Dear Diary,

The next morning, we received our tour of the town and I got to know the neighborhood a bit better. The settlement consisted of several one-and-two story tract homes built around a road called ‘Rearing Hill Loop’ which, as its name implied, was intended to form a ring. Contrary to “popular belief” (which I later learned simply meant “anypony who had the fortune to not listen to one of Gloomfeather’s sales pitches), the road at the back of the settlement was not part of ‘Rearing Hill Loop,’ but was merely meant to bisect the loop. However, due to the war, mass depopulation, and the subsequent collapse of the entire global housing market, the second half of the loop was never completed and remained an empty field, which the residents had attempted to cultivate last spring, with mixed results. Granted, some of it was not their fault, what with the constantly overcast sky, acid rain, mutated wildlife, and such, but I was pretty sure that at least some of their problems came as a result of giving a bunch of gardening hobbyists free reign over some vacant lots, all the time in the world to tend to them, and no internet to look up how they’re supposed to do it! Well, at least they were trying. And as long as there was no one in town who was better than them, then they were happy.

In the center of the half-loop was a cul-de-sac consisting of more tract houses. I inquired if there was anything important about these houses, such as if the settlement’s most important ponies lived there, only to be told that no, not really, maybe one or two of the residents were engineers or doctors or something but that was it. On a map, it didn’t really form a horseshoe since it wasn’t exactly symmetrical, but maybe a thermometer put in a mouth… or maybe something… else? >=)

The town was surrounded by a wooden fence which was mostly uniform in its appearance and very sturdy and well-made. The few houses which did not have their backyards fenced in by prewar contractors had since erected their own out of whatever scrap wood they could salvage in town, and the difference in style and quality showed. However, Gloomfeather maintained that every length of fence was very sturdy and did its job well, because the Homeowner’s Association had set standards for that. She also pointed out how everypony’s lawn was well trimmed and completely free of weeds and trash, because the Homeowner’s Association had set standards for that. Or how no house had a coat of paint above or below a certain range of wavelengths within the visible spectrum of light, because the HOA had set standards for that. Or how all the flowers in the front yards were hypoallergenic, or how there weren’t any dangerous or exotic pets, or how… well… you get the point. I could tell she had been a realtor before the war and probably missed doing it because she seemed to be really trying her hardest to get us to make an offer. Then I noticed that it had already been an hour and had to excuse our entire group so we woudn’t miss breakfast.

Eavesdropping on some of the conversations between the survivors, they all seemed to agree that the place was too ‘conformist’ for their taste, and worried that they would not be able to freely express themselves there. I had to agree with them, since it reminded me way too much of the neighborhood I had grown up in, yet I was also disappointed since I was hoping they would like it enough that I could just leave them here and get this escort mission over with. Then again, we still had to return Tandy, who I nearly forgot about because she’s been so uncharacteristically quiet.

At breakfast, I had the fortune to sit with five of the local teens and hear their take on the town over cereal. Well… cereal without milk, of course, since there were no longer any functioning dairies nearby.

“It’s boring as hell,” they all said in unison.

This surprised me more than the jittery kick of the ‘Cinnamon Frosted Sugar Bombs.’

“Why?” I asked. ”You’ve got movies and books...”

“Yeah, but they aren’t making any new ones,” said S’mores, an orange half-dragon half-pegasus who kinda resembled Scootaloo in both appearance and temperament.

“You’ve got video games...” I said.

“Once you’ve beaten them, they aren’t fun anymore unless you can talk about them or download mods,” said Gallium, a bluish-grey griffon.

“You’ve got… um… well...” I struggled to think of anything good about the town. “At least it’s friendly and safe.”

“But it’s fucking boring!” said Febreeze, a beautiful sweet-smelling pegasus who must have been hoarding all the makeup and perfume in the province to look and smell that way. “Are you telling me you don’t know what it’s like to be bored out of your mind?”

I had to admit, I did know what it’s like to be bored out of my mind. Before all the problems started, Stable 76 was safe and clean, but it was also confining and you eventually ran out of fun things to do. And before the apocalypse, I had several years of sitting in school waiting through classes for that final bell.

“No, trust me, I know what it’s like,” I said, “But it’s incredibly dangerous out there. Everyone and everything wants to either rip you off or kill you. When I came in last night, I was dirty and grimy as shit because there’s nowhere to safely bathe. You’ll have to scavenge for most of your meals, you’ll get ambushed by raiders, you’ll--”

“That sounds like fun!” said Glorieta Pass, a short, plucky earth pony wearing a cowboy hat and a denim dress with a coat colored like parched grass. “I could finally get a chance to live!”

“Yeah, we know it’s ‘dangerous to go alone’ and all that, but we’ll be safe ‘cause we’ll be traveling together,” said Valverde Ford, a slackerish blue-green colt. “There’s nothing that can’t be overcome with the power of friendship. Why, just a week ago, a traveler told us about a group of three brave ponies who singlehoofedly destroyed a raider toll booth on highway 20!”

I was shocked to hear this. Were tales of our exploits really traveling this fast? I guess I was mostly just surprised to hear that somepony actually gave a damn about something my friends and I did. Then again, I suppose destroying a toll booth on a major thoroughfare was kind of a big deal. It was also a huge blow to my argument since it clearly inspired them.

“Are you really trying to recreate the feats of some random adventurers?” I asked. “With no combat training, no weapons, and no idea what you’re doing?” This got some of them to pause and think. I liked that. “You don’t know anything about these adventurers. For all we know, they could be some cyber zebra death uber killing commandos trained in some top-secret MoA program or something like that. Or maybe it’s just a rumor and it never even happened at all.”

This really got them thinking. I did all I could not to smile from either the satisfaction of having beaten them in an argument or of the ridiculousness of what I had just said. None of these three anonymous adventurers were zebras, cyborgs, or professionally trained commandos, and only one of them had any ties to the MoA. Personally, I’d rather that it just be a rumor, and stay a rumor. I’d rather stay as far out of the limelight as I could and just blend in with the shadows. But this rumor was easily verifiable since there was physical evidence left at the scene and nopony these days could be bothered to clean it up. I just hoped that these wide-eyed kids wouldn’t see through my bluff.

“Maybe she’s right,” said Febreze. “Maybe they had some kind of military background. Or maybe it never even happened at all.”

“Of course it happened,” said S’mores. “We’ve had more travelers from Greyham over the last few days than we did all summer!”

“Well maybe the raiders just left on their own,” said Febreze. “I doubt it’s a profitable route. There’s nowhere to go out here except here and Sandy Shades.”

