just pass through, she thought, the wagons rolling along behind her as she stepped closer to the odd checkpoint. In one side, out the other to get a better look, and then on the way back if there’s any … thing …
She slowed, and then stopped, her eyes fixed on the bones lying atop one of the small desks. Except it wasn’t a desk. It was a cloth cot, thinned and threadbare, half-rotted after who knew how long under the elements. Sunset’s eyes shifted back to the weathered tents, searching the faded coloring and finding a faint blue symbol on each one.
It wasn’t the omnipresent gear symbol their government loved so much. It was a different symbol, six thick blue lines arrayed in a manner that reminded her of an asterisk.
Between it and the bones arrayed around on cots, some of them next to metal arms that extended up above them like spindly metal trees, the connection was obvious. It’s a medical post. An emergency medical center.
But why here? Surely a city of this size had a hospital?
She pulled the map out once more, her mind suddenly itching. There, near the city center, was the same symbol on the side of the tents above a blocky building shape. She’d not gone back that direction since her foray to the town hall—or whatever it was called on Sera. One mystery solved, at least.
But probably not worth checking out. Well … maybe. A site like that would be a prime location for scavengers, and she hadn’t forgotten that the grocery store had clearly been picked clean.
A hospital would be a prime target, too. At least, if the Locust had been as violent and savage as the serans had claimed.
Her mind flashed back to the library, and a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool air rolled through her. Better to avoid the hospital if at all possible, then, and check smaller, more out of the way places—like the camping store—for supplies.
As welcome a distraction as the planning was, however, it didn’t get her any closer to completion. Not until you put one hoof in front of the other, Sunset thought, her eyes coming back to the bones as she slipped her map into her pocket. Cut through or …
She almost sighed as she stepped forward once more, her boot splashing down on the wet stone. I’ve already seen a lot of bodies around the city. It’s just a few more.
Somehow, it still felt different, though how exactly she couldn’t quite pin down. There were signs that the violence that had swept over the city had come to the station as well. Some of the cots had been scattered, knocked aside, aged brass tubes littering the ground around them.
The source was only a few feet away, slumped next to the burned and damaged tent. A ragged set of bones still clad in the familiar, if burnt, armor of the COG, their weapon still clutched in bony fingers. Had they been the only guard, expiring alone to defend the people in the tents? Or had they been one fallen and left to eternally defend that which they’d sacrificed for?
And would they approve of her picking through what they’d sacrificed themselves to defend for supplies? Her thoughts oscillated between approval and refusal. I doubt they’d mind if it saved my life, Sunset thought. But at the same time probably only as long as they knew I was seran.
At least very few of the records she’d read through so far had made reference to ghosts. It wasn’t likely then, that the soldiers spirit would rise from whatever great beyond the serans believed in and object to her presence. But even so …
She pushed on, exiting the other side of the medical station without a backward glance, leaving the fallen to their eternal vigil. The rain picked up, the drops coming faster and with more weight, the once-light impacts slowly but surely becoming more pronounced.
Three. She counted off the intersections as she passed them, ready to move back from her detour. She kept a loose focus on the buildings around her as well, searching for anything that was outrightly interesting, but many of them didn’t appear relevant to her purposes, or were barred and boarded anyway.
Not that that could stop her. Not anymore. There was a prybar in one of the wagons, and she had her hatchet as well. Both would make short work of mere boards, provided the payoff appeared worth it. Some of the chains she was seeing however … a little less so.
Five. She passed around a larger carriage—Car—noting the flattened wheels but also its massive empty rear bed. A thousand miles, whatever a mile is, sounds far. Maybe I could get one of those—
She dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it had come. A long shot. If they still worked, I’d still need to learn how one worked, and then find fuel. If it didn’t work, I’d have to learn how to fix it, and …
Realistically that might be what I have to do to achieve my destiny. Put in such a manner, it didn’t sound as daunting.
Six. She turned off the street, her path relatively clear, and once again found herself back on her original course. Not far to the camping store now. I really hope it hasn’t been hit. There was a knot of worry inside of her that she’d find there what she’d found at the grocery store: Rows of empty shelves, picked clean by evacuating citizens, scavengers, or maybe even the Locust. Though she couldn’t imagine the last having much to want from a camping center.
Not that the COG knew what the Locust wanted. At least, not from what I’ve found. Her eyes drifted over a dirty plate-glass window, a water cooler visible through it, and she made a mental note of another possible water source. Outside of just killing every seran they could get their hands on.
