Fallout: Equestria - The Hooves of Fate

by Sprocket Doggingsworth

A Bridge Over Troubled Water

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE - A BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATER

"When you're down and out
When you're on the street
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you
I'll take your part
Oh, when darkness comes
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down" - Paul Simon

"People who try hard to do the right thing always seem mad." – Stephen King

Safety was the town of, like, a bazillion secrets. Secret doors, splashed with the letter 'R.' Secret agendas. Secret history. Secret societies of super sneaks. And now, secret tunnels.

…Because, of course!

No journey into a war torn hellscape ducky would be complete without a trek into the darkness through a dusty old wormhole. But at least this time, nopony was shooting at us. No Crystal Empire Wall Machines to swallow us up either. We even had a guide, and plenty of advanced warning, since, you know, tunnels were part of Misty's plan right from the beginning.

But I still wasn't thrilled about it. 'Cause tunnels are stupid and they suck and I really really reeeeally fucking hate them 'cause they're evil and annoying and dumb.

But the Pinkie Park tunnel wasn't even the first real secret of the evening, or of the Sneaker Society. The very first room that Iris led us all into, (after we'd said the oath of course), was…

* * *

"A skee ball room?" said Cliff. "Seriously?"

"Greatest game in the world," Iris squeaked with excitement. He reared up, and threw his hooves into a grand 'Ta-da!!!' gesture.

There was a whole row of skee ball lanes with skee ball ramps at the end of them, and concentric circles and all that other…you know…skee ball…stuff. But no tickets. No lights. No machinery. They were hodgepodge patchworks of hammered down sheet metal.

"The entrance to the tunnels is down one of those holes?" I stared at the smallest ring on the skee ball lane. Imagining two dozen super sneakers climbing into that tiny hole, four inches wide, marked: 10,000 pts. "So, uh...do we just…climb in?"

Iris snorted a laugh out through his nostrils. "Follow me."

He led us behind the row of skeeball lanes to a narrow walkway barred only by a single rickety door with the letter 'R' on it.

We followed him through it, past stacks of chairs, and rows of neatly coiled-cables. The faint light from the rec room was distant back there. It filtered through the mesh that lined the backs of the skee ball lanes, and cast a dull gray haze on us from above.

The ambience reminded me of the Hall of Eternal Twilight - where Pinkbeard had once brokered peace between the Walrus Queen and Lord Oystersworth of Coralopolis. It got me thinking about war. About peace. Walruses. Oysters. Ponies. Zebras. How Pinkbeard herself would one day become a symbol of resistance. Real resistance to a real war. Right here in actual Equestria.

"Yarr," I sighed to myself. A listless whistle through my lungs. And then…

DUUUJ! Suddenly my heart slammed into my rib cage. A battering ram of pure panic.

Oh, no! I was on my way to Fillydelphia to rescue a slave. And to escape into the Duckyverse (hopefully). And I had with me, in my saddlebag, the only copy of Pinkbeard and the Princess of Stripes. That book had survived the fires of history. Actual, literal fires. It survived the war. The bomb. 200 years of Wasteland. And it was gonna get lost forever to future generations. Because of me.

The sacrifices that the author made to stand tall against 'the jingoistic atrocity they call the war effort' - that was gonna get forgotten. Because of me. Memory of Pinkbeard herself would be erased too. Can you imagine that? A world without Pinkbeard????!!! All because of me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sweet merciful Celesti–

"...Aaahhh!" I snagged a hoof. Stumbled forward. Landed on my knees. And found myself face to face with that secret I was telling you about a minute ago.

Underneath the sheet metal skee ball lanes was wood. Real wood. Centuries old. Propped up with iron reinforcements, like those crumbling science-skeletons you see at the Equestrian Museum of Natural History. I could make out the framework. Even in that faint Hall of Eternal Twilight kinda lighting.

These structures had always been skee ball machines. That meant that the secret tunnels that'd been built for amusement park employees - they'd always emptied out into a rec center.

A brain-thought clobbered me. Like one of those wrecking balls you see at construction sites on the edge of town.

All the secret underground passages - they were designed by Pinkie Pie herself. The real Pinkie Pie. Not just a Doom Pinkie mascot floating around the skies, spitting flame, and bullets, and raining down vampire snails and incomprehensible terror. This was the Pinkie Pie that I knew.