“But we don’t have to be awesome commandos,” said S’mores. “We’ll just do small stuff, like killing a raider here and there, and let the rumor mill handle the rest. Fake it ‘till you make it, ya know? Before long, we’ll be treated as heroes!”

“Yeah!” the others exclaimed.

There was no dissuading them-- their minds were set and they’d turned my own argument against me. I couldn’t help but facehoof at their obstinance. I couldn’t argue against this new plan-- it was an underhoofed scheme to gain popularity, but something that teens like themselves are quite good at. If they could pull it off, they’d be living large. If they couldn’t, well… they’d probably end up dead. But they didn’t seem to care because none of them had anything to lose for it.

“Okay, fine,” I said. “You can come with us and we’ll show you the ropes.”

“Yes!” Glorieta exclaimed. “That’s it! Thank you. You’re our ticket out of here!”

“Wait, we can’t leave with her!” cautioned Febreze. “It’ll look too suspicious! We should wait a while and then sneak out. Meet us at that restaurant near the bridge. At midnight.”

“Tonight?” I asked.

“Yes, tonight.”

And a deal was made.

The trip to Sandy Shades was pretty much smooth sailing. The only hiccup was an attempted holdup on Griffon Creek bridge by four bandits who were too pathetic-looking to pose a threat. We just told the others to hide behind some trees (which there were plenty of) while we dealt with them. I gunned two of them down myself, and felt guilty about doing so since they looked so scared and emaciated, and were probably just trying to get some food. However, instinct took over and made me kill them, something which had almost become automatic at this point. They were also kind of asking for it by trying to rob us instead of just asking to trade. Then again, they didn’t have anything of interest on them when we checked their bodies except for a few bullets, which they probably weren’t willing to give up.

We later found what I presume was their encampment, which was merely a gas station at the intersection of two country roads. Inside the food mart all the shelves had been emptied, and on the floor I found nothing but a few dirty mattresses and several empty cans and bottles. The only thing of value I could find was a wad of bills inside the cash register, which wouldn’t buy anything but might make some good fuel for a fire.

As we approached Sandy Shades, Tandy began to look worried. Scared, even. Why would she be so apprehensive about returning to her own home?

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Aren’t you happy to return home?”

“Well…” Tandy said with unease, “That’s just it. I left for a reason.”

“Wait-- you left?” I asked with surprise. She nodded her head.

“On purpose?” I asked. She nodded again.

“But-- I thought you were foalnapped!”

“Well, I snuck out and then got foalnapped,” she said. “I thought maybe I’d just slip out and see the world for myself, like all the travelers that stop by our town do. Honestly, I was kinda jealous of you.”

“Me?!?” I asked in disbelief, before quickly realizing what angle she was going at.

“Yes, you,” she said. “We’re both pretty much adults now, but you get to travel the world and have adventures and stuff, while my father keeps me penned up in town and treats me like I’m ten years younger.”

“At least you have a home,” I said. “You know why I left my Stable? It’s not because I was bored, oh no, it’s because it was literally burning down! I didn’t leave because I wanted to, I left because I had to. And your dad might be overbearing at times, but that’s only because he truly cares for you. At least you still have family, because all of mine are dead.”

Her eyes widened and she grew quiet.

“Wow,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I said. “It wasn’t a great family, anyway. Just be thankful for the cards you’ve been dealt and move on in life.”

As we approached the west gate, I saw a familiar face: Rep, the green dragon guarding the gate, next to some other pony I didn’t recognize.

“There’s a group of travelers up ahead,” the other pony said. “They don’t look like raiders. Recognize any?”

“Yes, I remember the grey one and the green one,” Rep replied. “They were traveling with a changeling before, and… wait, is that...”

“Tandy!” they both exclaimed. Tandy was flustered.

Rep threw down his gun and ran over to meet us, embracing Tandy in a rapturous bear hug. Despite his scrawny appearance, he was still able to squeeze her like a bean bag. Between his arms, Tandy mumbled, “Stop it, you’re embarrassing me.”

Upon hearing this, Rep released her, and she breathed heavily to restore the air he had pushed out of her lungs.

“We were all so worried about you!” he said. “Your father especially. He’ll be greatly relieved to find you’re alive and well.”

“Yeah, let’s just meet him and get this over with,” Tandy said.

“Tandy? Is that you?” Barlow Road cried.

The process repeated again, but this time the hug was much longer and many tears were shed.

“Um, dad, can you… let go of me now?” Tandy asked.

“Of course, darling,” Barlow said, and released her. “I’m just so glad to see you’re back. And alive. And unhurt! Oh, I hope your friend Silver Bullet here taught those foalnappers an important lesson!”

“Actually, about that...” Tandy said, but kind of trailed off. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Certainly, I’m all ears,” Barlow said. “But first, how about we get a little food in you? You look famished! Quick, somepony go tell the restaurant staff to prepare a meal-- a big one. I bet our heroes and their friends are all pretty hungry for lunch, huh?”

Now don’t get me wrong-- I love myself a TV dinner as much as the next piece of trailer trash-- but microwaveable salisbury steak just doesn’t really seem like a meal for heroes. Although, to their credit, they at least tried to dress it up a little to make it seem home-cooked, and nopony aside from myself and Grapevine seemed to notice that everything on our plates originally came in a box.

“Now what was it that you were going to tell us?” Barlow Road asked.

Tandy took a deep breath, then began, “Well, there’s something that I think you need to know. It’s about-- well, it’s about the foalnapping.”

Barlow began to look worried and started sweating profusely.

“Oh no, they didn’t… hurt you, did they?” he asked.

“No, they didn’t do anything to me,” Tandy said. “They just--”

“Oh, if only we could have been more on top of things we could have paid the ransom!” Barlow exclaimed. “You told them that, right? ‘Cause of course I’d have given them anything, but none of us knew where they--”

“If they wanted a ransom, they would have left a note or something,” Dmitry said. “From what we could tell, they foalnapped her because they wanted to hack a computer.”

Barlow breathed a huge sigh of relief.

“Well, thank goodness!” he exclaimed. “I feared the worst. Glad you’re safe, honey. But still, it worries me that they even got in here in the first place. None of the guards reported hearing or seeing anything, and we couldn’t find any signs of a break-in...”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Tandy said. “The whole thing was… actually kinda my fault.”

“What do you mean?” Barlow asked. Now everypony else at the table, and the adjacent tables, was leaning in close to listen.

“Well…. How do I put this?” she began. “I-- um… I… I ran away from home!”