Focus. She was nearing the camp store now, her quick stride eating away at the distance. Moving on two feet rather than four hooves still didn’t quite feel right, though natural, but there was no denying that it was far more capable than she’d have expected based on her first few days. She was even adjusting for slips now, shifting her balance and her new body to even herself out without even thinking about it.
Thank the sun it wasn’t raining when I arrived, Sunset thought as one boot slipped to the side once more, forcing her to adjust her balance. The echoing rumble of her wagon train bouncing over the broken ground behind her reinforced that her slip hadn’t been through much fault of her own. Just another crack left behind by erosion or one of the nearby divots from the attack. I would have been miserable. And wet.
The street ahead of her was relatively clear once more, even of carriages, and she picked up speed, running her eyes along the storefronts. Not that one, not that one, no idea what that one is. Or was, I guess. The windows were barred in addition to having been boarded up, and the door had been chained shut, but someone or something had torn them away and smashed the windows. Through the dark holes she could make out empty shelves. Whatever it had been, the scavengers wanted it badly.
Her eyes darted to the signage, worried shooting through her that the battered store might have been her destination, but the faded lettering didn’t mark that at all. Gon … and … pown? No, p-a-w-n. Pawn! Like a hawker’s market! And that first one is—
Oh. Gun. That explained why the store had been raided, then. Scavengers, since it had happened after the place had been locked up. Looking for weapons. Or ammunition for the same.
Another reminder that she was walking around with only a hatchet. One thing at a time. Food first. She continued down the street, watching each storefront carefully on both sides.
As it turned out, her caution hadn’t been needed. The camping store was easy to spot, sitting right on the corner of an intersection with a small parking lot for the carriages next to it and giving it the appearance of jutting out even further than its neighbors.
Better yet, it looked completely untouched by the violence that had consumed the rest of the city. The single-story store’s windows were long and narrow, set just under the dripping eaves … but they were solid and in one piece. As well as thoroughly out of her reach without something like a ladder. The front door was still solid, and the rusted chains holding its lock in place still looked firm.
Only an issue if she planned on using a front door.
She headed for the open lot first, the wagons bouncing up onto the sidewalk behind her. The rain was coming down harder than ever now, to the point that her long-distance visibility was starting to become poor, and the occasional gust of wind was carrying fat droplets past her umbrella and into her front and sides. The parking lot, while open, wasn’t draining properly, making a shallow, square pond deep enough that the rain plopped against its surface.
Access door, Sunset thought as she strode through the shallow pond, grateful for the waterproofing of her boots. Employee access door. Most businesses had them. She just needed to find it.
But, at least from the lot, there wasn’t any visible entryway that she could see. Unless it’s hidden. There had been entrances like that in the castle and in some of the older homes of the nobility, holdovers from an earlier time and traditions held strong from Unicropolis and its kingdom.
Still, I don’t see any obvious lines or seams that would mark an entryway, Sunset thought, stepping up onto a small sidewalk that rimmed the side of the building. Or obvious marks on the pavement from one opening. That was one way to spot some of the older doors around the castle she’d noticed. Looking for marks of wear in the floor or carpet where the tight seam had slowly scraped away at things.
But there was no sign of that here. Maybe they only had the one entrance, she thought, glancing toward the front of the store. And I’ve got a pry bar, but those chains looked pretty tough despite the rust.
No, there’s got to be another way in. Rather than turn left toward the front of the store, she stepped off of the small sidewalk, her boots making splashes with each step as she headed right, toward where the back of the store met with the flat, featureless wall of another building.
Or at least, mostly featureless. There had once been a mural of some sort painted over it. But the paint had been blasted by wind, sun, and rain for so long that there was little left, and she couldn’t even make out the image of what it had once been. Just faint splashes of faded color here and there. An advertisement? A slogan? Just color and images, designed to elicit comfort and security?
Whatever it had been, all that was left for certain now was a grey wall made of something that looked like concrete and the crawling tendrils of green plant life snaking their way across it. They, at least, seemed to be enjoying the heavy rain.
But there was, Sunset saw as she drew closer to the back, a gap. A small space, just a little wider than her wagons, between the wall and the back of the store. An alleyway.
With a small ramp in the sidewalk leading up to it.
Gotcha. She smiled. Why have something like that by the gap unless the gap was meant to be used? There was even a small stream of water on the far side, running out from behind the shop along the base of the far wall. If there was an access door for the rear, that was where it was going to be.