Who else would spend weeks of extra effort extending a tunnel several blocks into the residential area of (what we now call) Safety, just so the park employees could end up in a rec center. Where they could party and have fun!

"Pinkie," I whispered to myself.

"Are you okay?" Iris spun around to rush to my side. My friends had knelt down and surrounded me too. I hadn't noticed at first.

"Pinkie Pie made this," I whispered in amazement. "All of this."

Iris shuddered. "Don't remind me."

Bananas Foster held her head high. Refused to emote outwardly in any way at all. Even in the dark.

But it hurt her to hear folks talk about Pinkie Pie like that. I could sense it.

And frankly, I felt the same way too. The whole thing pierced my heart with a question mark - the kinda question mark that haunts you, and then spills all of your heart-blood on the floor as thousands of little tiny question marks gush out of your chest with it, and you end up with this nasty puddle of question guts that you have to lie around and die in.

At what point did Pinkie Pie's cotton candy legacy turn to iron? How? Why? What had she done? What had she failed to do? Why was she so misunderstood? Who turned her into…this…this legend? This monster?

It's a secret I'd never learn. I still don't fucking know.

* * *

The entrance to the Pinkie Park tunnels was hiding in a maintenance room at the end of the walkway, behind a workbench which had been unbolted from the floor, and slid aside to reveal a loose wall panel.

And those tunnels sucked. Like all tunnels suck.

It smelled like a basement died of choking on its own vomit down there. If I didn't know any better, I'd say somepony had snuck into my mouth and stapled a nasty old gym sock to my tonsils.

The concrete beneath my hooves was splintered and slimy and nasty and every bit as gross as the air in my lungs. Even with Misty's unicorn light, I still stumbled everywhere like a doof.

But worst of all was Cliff and Foster. They both decided to hang back. Guard me from the rear. Just to make sure I felt safe. You know, 'cause I fucking hate tunnels, and have a tendency to kinda sorta overreact a teensy weensy little bit sometimes.

It should have been comforting to have my friends there. But something was wrong between them. Like, really wrong.

There was this silence. Not the sneaky kind. Like, the really really loud kinda silence. The kind of silence that screams. The kind of silence you feel in your chest. Like a greasy old vice twisting your internal organs into goo that comes bubbling up your throat in a volcano of organ lava.

We kept on going down. Always down. Stairwells leading to deeper tunnels, winding hallways. That gym sock basement air choking me the whole damn time.

Foster and Cliff's stupid fucking silence went on and on and on and on and on. Till we came to a patch of broken concrete - clumps the size of golf balls - and started shuffling carefully over them. Ckkkk. Ckkkk. Ckkkkk! Went our hooves. The perfect cover for secret conversation...

"Gah!" Cliff Diver let loose a muffled cry. "I can't hold my tongue anymore. I can't hold it in. I'm really sorry. I don't wanna be the…you know, whiny pirate, but something's really bothering me, and if I don't get this off my chest now, I'm gonna keep thinking about it, and thinking about it, and thinking about it, and ruin the whole mission."

Foster nodded at Cliff, urging him to continue.

"You enslaved Iris," Cliff whispered.

Ckkkkkkk! Cliff's hoof slid across a particularly loud pocket of broken concrete. Foster waited for him to regain his hoofing, then replied.

"I didn't enslave anypony," said Foster. "I made a suggestion."

"Your eyes lit up with green fire magic," Cliff said through gritted teeth.

"My suggestion had a…kick," Foster admitted without shame. "But I only just met Iris yesterday. I couldn't 'enslave him,'" she reared up and made quotation marks with her hooves. "...If I tried. That's nuts. Not even Mother could do that!"

Foster fell into a reverent silence for her mom. Punctuated only by the crunchitty gravel beneath our hooves. After a breath or two, or a thousand, (I couldn't tell), she continued with a sigh. "It's really quite simple. The easiest way to bend somepony to your will…is to tell them what they desperately want to hear.

'You saw how conflicted Iris was. My suggestion was a mercy. It put him at ease. And I didn't need magic to do it. Either one of you could have accomplished the same thing if you put your wits to it, and if we had the time, but we don't. We don't have the time. We don't have the optio–;"

"Do it to me," said Cliff.