Shock and confusion abounded throughout the room, especially from the townsfolk, and the air filled with the noise of gossipy murmurs. Even I was surprised, though more by the reactions she was getting since she had already told me.

“So you… weren’t foalnapped?” a stallion at the next table asked.

“No, I was, but that was after I snuck out,” Tandy said.

The town ponies were still confused.

“But… why?” Barlow asked. “Why would you sneak out like that? Why would you leave us? Why would you leave me?”

“Because it’s fucking boring here, okay?!?” Tandy snapped. Then during the moments of shocked silence which followed her outburst, her eyes widened and she held her forehooves over her mouth, her face consumed with guilt as if she had just insulted royalty. After what had seemed like an eternity, she tried to explain herself in a calmer tone.

“What I mean to say is--” she began, but was cut off.

“No, no, I understand,” Barlow said. “I suppose I underestimated just how badly you wanted to explore. You were always kinda like that, running off like that. Why, your mother and I almost bought a dog leash just to contain you!”

“Don’t remind me,” Tandy said flatly.

Barlow chuckled a bit.

“Okay, I won’t,” he said. “But all I wanted was to keep you safe. Especially since you have so much of your mother in you. I always feared that if you left you might never come back, especially after what just happened.”

“Actually, they--” Grapevine blurted out, but Dmitry gently placed his hoof over her mouth to keep her from saying more.

“I never wanted to leave forever,” Tandy said. “But I had to, because I didn’t know how you would react. I thought you might punish me really really badly or something. I know what you’re like when you get upset...”

“Honey, the only things that make me angry are bad deals and hoofball matches,” said Barlow. “...and maybe ant invasions. But I would never, ever hurt you. That’s why I wanted to keep you here--”

“It was hurting me inside!” Tandy said. “I understand you just wanted to keep me safe form physical harm, but staying in one place can be just as harmful, especially for a pony like me.”

“It’s a good thing ya never got into a stable,” said Grapevine. “Then you’d die of boredom!”

“Actually, I had applied for a spot but we didn’t get in,” Barlow said. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep my family safe.”

“I appreciate your devotion, but you’ve got to learn to let go,” said Tandy. “I’m not a kid anymore. I’m almost eighteen!”

“Yes, eighteen,” Barlow said sorrowfully. “I would have had to send you off to college, wouldn’t I?”

“Yes, you would have,” Tandy said. “But now that that ain’t happening, I was afraid you’d just keep me around forever.”

“That’s because I know how dangerous the world’s become,” Barlow said. “When I was only a few years older than you, I wanted adventure too, so I joined the crew of a merchant vessel and sailed the seven seas.”

“Yes, you’ve told me about your sailor days a bazillion times,” Tandy said. “I prefer my adventures on land.”

“But there’s one part I never told you about,” Barlow said. “The part that finally made me quit and move back here. That was the one and only time I had ever encountered pirates...”

Tandy was super interested now.

“Whoa… pirates?”

“Yes, pirates,” said Barlow. “But not the old-timey swashbuckling pirates you see in the movies… actual hardcore pirates.”

“Tell me what happened!” Tandy said.

So he told us. It was a long-winded story that seemed like it went on for hours, but it had Tandy on the edge of her seat the entire time. It probably had a lot of special significance for her, hearing about this side of her father that she never knew. I couldn’t help but feel jealous of her, since my father was such a dingy, boring, play-by-the-rules fuckface with an intense phobia of anything that was even remotely dangerous… except for the slow killers, like trans fats, screen-induced retinal damage, and the crippling depression fomented by a pointless existence… but there’s no way she’d trade for that.

The gist of his story is that he was sailing off the coast of Zebrica near the ominously named ‘Skeleton Shore’ when they were suddenly attacked by a group of zebra pirates bent on stealing their cargo of energy gems. Eight of his crewmates managed to escape to the mainland and get help, but it took two weeks until the Wonderbolts could rescue them. The raiders rampant throughout the wasteland reminded him all too well of those pirates, and a chapter of his life he had sought to keep buried. But in revealing it, Tandy had grown a newfound sense of respect for her father, and they committed themselves to working out a deal, first taking her on some hunting trips, and then after a while letting her travel with the caravans if she still wanted to.

The survivors we were escorting were so touched by what had happened that they asked if they could stay and were welcomed with open arms, exactly as I had predicted. In particular, the white stallion would have made an excellent town greeter, which Sandy Shades desperately needed since Katrina had mysteriously disappeared three days ago, leaving only a cryptic note saying she had “business to attend to” with some old friends.

Now that there were only three of us, we could travel a lot faster and more quietly. This was demonstrated when we returned to Griffon Creek, only to find that the supply of raiders had mysteriously been replenished after we had been there just a few hours ago. However, our smaller and more agile pack quickly caught wind of this as we approached the gas station and heard what sounded like an argument. I checked my pipbuck and sure enough, four red ticks registered on my EFS. They weren’t really much of a challenge though, as we simply snuck up behind the food mart and then opened fire, taking them all out by surprise.

We entered Cicada around 4:00, leaving eight full hours until we rendezvoused with the runaways. We sure as hell weren’t going to return to Rearing Heights while we were harboring plans to essentially foalnap some of their children (there wasn’t much to do in that town anyway), so we ended up loitering in an optometrist’s office until we found a spider the size of a rat. Killing it was pretty easy, but it caused Grapevine and I to get into an argument over whether or not spiders are insects. Finally, Grapevine said,

“Well, let’s ask one. Hey bugface, are spiders insects?”

Dmitry stopped picking the lock on a cash register and glared at us.

“First off, I’m not an insect, I’m a pony,” he said. Grapevine smirked at this but said nothing.

“And second, I don’t fucking know. Go look it up in a book or something.”

“Good idea,” Grapevine said. “But where are we gonna find a book about insects?”

“I think I saw a school just down the street,” I said. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find one back there.”

So we headed down the street to the school. It was an old brick building which had, up until last October, housed the local middle school. At present, it appeared vacant, but the bloodsoaked floor and intestines hanging from the ceiling of the atrium suggested otherwise.

“Uhhhhh….” Grapevine struggled to think of something to say. “Does this remind y’all of somethin’?”
“It reminds me of those ‘decorations’ they had back at Timberwolf Lodge,” Dmitry said. “Whoever made it had the same taste in ‘decoration.’ ”

“Something’s showing up on the pipbuck,” I said. “Draw your weapons and keep quiet.”

We crept down the hall until we reached the classroom where the raiders were, passing several corpses hanging by their necks from ropes, chains, garden hoses, and even intestines which had been affixed to the ceiling. Their corpses had been mutilated, with their bellies cut open and the entrails removed, leaving a muscly, bony husk to hang there and rot. They smelled, and they smelled bad. I’m not normally one to get nauseous, but it took everything I had not to vomit right then and there.