Oh yeah. Her smile widened into a grin as she stepped up to the entrance to the back of the alley itself, rainwater swirling around her boots. This was meant to be used. The overhang from the roof extended a bit further back, shielding most of the alley from the rain and spitting a torrent of water out of two gutters, one at each end. The gap extended all the way to what she guessed was the next street, or at least the next building down in the line, but someone had erected a heavy chain-link fence across it, blocking the alley off.
Which might be a problem, she realized with a glance back at her wagons. The alley was barely wide enough for them as it was, and if she pulled them in after her … The only way out would be to back them up. Which is … tricky. Easier to do with hands than when she’d been a filly, but still difficult to do.
Right. She could leave the wagons outside of the alley for the time being. Checking to make sure neither was about to roll away on her, she flipped the handle back up over the first wagon’s rain cover before chiding herself.
Of course they aren’t going to roll away, she thought as she stepped into the alleyway, the drumming of the rain against her umbrella lessening. The lot is level. There’s no one else here. And if you come back and they have moved—
She cut the thought off with a quick, viscous mental chop. Nope. Not thinking about that in the abandoned city. Nope.
Thankfully, her distraction was in sight. Halfway down the length of the back of the structure the dull brown coloration gave way to something light and grey. The employee entrance! She picked up speed, her boots squelching through rotten leaves and mud. And … it’s locked. Of course it is. Someone had taken the time to secure the rear door with a latch and a large, heavy padlock, dirty and weathered, but still sporting a bit of shine under all the grime.
“Well great.” Her own voice was loud enough that she almost jerked as it echoed down the alleyway, and she lowered her voice. “Front door is chained up, and the back door is locked up.” A light rap of her knuckles elicited a solid clatter. Metal. And cold too. She pulled her hand back, eyes flicking to the heavy metal latch and padlock. The arch that made up the lock’s upper half was at least as thick as one of her fingers, maybe more. Didn’t anyone on this planet ever not overengineer something? The sight made her want to growl, and she settled for baring her teeth at it. Not exactly pony-like behavior but … Not currently a pony. And she’d growled a lot in her natural form too.
There’s no way my hatchet or my pry-bar are getting through that lock, she thought. Maybe with a good metal saw I could cut it, but …
“No,” she said aloud. “That’s the obvious route. Come on, Sunset. You’re Prince— You’re an exemplary student. Don’t look for the obvious. Look for the clever.” She reached out and lifted the lock in one hand, the chill of the metal almost stinging her fingertips. “The lock is solid, and so is the door … and that latch, but …”
She grinned again. “The wall it’s built into is wood.” She ran her fingertips across the back wall of the shop, feeling the rough surface. What kind of wood she wasn’t sure, and it had been painted or worked to the point of being as alien to her as the rest of the planet, but it was still wood.
And wood could be broken. She lifted the lock once more, looking at the latch beneath it. The plate, or whatever it was that held the matching loop the padlock had been set through, was completely covered by the metal latch. She couldn’t see what had secured it to the wall.
But she could see that it wasn’t flush. The metal stuck out. There was no gap—not yet, anyway—but whoever had installed it hadn’t bothered to sink the plate in.
Probably because anyone who bothered to break in would have made enough noise to draw all kinds of attention, Sunset thought as she stepped back and tugged her hatchet from its holster. Eyeing the latch, she flipped the tool around in one hand so that the flat, blunt square of the head was facing forward, then brought it down in a sharp swing against the top of the padlock.
Clink! The metal-on-metal sound it produced was almost deafening, and she winced. The lock bounced, but didn’t budge.
Come on. She raised the hatchet high above her head and swung it down once more. Clink! The shock of the impact resonated through the rubber handle and right up her arm, a jarring vibration that made her wince almost as much as the sound had.
The latch still looked solid. Her eyes narrowed, a sudden heat rushing out of her chest and into her limbs.
“This is my stupid destiny!” she said, setting her umbrella aside and grasping the handle of her hatchet with both hands. “And I will not let some stupid lock stand in my way!”
She brought the hatchet down in a double-handed, overhead blow, bringing every bit of muscle she could to bear. This time the ring of metal striking against metal echoed, the impact of her blow leaping up her arms and into her shoulders so abruptly she almost dropped the hatchet and cried out in surprise. Panting, she looked at the padlock. There was a nice, shiny new scratch on the top of the arch. The back of her hatchet, at a quick glance, looked the same.
“Huh,” she panted. “Tough little tool.”