"What?" Foster blinked and stared at Cliff like he had seventy two noses.

"If it's such a mercy," Cliff replied. "Do it to me. I'm conflicted. I don't want to feel this way about you."

Bananas flinched like she'd been slapped.

"I don't wanna interfere with the mission either," Cliff continued. "So do it if it really is a mercy."

Cliff stared Foster down. And I honestly couldn't tell if it was a challenge - a dare to throw Foster off her guard and illuminate the double standard - or if Cliff really did want his brain noodled with.

"I couldn't," Foster replied.

"Why not?"

"'Cause. You're...family. I can't just go rooting around inside your head."

"So there is a difference!" Cliff whisper-shouted in excitement.

"Yeah, there's a difference," said Foster. "I'm not going to treat some guy that I just met like he's family."

Cliff sighed, "Us and Them."

"Yes," Foster replied matter-of-fact-ishly.

"This whole city is us and them," I said, no longer able to hold my own Rosetongue. "Kids get to escape slavery, and…you know…live in comfort and luxury. And it seems like, you know, a silver lining or whatever to Red Eye's empire. But Red Eye's troops are the same ones doing all of this…this…slavening in the first place. You heard the broadcast. This is what we're supposed to be fighting against."

"We're fighting to get you home,'' Foster replied.

My mouth, already poised with a retort, opened itself big and wide, and then just sorta froze in disbelief.

Bananas Foster wasn't talking about getting herself home. Just Cliff and me.

"We're fighting to rescue Xenith," Foster continued. "Who is one of us; and to protect her from the tyranny of Fillydelphia, i.e. them."

Our hooves crackled like pop rocks against the gravelly path.

"Look," said Foster. "I know you want a brighter tomorrow, and unity and friendship for all. And that's what I love about you. Both of you," Foster's voice creaked and warbled. "But you have to survive first. And occasionally putting ourselves first does not make us the same as hordes of ravaging slavers."

"I guess so," I answered.

Cliff, pointedly, didn't say a word.

* * *

The gravelly bits beneath our hooves smoothened into water-worn bedrock, and we three picked up pace. The light ahead grew brighter. It was Misty Mountain's horn. He and Iris had stopped. Given us a chance to catch up.

"We missed ya," cackled Iris. "Slowpokes."

"Not me," said Misty. "I mees no one. Come! We go!"

"No," Iris threw an outstretched leg in Misty's way. "We should tighten our formation from this point on." The laughter fled his eyes.

He leaned in, all super grim and serious-like. Stared each of us down. One at a time to make his point. When he finally got to me, those eyeballs seemed to stab me in the head, and drill a thought straight into my brain: Be careful.

"Uh, how much further?" said Cliff.

"A while," Iris replied. "Not because it's far. But we gotta move slower now."

Right around the bend, the tunnel straightened out. And for the first time, we could see the rest of the Sneaker Safety Society. The unicorns' horns lit the way. It looked like a faraway jar full of fireflies, flickering in the darkness.

"They've already passed the first trial without us," said Iris. "So follow me carefully. We're nearing The Bridge of Peril."

Foster and Cliff looked to one another what-the-fuckishly. Until Iris suddenly whooped.

"Heyyooo," he called out to the S.S.S.S.S kids up ahead. The very air in the tunnel seemed to pulsate with the humming echo of his voice.

Moments later, our answer came, "Awooo!" A Secret Sneaker Society bird-call that made dust rain down from the ceiling.

"Blarghhchhkkkkkk," I said gracefully, hacking particles of ancient concrete out of my lungs.

"Shh," said Iris pointing up ahead.

The fireflies had quit their dancing. The gang of sneakers had stopped and waited for us. It looked like a lone constellation hanging in an otherwise starless night.

"Why is it called the Bridge of Peril?" said Cliff.

"It's perilous."

"I see."

Iris grabbed Misty and they both pressed on. Step by hesitant step as the path beneath our hooves shrunk to a narrow band.

We all hugged the wall to our left as the walls to our right receded. The floor too. One second it was there. The next? It gave way to a deep dark cavernous hole that opened up below without warning. Like some dragon had just taken a bite out of the side of the tunnel.

We inched our way forward. Creep creep. Creep creep. Creep creep.

Eyes on the ground. Mindful of the terrifying lack of ground just a few feet away.