After walking two thirds of the length of the hallway, we found the classroom where the raiders were. There were nine of them, outnumbering us three to one, but all nine were sitting in a circle smoking… something that actually smelled much worse than the rotting corpses out in the hall. They had also removed the door to the room, which would allow them to see us (if they were paying attention), but also allowed us to sneak up on them.

I stepped back from the classroom and motioned the others to follow me into an empty room. This room, a former cooking classroom, held the remains of an excessively sloppy culinary operation which converted pony entrails into… any dish that could be made with pony entrails, of course. Some of the counters had cookbooks open to recipes involving meat, which was presumably being substituted with pony guts. Blood dripping from the doors of the refrigerators indicated that they were being used to store the raiders’ creations as well as the raw materials used to create them. Several low rumbles were also audible, indicating that the dam powering Rearing Heights was producing a bit more than they needed. Bad for Rearing Heights, which was unwittingly aiding its enemies, but good for us since the rumble of the fridges would conceal our voices.

“Alright, here’s the plan:” I said. “We’ll throw some grenades at them, and catch ‘em off guard, then we’ll shoot down any survivors. If they start charging at us, retreat and ambush them in a classroom. Don’t let ‘em stab you ‘cause their blades are probably infected with all sorts of bacteria.”

“Good idea, but somepony else’ll have to throw the grenades,” Dmitry said, “Because I’m out.”

“Mah aim’s not quite as good as it was when ah played Softball,” Grapevine said, “But ah can still hit pretty good. Ah’ll do it, but ah ran outta grenades two days ago. ”

“Alright, I’ll give you some of--” I looked into my saddlebags and found nothing. I checked and double-checked my pipbuck’s inventory spell, only to confirm that I was out of grenades too.

“Well shoot,” I said. “Alright, plan B: shoot ‘em up with your fastest firing weapon, then--”

“Wait, ah’ve still got a couple’a Moltotovs,” Grapevine said, holding up a brown bottle with a strange liquid in it, capped with a rag. “Not as effective, but still good. Ah just need a light.”

“Okay, go ahead,” I said, giving her a matchbox. “In fact, let me hold them while you throw them. I bet we could get three or four off before we have to start running.”

“Good idea,” said Grapevine.

We returned to the doorway to the raiders’ classroom and executed our plan. I held the Moltotovs telekinetically, which made Grapevine apprehensive about taking them, (I get it, shiny floating objects are kinda suspicious,) but she took them anyway and made quick work of the raiders. I was pleasantly surprised at just how effective they were, each spreading a burst of fire around the room upon impact. After the third one, the raiders were nothing but charred corpses, although I realized that this was partly due to a large oil slick covering most of the room’s floor and spilling into the hall which--

“GET OUTTA THE WAY!” I yelled, shoving my friends and thrusting myself to safety.

A wave of flame zipped out of the classroom and down the hallway until it reached a pair of wooden double doors at the end of the hallway which blocked the oil slick from going any further and forced it to condense into a small pool. The flames zoomed right up to the puddle and began to climb up the doorway.

Suddenly, there were white flashes of light and a several bursts of what sounded like a whistle being blown at regular intervals. Stunned, I looked around, then cursed myself for not recognizing the sound from a decade of drills in school: the fire alarm had gone off! I began galloping down the hall, only to realize after ten seconds that I wasn’t in school anymore and didn’t need to line up in the parking lot. Finally, after what seemed like the longest delay, the sprinklers finally started and sprayed water everywhere. Being a grease fire, the fire only grew bigger… for a few seconds, then started dying down as it was overwhelmed by water. After a while, the fire was vanquished and the sprinklers and alarms shut off automatically.

“Well that was a stupid idea,” said Dmitry, breaking the silence. “Those Moltotovs just started a fire and got us all wet.”

“Are you kidding?” Grapevine asked. “That was awesome! Let’s do it again!”

“Let’s not do it again,” I said, cleaning the water off of my glasses. “Besides, we should save our Moltotovs since we’re almost out of exposives.”

“Ooh, ah can make more!” said Grapevine. “I’ll go find the school’s chemistry lab. Y’all fetch me some turpentine from a janitor’s closet.”

Dmitry and I searched the school until we found a janitor’s closet. I asked if I could pick the lock this time, and Dmitry stood back and coached me. I still broke five bobby pins trying to get the angle and pressure just right, but eventually I cracked it. We only found seven bottles of the stuff, but when we returned Grapevine reassured us it was plenty.

Just then, there was a flash of green light followed by some rolling thunder. We looked out the window and saw the clouds were lower and much greyer than usual.

“Looks like it’s going to rain again,” I sighed. “The bad kind.”

“It’ll take a few hours fer me ta make these,” Grapevine said. “By the way, we’ll also need some adhesive and cloth.”

“I’ll go find some glue,” said Dmitry. “You can get the cloth.”

“How much do we need?” I asked Grapevine.

“A single rug’ll probably be enough,” said Grapevine. “Or maybe two shirts. Or two curtains, dependin’ on how long they are.”

I set out to find the cloth, starting with the adjacent classrooms. All of the windowshades were made of those retractable plastic strips instead of cloth, which only made my job harder. Then I went back to the atrium, only to find that the rugs barely had any cloth at all and had thick rubber undersides. I grabbed a pair of scissors in case I needed to cut anything, then began my adventure through the school, starting by retracing my steps towards the janitor’s closet.

The raiders had mostly stayed in on section of the school, leaving the rest of it relatively undisturbed. This meant no more gore lying around, but it also meant that there was dust everywhere and everything now smelled like it.

I had hoped that maybe somepony would have left a coat or something behind in the confusion of the bombing, but all of the classrooms were empty. It was almost as if they had been locked up on the night of the 22nd and simply abandoned, although a few of the teachers had written things for their first period classes on the chalkboards. This meant that the bombs must have gone off long before school started, and the busses had either returned the kids home or taken them to a shelter somewhere (though I doubt they’d build any shelters for a town this remote). Anypony who was here at the time would have just calmly packed up their stuff and gone home.

I made it all the way to the end of the building where the school’s theater was located, but found nothing. I was starting to panic at this point and wondered if I would have to get a knife and cut the padding off the theater seats, before realizing that the seat backs were probably made of wool or plastic fiber, neither of which are particularly flammable.

I swung back around on the second floor this time, but all I found was a colony of cockroaches the size of my hooves. Their size and speed made them difficult to stomp, but I considered it a waste of ammo to shoot bugs, so I tried to stomp them anyway.