Then her eyes flicked to the latch itself … and the very faint, black line of a gap her strike had left, tilting the upper side of the plate away from the wall. A warm laugh left her throat, and she lifted her slightly sore arms, flipping the hatchet around and then pressing the edge of the blade into the crack her efforts had created.
It fit, but just barely. And not by much. The bite was so shallow she couldn’t even let go of the hatchet for fear of it falling out of place. But it was all the opening she needed. Holstering the tool once more, she picked up her umbrella, shaking off the mud and dirt it had picked up as he walked back to the wagons. A minute later she was back by the door once more, the hatchet’s edge pressed up against the crack once more … and her pry-bar in her other hand. The gap was much too small for the larger tool’s bluntened edges, but that was all right.
I can make it wider, Sunset thought, bringing one end of the pry-bar down atop her hatchet like a crude hammer. The blow rang, but more importantly it shoved the head of the hatchet just a little further down. She swung again, the metal-on-metal ring reminding her of the sounds of the fresh Guard cadets beating their armor into shape.
Again. She brought the pry-bar down a third time, then a fourth and a fifth, each time driving the head of the hatchet a little deeper into the gap, driving it like a wedge. After her seventh hit, she let the handle go. To her satisfaction it stayed put, held by its bite between the latch-plate and the wall of the store.
Perfect. But … She eyed how much of the hatchet’s face was behind the plate. Probably not enough. She gave it another few blows with the pry-bar, then tugged at the handle. It didn’t budge.
There. Now to get some leverage. The blunt claws of the pry-bar wouldn’t fit into the gap she’d made, even widened. But they did fit into the space behind the hatchet’s handle, and its rubber coating would help it bite.
Using Archineighdes principles of levers to maximize my own effort, Sunset thought as she worked the claws behind the handle of the hatchet. I should be at least doubling the amount of force I’m putting on this plate. She braced one boot against the base of the wall, her other slightly back. Ready, and … pull!
She pulled the pry-bar outward … and it popped free, almost sending her staggering back. A few days earlier it would have. I’m getting better at this two-legs thing. She drove the bar back into place and pulled again.
This time both it and the hatchet popped free, the latter clattering to the ground and spattering mud around it. But Sunset smiled. The only reason the hatchet would have come free was if …
Yes! The gap between the wood and the latch was even wider now, though still not enough for the clawed head of the pry-bar. She shoved the hatchet back into place, wiped the mud on her hands on her pant leg, and then pushed the pry-bar in once more. This time the whole head slipped under the handle, and she grinned. Gotcha! A lock is no match for my knowledge! She heaved … and there was a telltale squeak as the plate behind the latch gave even further.
Again the hatchet fell, but she didn’t care. She left it lying in the dirt and mud, her focus on the now much-wider gap between the plate and the wall. The latter let out a heavy thunk as she drove the pry-bar against it, the blunt claws of its head slipping into the space her careful efforts had created.
“Yes!” She hauled back on the other end of the pry-bar, the heavy metal bar moving out but then stopping as it fought against the latch. “Come on! Give it up!” She began to tug against the bar with the weight of her body, almost bouncing on her feet with every pull. “Give!”
It was working. With each backwards bounce she could see and hear the screws giving way. She was doing decent damage to the wood of the wall as well, but given the state of the rest of the city, it wasn’t like there was anyone around to care.
One of the screws popped free with a loud squeak, the bar slipping and her shoulders slamming into the back wall of the alley. She pushed forward again in an instant, driving the pry-bar home as she sensed weakness. This time the head of the tool let out a faint clink as it connected with one of the screws, coming to a stop, and she yanked backwards once more.
Another squeak sounded, only fueling her enthusiasm, and she reset the bar, pulling for a third time—
And with a loud crunch of breaking wood the latch gave way, breaking away from the wall and swinging freely out into the alley.
“Yes!” Sunset cried, holding the pry-bar over her head and staring at the door. “That is how you open a locked door without magic!” She lowered the bar, almost feeling sheepish at the outburst, but then shoving the feeling away. Who’s around to hear you celebrate anyway? Nopony. She could feel a warmth surging in her chest—not magic, but a sense of pride at outwitting the heavy lock.
Nothing’s going to stop me now, she thought, stepping forward. I’m going to get into this store, find whatever equipment they have, and then I’ll be one step closer to—
The doorknob refused to give under her fingers, sticking in place with a faint, tinny click. It was locked.
“By Cele—!” Sunset caught herself as she almost let her former mentor’s name slip out. No, she thought. Not even as a curse. She settled for letting her frustration out in a long, drawn out growl as she eyed the door.