Creep creep. Creep creep. Creep creep. Step-step, step-step, step-step. Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.

Till outta nowhere, Misty Mountain stopped. Leaned over the precipice.

"What are you doing?!" Cliff whisper-shouted.

"Shh," answered Misty. The light left his horn like a bubble blown from one of those wands with a hole at the end. "Don't move."

Suddenly, our path darkened.

The little ball o' light wafted down into the abyss like dandelion wishes.

Misty dug his hooves into the ground. Leaned over the edge, and watched as his magic light drifted down down down down down down down down down.

It was like a bottomless pit, but with huge columns and strange shadows cast by Misty's falling orb.

There was an intersection of sewer tunnels down there. Concrete corridors converging under archways. The walls shimmered with icicle sweat. But no floor was to be seen. Just stairs, smoothened by age. Narrow walkways that hugged the walls, wrapped around the gargantuan pony-made cavern, all the way down to infinity.

Clonk! Misty kicked a random hunk of concrete over the edge. Watched it fall past his floating magic lamp. For a moment, it eclipsed the orb, and darkness flickered on the ceiling. But it kept falling after that. Further and further and further into the depths below until it disappeared.

But there came no thwack. No splash. No sign that the rock ever hit the bottom.

If there even was a fucking bottom.

The gravityishness of that moment robbed us of our breaths. Clobbered us into reverent silence.

Except for Cliff.

He sat, back pressed firmly against the only wall, panting wildly, like a squirrel getting chased by ten thousand manticores. Pant-pant, pant-pant, pant-pant-pant.

Misty's horn lit up again. "Sorry," he said.

"I'm fine," Cliff insisted. Rising to his hooves.

I rushed over to him, but he held up a forehoof. "I'm fine," he repeated. Holding his head high. Even as his chest pounded like it was full of bowling balls throwing a dance party.

Misty Mountain leaned over the pit once more to steal a final peek at the abyss. He squinted. Focused really really really really really really reeeeeeeeally intensely. Like a surgeon who can't mop her own brow.

And Iris leaned forward too, jaw agape as Misty's little orb faded to a single speck of glitter far below.

The new light from Misty's horn settled on the ground beneath our hooves, and glowed a periwinkle blue. The Bridge of Peril, brightly lit, seemed wider now. Safer. But that didn't shake the mood.

"Let's go," Iris said gravely. Still staring downward into nothingness.

Foster came up beside Cliff. Flanked him. Forming a buffer between him and the edge.

"I'm fine," he snapped. Holding his head up high.

"I'm not," Foster replied.

"What?"

"You're gonna laugh, but…uh…" Foster shuffled her hooves. "When my family used to cross dangerous terrain, we travelled in pairs. Side by side. A buddy system. So none of us got left behind." Foster held out a hoof for bumping.

Cliff eyed it in disbelief.

"I know, it's silly," Foster let out a nervous little chuckle. "It would make me feel better."

Still, Cliff did not reply.

"Please?" Foster added.

At last, Cliff Diver lifted a timid hoof, and gave her a bump.

Once everypony was moving again, I flanked Cliff from the rear, just as he had done for me when we'd first entered the tunnels. And as we all crept forward at last, I stole one final glance at the great sea of darkness below.

The memory of all the columns and tunnels and arches and stairs seemed to glow faintly against the black. Like when you stare at a lamp and then slam your eyelids shut, and still see its shape humming softly in the void.

We inched forward in silence. And Foster pressed herself close to Cliff the whole way. A buffer between him and the edge. While I followed him close behind.

None of us said a word.

When at last, the bridge widened and the gaping hole o' death shrank away behind us, and turned into a regular old tunnel again, Cliff sighed. His shoulders loosened like they'd just shed two sacks of cement.

"We made it," said Foster.

"Yup," Cliff let out a chuckle of relief.

"Thanks for humoring me," Foster added. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Suddenly, a rumbling came. Like the echo of a distant canon.

I whipped around. Looking for soldiers, or cloak-o's, or Red Eye troops.

Misty did the same. "What dee fuck was that?" he cried out.

Iris put a hoof on his shoulder. "The rock you kicked. Hitting the bottom."

Misty's eyes widened. Foster's too. But Cliff remained expressionless as the color ran from his face. "We should go," he whispered.