Boy, was that was a mistake.

Their size also made their carapaces a lot stronger compared to my hooves, so I had to stomp with all my weight to break their shells. To make matters worse, there were about a dozen of them and only one of me, so I was quickly surrounded. I thought maybe if I just jumped up and down that would kill them quickly, but as I killed one, the rest would start climbing all over my body and I had to spend time picking them off as they tried to bite me. Fortunately, the stable jumpsuits are thick enough to mute most of the damage from their bites, but it still feels like somepony is pinching you. I eventually learned that every time I pick one off I should lay it on its back so I can stomp on its softer underbelly. Eventually, I was able to whittle them down to more manageable numbers where picking them off and flinging them down the hall could buy me time to deal with the rest.

After I finished stomping roaches and made sure there were none left nearby, I went into a science classroom and used one of the sinks to wash all the roach guts off my hooves. As I did, I made a mental note to stock up on bug spray the next time I went to the store. Assuming that radiation hasn’t significantly altered their DNA, it should still be poison and kill them quickly, even if I need to apply larger amounts than normal.

As I was leaving the room, I noticed a biology textbook sitting on the teacher’s desk. I opened up to the table of contents, and sure enough it had a chapter on insects. I pocketed the book as I went into the hall, as it likely contained the answer to the stupid question which had brought us to this infernal building in the first place. Right now, I had more important things on my mind: finding some flammable cloth and-- ow! The pain of the roachbites.

I thought about going to the school nurse’s office, only to remember that schools don’t really have dedicated nurses anymore for some reason (they’re run by cheapskates!) and they make somepony in the office do all the nursing stuff instead. This reminded me that the school had an office and that if there were any fancy rugs or curtains in the school, they were probably in a principal or guidance counselor’s office. While I didn’t find any of those things, I did find that they had been selling T-shirts and hoodies at the front desk, which would suffice for our needs.

As I strolled into the chemistry lab, Grapevine hollered, “What took ya so long?”

“I ran into some bugs on the way,” I said. “Really big, nasty, bitey bugs.”

“Tell me about it,” Grapevine said. “Ah’ve been stuck with one fer what feels like an hour.”

Dmitry just grunted and rolled his eyes.

“Also, there’s hardly any cloth in here,” I said, tossing her the shirts. “The only ones were in the last place I thought they’d be.”

Grapevine looked at the shirts mournfully.

“Ah hate to hafta destroy a precious memento such as this,” she said, pointing at the cute animal mascot on the shirts, “But if it’s the only thing you could find, it’ll hafta do.”

“I also found a biology textbook,” I said, pulling it out and opening it. “So now we can answer that question. Hmm, let’s see… ah, here it is! Nope, spiders are arachnids, not insects.”

“But aren’t arachnids a type of insect?” asked Grapevine as she soaked strips of the cut up T-shirts into a flammable liquid.

“No, they aren’t,” I said, reading more into it. “‘Although it is commonly thought that spiders are insects, this is a misconception; they are actually arachnids, a separate class of creatures within the same phylum.’ Ha! I was right! Also, Arachnids have eight legs while insects only have six.”

“Alright, ah was wrong about that,” Grapevine admitted. “But ah’ll best you yet, just you wait.”

“Insects have six legs?” Dmitry asked. “All insects?”

“Yes, all insects,” I said.

“And changelings only have four,” said Dmitry. “Looks like you’re wrong on two counts.”

“No, changelings have six legs,” said Grapevine. “Look, you’ve got one, two, three, four, five,” she said, pointing at his tail, “and uh… uh… your dick!”

Dmitry and I both burst into laughter.

“Wow, I don’t know if I should be flattered by your opinion of my penis or offended at your insistence on calling me an insect,” Dmitry said.

“Does that mean that male changelings are insects while females aren’t?” I asked.

“There are male and female changelings?” Grapevine asked.

Dmitry and I both facehoofed.

“YES!” he shouted. “We had a fucking queen, you know!”

“Ah thought that was just a title they gave ta the biggest changeling,” Grapevine said. “Wait, does that book say anything about changelings?”

I flipped through the book then scanned the index, but I found nothing of use.

“It mentions that they exist,” I said. “But it doesn’t say anything about them.”

“Well, that’s just a middle school biology textbook,” Grapevine said. “Those aren’t supposed to be very informative, just give ya the basic outline. One day, we’ll find a real biology textbook and all our questions will be answered.”

Once the cocktails were done, we had eight in total. Dmitry and I each took one and we agreed that Grapevine should take the other six, since she was now our official explosives expert. I didn’t feel safe having only one explosive, but this was all we had for now and we could always acquire or produce more later.

After we cleaned up the lab, Grapevine announced that Dmitry and I should stay out of the kitchen because she wanted to surprise us for dinner. We were left to wonder whether or not she was trying to apologize to Dmitry or just wanted to show off her cooking skills. The conversation eventually wandered over to raiders, and the two of us decided that it wouldn’t do to have a fully electrified raider base within walking distance of Rearing Heights, so we decided we’d turn the power off just before we left. We then spent the next forty five minutes wandering around trying to find where the main power switches were. Eventually we found them and then plotted the closest route out of the soon-to-be darkened building. Of course, we couldn’t turn it off now while Grapevine was still cooking dinner, but when we left we would do it. Simply pulling some levers wasn’t a permanent solution since the building was still connected to the grid and somepony could just turn it back on again, but it would certainly make it inconvenient for them to move back in, and simply turning off the lights might trick would-be occupants into thinking the power doesn’t work.

Around 11:00, we packed up and left the building, remembering to ‘turn off the lights’ as we left. It was only a few blocks away, and the whole town was illuminated, but I couldn’t help but feel scared, like we were being watched. I kept looking around but couldn’t find any raiders, cops, or sprite-bots anywhere.

We soon reached the restaurant where we had agreed to rendezvous. They were all sitting inside looking bored out of their minds except for Febreeze, who appeared to be on watch.

“Hey! Guys! It’s them, It’s them!” she exclaimed as she spotted us, and ran inside to tell the others.

“Are you sure it’s them?”

“It’s us, alright,” I said.

“Wow, I can’t believe how late you are!” Glorieta Pass scolded.

“What?” I exclaimed. “But we’re forty minutes early!”

“I was just teasing you,” Glorieta said. “We can hardly wait. Let’s go!”