They had the padlock. Obviously they didn’t trust the lock on this door. It can’t be that bad. And you have a pry-bar.
A minute later, following an almost ear-piercing shriek that made her wish she could still fold her ears down, the second lock gave, and Sunset yanked the door open at last, letting out a triumphant cry.
“Finally!” The inside was dim, light just illuminating a small, open storage area, probably for unboxing shipments or collecting them before taking them out to the store floor.
But it was enough. She was inside. Or rather outside, looking in.
She picked her hatchet back up from where it was lying in the dirt of the alley and carefully wiped it off against her leg. A quick look at the edge showed that it hadn’t seemed to pick up any extra wear and tear from her rough usage against the lock, and she slipped the tool back into its holster. She didn’t clip it in place, however. Just a precaution.
All right, Sunset. You’re in. She took a moment to fold up her umbrella and nestle it the crook of one arm, her other hand going into her jacket pocket and coming out with a flashlight. Let’s see if it’s everything you’d hoped it would be.
The first thing she saw as the beam of light flickered out over the interior of the shop was a thick layer of dust, coating everything like a grey carpet. Not that there was much to coat. The back room was simple and straightforward, a bare space with a single set of empty shelves and a small workbench. Minus the dust, it could have been the back of any shop in Canterlot.
A wheeled moving tool of some kind—she actually wasn’t sure what it was called, but it looked similar to a tool she’d seen movers use where she’d come from—sat against the wall next to a workbench. There were two doors out of the room: One set next to the workbench, right near a corner in the wall and from the angle, she suspected, led further into the shop. The other was off to her right, and heading into what looked like another back room, one with dusty glass windows looking at where she was.
A break room, maybe. She took her first steps into the back, leaving boot-prints in the coating of dust, and scowled as she saw some of it swirl up into the air. Going to need to clean up after this if the whole store is like—
The door behind her slammed shut with a bang, and Sunset let out a shriek, instinctively reaching for both her hatchet and her magic. One of them she was able to grasp, and she spun, hatchet out and at the ready.
Only to find a blank metal door under the beam of her flashlight. Her eyes flicked to the small, folded metal arm at its top, and she let out a nervous laugh, belying the frantic pounding in her chest.
Really should have seen that coming, she thought, panning the beam from her flashlight along the floor by the door. There, just off to the side by her bootprints, was a large, sturdy brick, worn and chipped, and clearly there for only one reason.
Still, knowing that the door had pulled itself shut didn’t stop her heart from pounding as she slowly pushed it open once more. Nor from checking the alley to make sure she was alone before shifting the brick over to keep the thing open.
This time it didn’t slam shut, even when a faint gust of wind moved through the alley, and she let out a slow breath as she turned around, a shiver running down her back that had nothing to do with the cold.
Okay. Let’s try this again. Her flashlight beam fixed on the dusty windows to her right, to what she suspected was the break room, and she walked over to them, her boots making soft thumps against the dusty concrete. Closer, it was easy to see what lay behind them, and it was— Exactly what I expected, she thought. Under the light of her flashlight she could see a small table and a few chairs, along with two more doors, both open. One held a toilet—so the store bathroom—and the other a desk. A tiny office, then. For the owner or manager.
The light from her flashlight glimmered as she played it around the small break room, and she smiled. A stack of water bottles was arrayed along the back wall of the room, next to a small countertop. One of them looked empty—cracked, the floor beneath it warped from water damage—but she could see three others that looked intact.
Water and toiletries. She added both to her mental list of things to take, then shifted her beam to the other side of the room. A calendar on one wall, hanging from some faux-wood paneling. A faded poster of some kind extolling what looked like camping products. And a door, smaller and narrower than the one leading out of the back storage, but almost certainly leading into the same place.
The store. It was time to see if she’d found what she came for. Turning away from the window, she stepped up to the rear door, examined it for a moment, then reached out with one hand and pushed it open.
The door let out a faint squeak as it opened, the sound so sublimely simple and straightforward part of her nearly expected to see bright lights and ponies wandering the aisles.
But she didn’t. The beam of her flashlight played over dark shelves, dimly lit by dusty, dirty light. The shelves were, at least where she was, low enough that she could see over them, and ran all the way to the front door and what looked like a checkout register. Which was merely a continuation of a long, low glass countertop that ran almost the whole length of the store, her flashlight glinting off of dusty metal behind it.