"Yeah," I replied, throwing one last glance over my shoulder at the darkness we left behind.

We pressed on. The constellation of unicorn horns slowly expanding - taking shape in the darkness as we drew near to the S.S.S.S.S.

That Us and Them stuff? Abstractions of ethics? Intellectual constructs of social-dynamic-y-junk?

It didn't seem to matter anymore. Cliff and Foster pressed up close against one another, just as they had on the Bridge of Peril.

Amongst them, I heard the faintest whisper. A frail little, "thank you." But which one of them said it to the other, I couldn't tell.

Author's Note:

PATREON

If this story, or my Heart Full of Pony essays have touched you, please consider supporting me on Patreon.

For those of you who already are pledging, seriously, and for real, thank you. Your support means a great deal to me. /]*[\

SPECIAL THANKS: As always, I would like to thank Seraphem for his tireless assistance providing feedback during the editing process, and Kkat for writing the original Fallout: Equestria story that inspired me to write Hooves of Fate in the first place.

DEDICATION:

Rejoice! It's the Full Moon. Praise Luna, to whom this chapter is dedicated!!!

THOUGHTS:

Rather than release the journey into Pinkie Park as one, enormous, cumbersome mega-chapter, I'm breaking it up for ease of reading. This has also given Rose the chance to reflect a bit more. There's as much going on with the characters emotionally as there is in their perilous physical journey into the Hells of Fillydelphia. These little moments are the ones where I really get to know them - what they're thinking; what they're feeling.

I'm also maddened with anticipation of what is to come, but that's going to have to wait.

I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

Comments

[ZeroMonkey]

Awesome chapter as always. Keep up the good work.

[Kkat]

That was beautiful.

The writing particularly stood out to me this chapter. It is always great, but there were a cornucopia of treasure phrases and metaphores in just a few thousand words. I think my favorite was dying in a pool of question mark guts.

Cliff asking Foster to use her powers on him was a dramatic high point. These are all such good characters.

The Pit O' Doom is terrifying, and at the same time, I am deeply (ha ha) curious about it.

[Isenlyn]

That was soooo short. I barely started reading and it was already over. How am I supposed to get my fix of cute dumb Rose Petal doing her rosepetaling ?

Not much to say other that it's still a treat to read Rose's point of vue and her descriptions with simple words. But this long ominous (stupid) tunnel can only lead to bad things. Why ? Because FoE, because ominous, because Hooves of Fate, because Fillydelphia and because I read the original FoE. ^^
HoF is really one of the stories I wait every chapters, and I'm glad it's still going. Thanks for it.

I hope those shorter chapters to ease the tunnel walking part will come faster. Hope is good.

Also, kinda cool to see Kkat back in the comment section. ^^

[Sprocket Doggingsworth]

11274081
I'm honored by your enthusiasm.

I figured it would be better to release a short chapter than to take months and months to produce a long one.

I also tend to view each chapter as a short story with its one theme, and ending it here just sort of worked.

I've already made decent progress on Chapter 60, so hopefully the wait won't be too agonizing.

[Reese]

FINALLY getting to this. Ugh, I am so behind on FIMFiction; sorry about the delay!

"Who is one of us; and to protect her from the tyranny of Fillydelphia, i.e..them."
"Who is one of us; and to protect her from the tyranny of Fillydelphia, i.e. them."?

"Even as his chest pounded like rhythmic canons having a dance party."
"Even as his chest pounded like rhythmic cannons having a dance party."?

"Like the echo of a distant canon."
"Like the echo of a distant cannon."?

What on Equus was that pit? Some of the height, at least, appears to be the result of a collapse, because I doubt the corridor was built with that drop... but it sounds like the pit was built going down a pretty long way even if it's gotten deeper since. It's left me quite curious.
Very nice atmospheric bit, though. :D

"Rather than release the journey into Pinkie Park as one, enormous, cumbersome mega-chapter, I'm breaking it up for ease of reading."
Thank you! :D
Megachapters of some other stories are some, though far from all, of the reason's I'm so behind.

"This has also given Rose the chance to reflect a bit more."
Oh, and it also means more good content than the megachapter version would have? Thanks more, then!

"I look forward to hearing your thoughts."
Well, a few things I didn't already mention, then:
1: The pit was bringing the Mines of Moria to my mind even before the rock hit. And I do still wonder if something down there heard that...