They all got up and headed towards the door. I was going to join them, but then I felt something fall on my head. It was very light and didn’t hurt at all, but just kinda felt weird. Were my nerves just playing tricks on me? I instinctively looked up to see the source, a dripping water pipe perhaps or a hole in the roof, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. I knelt down and tried to find it. Again, the only thing out of the ordinary was a thin blue plastic-y thingy that sort of shined in the light and was fairly symmetrical, but not quite. I held it up to the pale moonlight to discern what it was:

“Another puzzle piece?”

“Hey! Silver! Ya comin’?” S’mores called. The others were already on the road and preparing to cross the bridge.

“Yeah, I’m comin’!” I replied, stashing the piece in a pocket and hurrying out of the restaurant.

The journey was relatively quiet and uneventful. As we got farther and farther away from Cicada, it also got darker until it was nearly pitch black. That didn’t bother me too much since my eyes began to adjust to the lack of light. It didn’t seem to bother the others too much either, though there was a bit of grumbling about it. It was generally agreed that we should keep quiet just in case there were some raiders on the prowl looking for easily ambushable targets, as unlikely as it was there would be any travelers at all at this time of night and this far away from any major population centers (prewar, at least). Still, we kept quiet, save for some hushed conversations between the kids. Heh, ‘kids.’ Even though we were roughly the same age, I still felt like more of an adult compared to them, like I was their chaperone. After all, I carried a gun and was walking in front while they were defenseless and followed behind.

Early on, I had asked them if they were carrying any weapons. S’mores and Gallium had brought baseball bats, Glorieta and Valverde had stolen knives from their parents, and Febreeze had brought a can of pepper spray. In all honesty, it seemed pretty pathetic, and I had to keep myself from just laughing and calling them cute. Instead, I commended them for their ‘preparedness.’ In all honesty, they weren’t prepared for the wasteland at all, but I got the impression that they were relatively sheltered lives and their parents never let them handle anything remotely dangerous (otherwise they wouldn’t be trying to run away, now would they?).
To really be prepared for the wasteland, you’d probably at least need a gun. Their parents probably either didn’t own guns, or if they did, didn’t allow them access to them. Given the circumstances, this didn’t make any sense: sure in the prewar world it was considered ‘responsible parenting’ to do this, but in the post-apocalyptic world? Those bastards are lucky they live inside a wall.

Come to think of it, they packed very little in the way of supplies, too: just a couple of granola bars, water bottles, a compass, map, and pocket knife? What? We’re not going fucking camping. This is a warzone. A deathtrap. A deathtrap infested warzone!

But then again, how would they know any of this? They’re just kids. Sheltered, coddled kids. All they know about life-threatening danger is what they’ve seen in the media. And hearing them talk about all of the stuff they plan on doing makes it sound like they think this is all a video game. In fact, Gallium is under the impression that they’re just going to stumble across some free guns, because that’s literally what happened to him in a video game! Can you believe it? I guess that also explains where their delusions about heroism come from too.

You know, I really shouldn’t be too hard on them. I was in their shoes not too long ago. When I first left home, I was just as ill-prepared. However, unlike them, I wasn’t under any illusions: I was fully aware that I was likely going to die. And I was completely okay with that. Maybe if I could teach them to also accept death, they’d turn out okay?

Speaking of death, I began to feel like I was dying. A fever began to overcome me and I started coughing a little… or a lot. Periodically one of the others would ask if I was okay, and I would always tell them I’m fine, because we needed to keep going. We couldn’t stop now, not without a safe place to rest. Not while there was even the remote chance that somepony from Cicada would catch us taking their children. And not while said children are still naive and untrained in the ways of the wasteland. Heck, I’m still not an expert on this stuff, but even just two weeks out here can make a difference. And they haven’t even spent two hours out here…

...Or have they? I don’t know. It’s hard to tell because time seems to move more slowly out here than anywhere else. We must have missed the road back toward Canterby, because we just kept going straight until the road curved and brought us into a new village I don’t remember ever seeing before. There weren’t very many buildings here and they were all spaced very far apart. I couldn’t make out what they were, though, since it was almost too dark to see.

“Everypony, keep quiet!” Dmitry said. “In case raiders might try to ambush us.”
“Omigosh, we’re going to fight raiders!?” Febreeze squealed. She would have said more, but Gallium very forcefully shushed her.

However, the village proved to be completely deserted. Nothing could be seen except the silhouettes of buildings and trees and nothing could be heard except for the whistling of the wind and our own hoofsteps against the ground. Once we had proven there was nopony else here, we collectively agreed to take a short break...

...which was good because I needed to pee really badly. Which I did, by habitually going inside one of the buildings and sitting on the toilet, not even caring that it no longer worked (I didn’t expect I’d ever be returning to this house anyway). But what was supposed to only take fifteen seconds ended up taking fifteen minutes as I sat down on the toilet and had some of the worst diarrhea I’ve ever had. Not only that, but I’m pretty sure there was blood in there, too. But worst of all was the pain-- I couldn’t tell whether or not my asshole would burst open or I’d poop out my colon.

After thoroughly washing my hooves with soap from the house and water from my own canteen, I returned to the group where I felt everypony was staring at me. Then Grapevine approached me and softly asked,

“Are ya okay, sugarcube?”

“I’m fine,” I said, before falling into a mini coughing fit.

“Are you sure?” Dmitry asked. “If you need to, we can--”

“Absolutely fine,” I said flatly with a hint of annoyance. “Let’s get going. Where to next?”

“We’re going wherever you’re going,” said Valverde Ford.

“Grapevine seems to know this area better than either of us,” Dmitry said to me. “Let’s ask her.”

“Well,” Grapevine began, “The pipbuck map ain’t much to go off of, but if this road is what I think it is...” she said, showing us a faint wiggly green line running horizontally across the screen toward a much thicker line running diagonally down the left side of the screen. “...Then it might take us to the main highway.”

“Good idea,” said Dmitry. “If we stay on IR-5, we won’t get lost like yesterday.”

“We’re bound to hit it as long as we’re going west,” I said. “So let’s just go west.”

We went west. We made it over to the next town without a hitch. This town was also an abandoned village that didn’t appear to have any more permanent inhabitants, but unlike the last one, it wasn’t completely deserted. As we approached, I saw what looked like a torchlight in the distance.

“Hold up,” I said. “There might be somepony there.”

“Do you think they’re raiders?” Gallium asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think we should just stay quiet, lay low, and let them pass. If they find us and they’re friendly, they’ll let us know.”