But the thing that made her smile, her heart leaping in her chest, was that the shelves were stocked. What with, she couldn’t tell yet, but it hardly mattered. She plied her light over a canoe of some kind hanging from the ceiling and smiled. “It’s stocked!” she whispered, stepping further into the store, one hand still holding the door open. She moved the flashlight’s beam to the nearest shelf, taking in rows of small boxes and cylindrical glass jars. What they were she wasn’t certain—though the pictures on them gave her hints—but it didn’t matter.
Nothing in the store looked touched. The store could have opened for business if the dust had been cleared and the lights been working.
Stocked. Everything she could need. Sunset stepped forward, grinning as the rear door swung shut behind her, plying her light over the shelves. With each shelf and item her grin widened.
Tents. Camp stove. Walking sticks—probably. Canoes. Backpacks. Hiking gear. Climbing gear. Thermoses. Other things she couldn’t identify.
Bows. Arrows. Her flashlight moved to the space behind the counter.
Firearms. She recognized the long, boxy shapes. A few of them were almost identical to the weathered, battered weapons she’d seen clutched in the hands of dead soldiers.
I did want to get one eventually … I guess this would be as good a place as any.
But right now, there were more important things to look for. Where do I start?
Food was the obvious choice, assuming the store had any. But there are all these other shelves, and no labeling. Her smile shifted to a frown. You need a system, a … Got it!
She moved down the aisle directly in front of her, running her eyes carefully up and down each item on the shelf. Spices? She eyed the small glass jars. No, seasonings. For meat.
Then again, whatever this world had in place of cows didn’t appear to be sentient at all, so … Maybe. She reached out, picked a jar at random, and set it on top of the shelf, where it stood out at head-level.
She did the same as she moved down the entire length of the aisle, picking up any item that looked interesting and setting it atop the shelf where she could clearly see it, building her own set of markers. Cast-iron pans and skillets? She set one atop the shelving. Thermoses and utensils? They went atop a shelf as well.
A whole section of various water filtration systems? She sounded out the words, and then a box at random went atop the shelf without a second’s hesitation. She could pick through them later to find the one she needed.
Clothing for all manner of excursions? Boots? Her own was holding up nicely, and the stock was covered in dust, but even so … She continued onward, adding a sleeping bag in a small sack and a tent in a similar stack to the shelving … and then she turned onto an aisle that was nothing but plainly labeled boxes.
Labels she could read, however, with a little effort, and she sounded one out. “Dried … fruit mix! Food!”
She didn’t hesitate for a second. Boxes went up onto the top of the shelf without her even checking the label. Food. A whole aisle of it. She checked a few of the other labels. Instant soups. Canned beans. Jerky—dried meat, but she’d take it.
A whole aisle. Food enough to last her for weeks. Maybe longer.
Part of her wanted to open one of the boxes right away and dig in, to eat something other than nuts or raisins. To dig into a can of soup right there in the store.
No. She pushed the hunger away. Take everything back first. Get the items you need, load up the wagons. You can come back later and get more. And then …
She paused for a moment, standing still in the middle of the aisle. And then you’re going to need to make a decision.
The store would give her everything she needed to leave the relative safety of the city. Water purification, cookware. Firestarters, even, based on the pictures she’d seen in one aisle. To make up for her frustrating inability to access her magic.
Even weapons. Her eyes slipped to the wall behind the counter, where an array of firearms hung. Her eyes slipped further, toward the bows hanging nearby.
No. Her gaze slipped back. A bow wouldn’t stop one of those things I saw at the store. If there are still Locust out there, I’ll need something solid.
Because I can’t stay here. Not in Holton. For a little longer, maybe. Just to get my feet under me. In more ways than one.
But I won’t find my destiny in an empty city. I don’t know where it is for certain, but it’s not here. It just doesn’t feel right. I need to find … Jacinto.
Wiping a bit of dust from her face, she turned back to the shelves and got to work.
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11095324
Delta squads in your house bitch! Ya hear that SHIT!?
Good sunset now u need to learn of the danger that lurks within the very ground u tread
And with her luck, she'll be just in time to be conscripted for Operation: Hollow Storm.
11095609
I can clear that up. It's not a code, those are just the letters she's having difficulty writing with fingers and frequently making mistakes with. That it happens to align with "sera" and "Gears" is coincidence.
1600 km o 1000 Miles, that is about 30 days by foot, by car, it could be 4 days, so, ste Will definetely need a car, to carry her as far as it can, them by foot.