2: I'm also wondering what'll end up happening to that manuscript; Rose got distracted, but she has a point. On the other hand, though, if she can take it back with her, she could arrange to have many more copies made, and hidden where they'll hopefully survive the war, actually increasing the strength of the memory of Pinkbeard.

3: I'm very curious about what's going to happen with Foster. I like her, and this is quite a complex situation you've put her in. The other protagonists current have clear goals. There are the questions of whether they'll succeed, of course, how they might partially succeed or partially fail, what else will happen to them, what else they'll do, etc. -- but as things stand, the courses they're trying to be on at least seem pretty clear. Foster's very intentions at this point are more obscure, and I suspect even she isn't sure what she wants to aim for. Get her new family home, and go with them, being trapped back in the bubble after finally having freedom but still being with them? Get them home, but stay in the Wasteland, keeping her freedom but being separated from them quite probably forever? Fail to get them home, despite genuinely trying, which would devastate them by forcing them to stay in a much more hostile environment to them than to her, separating them from their own people back home, and preventing them from doing much of the good they want -- but would let her keep her freedom and them, through no fault of her own so long as she genuinely does try as hard as she can to get them home? Extend that to dying to get them home, which might seem more appealing than going back in the bubble and would resolve her quandary, but would have her new family knowing she died for them and, of course, have her dead, a somewhat important status both for future relations with them and, in fact, doing much of anything?

Because, really, I think Foster could thrive here, if it was only herself she had to be concerned with. She's even got, at least if things on this mission don't go too badly (though, even then, a new identity might well take care of that), a clear route forward: Just stay in Safety. Keep doing Safety things. She presumably would do them quite well, and that's a path into a good job with Red Eye -- and that's if she decides it's safer to live as a pony. If she decides that Red Eye would be sufficiently appreciative of having a changeling in his employ to make the risk worth it, her prospects improve even more. Of course, we readers know that Red Eye's Empire isn't going to be around too much longer -- I've give it a decade at most, probably less (I'm not sure off the top of my head just where in the timeline we are). But Foster doesn't (And even then, the fall of Filldelphia was rather chaotic, and the new nation being built after would need good "ponies" -- plenty of potential opportunities there, too. Depending on how certain details of changeling biology which quite understandably none of the characters have wanted to discuss work in this universe, she might even be able to start rebuilding her species.). And I would be very surprised if she hasn't considered Safety, with its culture, resources, and career options, at the price of only some moral compromises which are the sort she would have a harder time not making, and... thought.

I don't think she abandon her new family. Doesn't matter how good the prospects are for staying, or how much she might not, for her own sake, care about some of their morals, their relationships back home, or the like: they care, they're Family, so she's going to stick with them. But, if she sees a way to take care of them, to get them somewhere safe, somewhere where she wouldn't be able to fully stick with them anyway due to being stuck in a Mother-damned bubble in a hospital room (Oh, and let's not forget, though I myself only just realized it: She now knows that Equestria gets ruined in an apocalyptic war only a few decades in the future. And she can look forward to being stuck in a bubble in her hospital room as the bombs fall. I don't think she knows about Stable 2, but I don't think she'd have much of a hope of being evacuated there if she did -- and even then, she's just be stuck in a bubble in a Stable clinic. So, best case scenario she might not even know about, she dies even more locked up than she's been. Slightly better, she dies helpless in balefire as the bombs fall, or from radiation very shortly thereafter. Or she might survive -- to have the choice of dying slowly from starvation in her bubble, or venturing out to see what exciting brand new mutant disease are eager to get their teeth into an immunocompromised (IIRC) changeling.)... I expect that notion produces some thoughts too.

4: Oh, and I wasn't thinking to comment on it until reminded by another comment, but as usual, some delightful phrasings. :)

Thanks you for writing!

[SkyArrow]

Wait a min....no next button? I think I've finally caught up

[Sprocket Doggingsworth]

11347488
Congratulations.

[Munro]

i think this was my favorite part
Misty did the same. "What dee fuck was that?" He cried out.

Iris put a hoof on his shoulder. "The rock you kicked. Hitting the bottom."

Misty's eyes widened. Foster's too. But Cliff remained expressionless as the color ran from his face. "We should go," he whispered.