We stood off to the side of the road behind some trees as the torch bearers approached. As they did, we could begin hearing the thumping of their hooves against the pavement, the gentle clanking of pots and pans hanging from saddles, and several gruff voices chatting under their breaths. I stayed behind a tree and watched them for signs of their intent. They all looked gruff and hardy and carried rifles. They almost looked like raiders, and certainly had the grumpy temperament of raiders, but something about them just didn’t say ‘raider’ to me. Maybe it was how they weren’t totally disheveled and seemed to hold just a slight bit of care about their appearance. Maybe it was how they carried themselves: gruff and rowdy, yet organized enough that they appeared to be marching in lines. Maybe it was because they were all sober and not one of them was flying off the rails on some drug high. But the most notable indicator that they weren’t raiders was the presence of a somewhat well-groomed stallion wearing a spotless grey uniform marching at the front of the pack with two aides. His chin had been shaven, but he sported a large mustache that seamlessly melted into sideburns on the side of his face. He looked familiar, and this gave me a bad feeling...

“Get inside!” I whispered to the others, pointing at a nearby building. They all quickly funnelled into the doorway. Once the last one was in, I followed suit.

“Who are they?” asked Febreeze. “Are they raiders?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “But almost...”

“Whadaya mean they’re ‘almost’ raiders?” S’mores exclaimed in disbelief. “Either they’re raiders, or they aren’t.”

“I guess... they are raiders,” I said, “...but they should know better… at least, their leader should.”

Then I realized something deeply surreal: a few ponies in the group were softly playing marching tunes on fifes and drums. The others were baffled, except for Glorieta and Valverde, who found it amusing, and S’mores, who almost burst out laughing (and blowing our cover) until a pink hoof and a yellow talon clamped her mouth shut.

I too found it kinda ridiculous that a troop of ponies resembling historical war reenactors was walking around like this at night (or at all) when they could very easily be ambushed by a group of raiders, but I could at least come up with a plausible explanation: this was a forced march. It’s kinda out there, but think about it: for centuries, militaries employed musicians to maintain a steady marching pace and boost morale. Their brisk pace and the fact they were doing it this late indicate that their leader wants to be at a specific place fairly soon.

But where? If I kept watching them, maybe somepony let their intentions slip.

“A hundred bits to the pony who finds mah hat,” said one.

“Right now ah could use a cawfee and a ciiiii-gar!” said another.

“Coffee, sir?” asked a third, who had been part of the front row but had sped up to catch up with his commander.

“Sure,” the commander said, yanking a steel mug away from his subordinate. “Ah’m pretty damn tired right now.” He brought the mug up to his lips and then raised his head to the heavens, drinking the oily black liquid down in one long gulp. When he was finished, he brought his head back down again and shoved the mug straight into his subordinate’s chest, as if he was a protagonist in a zombie movie effortlessly stabbing a zombie without even looking.

“How long ‘till we get there, anyway?” he asked.

“Why, if I’m not mistaken sir, I believe we’re in Cedardale,” the subordiante replied.

“Cedardale?” the commander asked in disbelief. “Cedardale!?! That’s east of Sandy Dell.”

“Yes it is,” replied the sub. “We turned right at the country store.”

The commander stopped dead in his tracks. After a few seconds’ delay, so did the ponies behind him and their musical accompaniment.

“YOU IDIOT!!!” he shouted. “We were supposed to go WEST!”

Both of their faces were flushed with red: the commander’s with anger, and the subordinate’s with embarrassment.

The commander began walking around his soldiers while they stood where they were in total confusion. The sub hurried after his commander, whose hoofsteps pounded the ground fitfully. Once he had reached the end of the troop, he bellowed, “FORWARD, MARCH!”

The music started up again and the ponies behind him all turned around and one by one, each line began marching in the direction which they had come. Once they had disappeared beyond the horizon and we could no longer see the faint glow of their lanterns or hear their music, my companions cautiously crept out of hiding.

“Where do you think they’re going?” Febreze asked me.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “The only town I know of between here and the Whinnyamette is Canterby.”

We continued westward for a while, trying to balance our pace between not going too fast to catch up with the rogue army while also not going too slow to make any progress. Among the silence and darkness of the night, I found it difficult to keep my head up and fell into a half-asleep trance. I paid little attention to my surroundings, and ‘woke up’ to find myself no longer at the front of the pack, but near the middle.

“Which way should we go?” Valverde asked. He stood in the middle of a four-way intersection. There didn’t appear to be any signs here, and if there were it was too dark to see them. All of the roads appeared identical, except the one to our right, which crossed over a small creek and into a thicket on the opposite bank.

“Hey! Who goes there?” a stallion shouted in the distance.

“We might not have a choice,” Grapevine said. “This way!”

We all scrambled across the bridge as a volley of gunfire erupted from the opposite direction.

We passed out some guns to the kids, and for a few minutes we attempted to put up a defense in the thicket, but we were clearly outnumbered and outclassed. Among us, only Dmitry had any formal firearms training, and it clearly showed. Additionally, our attackers appeared to be a “well-regulated militia” in every sense of the term, including a steady aim and strict discipline.

Just when three of the kids ran out of ammo and had to reload, the militia prepared to storm across the bridge.

“Fall back!” I yelled. “Fall back! Retreat!”

We ran for quite a while up the road. Although the running provided me with the energy to stay awake, it had also jolted my stomach and all of its contents. I was now hyper-aware of my surroundings, but simultaneously had to fight the urge to vomit.

By the time we finally stopped running, I was winded and needed a while to stop and rest. I shoved all the would-be vomit back down my throat with some long, deep gulps of water, but at the expense of emptying my canteen. Fortunately, there was a reservoir nearby where I could refill.

“Is she okay?” Gallium asked Grapevine. Before she could respond, I flatly barked, “Yes, I’M FINE.” My tone was enough to shut him (and everypony else) up, but seemed to do the opposite of reassuring them. But at that particular moment, I didn’t particularly care about anypony’s feelings, only about getting us to safety.

I led them north along the narrow country road. The The ‘thicket’ turned out to be an entire forest, albeit one that was privately owned since it didn’t appear on my pipbuck’s map. As we traveled, the others began to quietly chatter amongst themselves.

“Does she really know where she’s going?” Febreze asked. “Are we lost?”

“I dunno,” S’mores said. “Hey G, do you know where we’re going?”

Even Grapevine, who probably knew the area better than any of us, seemed confused but tried to hide it.

“Well, ah hope so… --er, ah mean, of course she does,” she said. “We ain’t goin’ to the city, we’re just tryin’ to avoid… those guys. Eventually we’ll hit a major road that cuts across here an’ continue west.”

“Sounds like she doesn’t really know either,” said Glorieta.

“I heard that ponies can get all delusional when they’re tired or thirsty,” Febreze said. “Like, they think really slowly and start seeing things that aren’t really there.”

“I think you mean ‘delirious,’ S’mores corrected her.”

“No, I’m pretty sure she’s delusional,” Febreze said.

I was frustrated by their lack of confidence in my leadership, but I was starting to get tired again and didn’t have the energy to confront them. As long as they kept following me, that was enough for now.

Eventually the road we were on turned right on its own and we were heading west again. However, it didn’t last, and we were soon faced with an intersection with roads going in every direction except west. To the west, there was simply a gravel driveway leading to a farm atop a hill.

“Which way now, boss?” Gallium asked, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. I picked it up, but was too tired to feel offended.

“Ummmm….” I hesitated, had to double-check my pipbuck, then pointed right and said, “North?”

“Ugh, where the hell are you even taking us?” S’mores demanded. I was going to respond, but as I opened my mouth the answer suddenly disappeared from my mind. In retrospect, it was probably something stupid that wasn’t worth saying to begin with.

“See? Told’ja she was delusional,” Febreze said. “Let’s go south for once.”

“No, we don’t even know if that’s a through street!” Glorieta said. “And if it is, that’s where the raiders were!”

“I’d rather fight raiders than get lost in the woods,” S’mores said. “I second her decision.”

“Valverde, help me out on this!” Glorieta said.

Valverde, who was kicking pebbles around on the pavement, merely looked up and shrugged.

“I don’t care,” he said with disinterest. “I’ll go wherever you go.”
“Well, you’re outnumbered two to one,” she said. “We’re going south.”

While they were arguing, I had begun making my way up the driveway on the western hill. Galium noticed me and pointed.

“Hey guys, she wants us to go west!” he exclaimed.

“No I don’t, I’m just scouting,” I replied, but it came out too quietly to hear.

“What the fuck?” S’mores asked. “Don’t see why we’re doing this, but okay.”

The entire group began to climb the hill.

“No, I’m just scouting,” I repeated, but this time it came out even quieter and was just barely a murmur.

Suddenly, I had to go, really bad.

Somepony had already broken into the farmhouse, leaving the door unlocked and partially opened. Something had fallen through the roof, a big chunk of snow perhaps, which had put enough pressure on the door to break it off its top hinge. Turning on my pipbuck’s flashlight revealed that the house had been completely ransacked, with furniture knocked over and all cupboard doors opened. The entire house had been stripped of anything holding even the slightest value, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was a clean toilet and a roll of paper, which the house fortunately possessed.

More diarrhea. I was beginning to accept that maybe something was wrong with me, and that maybe I should seek out a doctor... Nah, I shouldn’t. Where would I even find one in this wasteland, what would they prescribe me and how could I pay for it? I was starting to run low on food and ammo, and I only knew of one pony who took bottlecaps as payment. Besides, it probably wasn’t anything too serious, and I could probably just take care of it myself once I found the time to diagnose what it actually was.

When I left the house, I looked around and couldn’t find anypony. Then I saw Grapevine peeking out from the corner of the house.

“C’mon, we’re going this way,” she said, and gestured me to follow.

They had apparently thought I was leading them straight into a forest behind the farmhouse. We ventured deep into the trees in a single file line. I didn’t know who was leading it, as I was trailing in the back, reverting to the half-asleep state where you don’t really talk or question anything. This continued for some time, before S’mores had had enough, threw her hoooves in the air, and screamed.

“aaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!” she roared. “Where the FUCK are we FUCKING GOING?!?”

“Silver wanted us to go this way,” Galium said. Then after a pause, he added, “By the way, where is she?”

Everypony started looking around in confusion, except for Grapevine, who simply said, “She’s right here,” and pointed toward me. All of their eyes landed on me, but I wasn’t really awake enough to comprehend why.

“What?” I asked. “Is there something on my face?”

“De-loo-sional,” Febreze taunted. S’mores facehoofed.

“I guess she is,” S’mores said. “I say we head back, and take the south road this time.”

“North!” Glorieta cried. “Let’s go north! The south road doesn’t lead anywhere!”

“And how do you know that?” S’mores asked. “You don’t even know where we are!”

“Neither do you!” Glorieta said.

“And what makes you so certain we should go north?” S’mores asked.

“It didn’t look like it went anywhere,” Glorieta said. “What makes you so certain we should go south?”

“I have a hunch,” S’mores said. “That’s all I need.”

“A hunch doesn’t prove anything!” Glorieta said.

“Then fly up there and see who’s right,” S’mores said.

“I’m an earth pony. I don’t have wings,” Glorieta replied. “But you do. That’s your job!”

“I don’t need to,” said S’mores. “My intuition is correct 95% of the time.”

“And what about the other five percent?” Glorieta asked.

“Bllllllluuuuuhhhhhh!!!!”

I suddenly began to vomit profusely. Although I didn’t mean to, the argument stopped right in its tracks. After six or seven discharges, I finally stopped and started heaving, reeling at the disgusting taste which now filled my mouth.

“Let’s just set up camp for the night,” Grapevine said. “In the morning we’ll be able to actually see where we are and make a more informed decision about where we want to go.”

There was nodding of heads and general agreement all around.

“Sure, but on one condition,” S’mores said. “Can we do it somewhere else? This place smells like barf.”

We went a little deeper into the forest until we found a suitable clearing that did not smell like barf. The other ponies began to clear out little patches to sleep in. Dmitry and Grapevine gathered some twigs and started a fire. I think they might have even started cooking something, but I wasn’t sure. All I wanted to do was… literally nothing, actually. So I lay down behind a tree on the edge of the clearing and closed my eyes. As a wave of slumber overtook me, I put up no resistance, and before I knew it I had drifting off to sleep…

Level up!

Level 8: Student of the Wastes

Entomologist: You read a book on the subject and did some field work, so now you’re an expert! Inflict 50% more damage against mutated insects such as radroaches, giant ants, bloatsprites, radscorpions, mole rats, and breezies (Changelings are considered half-insects, so this perk grants 25% damage against them, but only if they are mutated).

Stats:
Ponies Led: 7
Puzzle Pieces Collected: 3
Price of Silver: 39 bits per Troy Ounce

Status Ailments:

Advanced Food Poisoning: -1 Perception, -2 Endurance. A case of minor food poisoning left untreated. Treat it before it gets worse! Curable with antibiotics and/or plenty of rest.

Minor Sleep Deprivation: -1 Intelligence, -1 Agility. From not getting plenty of sleep when you’re sick.

Butthurt: Getting tazed in the butt is never fun. -1 Agility.