Dear Diary,

In some ways, today was a lot more stress-free than yesterday. There were no scary nightmares, no meals prepared by ghost chefs, and especially no barbarian axe murderers trying to kill us. Instead, this morning went more like ‘wake up, eat breakfast, and go,’ but at a rather leisurely pace. Another plus is that we’re almost out of the mountains, so it isn’t nearly as cold. It’s still fairly cold, but no longer antarctic temperatures (Grapevine said it was -10 this morning, and she actually used Marenheit this time!). The weather looks like it’s clearing up, so I might be able to shed my parka in a day or two.

In other ways, things have been getting a little more stressful lately. The village we spent the night in is at the edge of the forest, with a little river separating the two. The river may be frozen over now, but there’s a clear difference between the two sides of the river: on one side, you have the Mt. Hoof National Forest, which is mostly wilderness -- except for the various roads and trails, logging operations, and the occasional clump of buildings, it’s practically untouched by pony hooves, and little evidence besides the impossibly low temperature and lack of animals that it’s facing anything worse than your typical once-in-a-century snowstorm.

But once you cross the river, you really start to notice just how much things have changed. Beyond the forest is the valley, which has mostly been clear-cut for farming, dotted with little towns and hamlets with the occasional city here and there. Normally there would be ponies every couple of miles: working the land, sitting on their front porch, hitchhiking, or whatever -- even the most obscure country roads had at least some traffic. However, today we saw nothing -- just house after house, farm after farm, derelict and devoid of inhabitants.

At first we thought they might have been hauled up inside their houses. After all, who’d want to be outside in this weather? But after a while, it became clear that practically all of these houses were abandoned. Some had their windows boarded up. Others had parts of their roofs caving in. Granted, many of these houses and barns were not in the best condition to begin with. But just one year after the apocalypse, even the newest buildings looked like they had sustained ten or twenty years worth of damage. So a thirty year old barn would be more like a fifty year old barn, or possibly even older.

We scavenged what little supplies we could from these houses, but most of what we found was junk. What was especially in short supply was food, since most of it was probably eaten by the residents before they left. Every so often we’d find a box of snack cakes or a microwaveable meal that somepony missed (or left behind on purpose), but in most houses there was simply nothing to eat. I suspect that the very reason these houses were abandoned is because the ponies living in them ran out of food, and either left in search of it, or just starved to death.

Sometimes we’d find corpses strewn across a floor or a bed. These corpses had clearly been dead for weeks or months, but they were surprisingly well preserved by the cold temperatures. We tried to stay as far away from the corpses as possible, because one: they’re CORPSES, and two: there’s probably bugs and germs all over them. Their thin, skeletal forms confirms my theory that most, if not all of them, died of starvation.

I admit, it’s really creepy and unnerving when you actually see the ruins of a world you once knew in person. A real post-apocalyptic world is a hell of a lot different than they portray it in the movies and in video games. The media simplifies things, and treats everything with artistic license… although I suppose they have to. A real post-apocalyptic world is a lot more… boring than the fictional ones. And after three days of traveling, I don’t think I’ve seen even a single mutated plant or animal. Maybe we’ll see some when we get closer to whatever remains of the cities.

Speaking of cities, that’s where we’ve decided to go: the city. It’s become abundantly clear to us that we won’t find anything (or anyone) if we just wander around the countryside. That was kind of the plan all along, although it was never official until Grapevine called an impromptu strategy meeting today.

“So, uh…..” hesitated Grapevine, “Where exactly are we headed, anyway?”

Dmitry and I stopped in our tracks and stared at Grapevine. She stopped too and stared at us with an equal amount of confusion.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You know,” said Grapevine, “Where are we goin’? Like, what’s the point of wanderin’ around like this?”

“Would you rather be in the stable?” asked Dmitry, “With all those crazy ponies in there?”

“No, of course not,” said Grapevine. “But is there anyplace in particular we’re headed towards, or are we just wanderin’ for the sake of it?”

“Good question,” I said. “I was kind of leading us in the direction of the city.”

“But there’s so much stuff in the city!” said Grapevine.

“Grapevine’s right, “ said Dmitry. “Are we looking for anything in particular, or just wandering around and scavenging?”

“Well...” I began hesitantly, “I was thinking that, you know how Stable-Tec has a local satellite office somewhere around here?”

“Yeah?” said Dmitry.

“Well maybe,” I continued, “Just maybe we could go there and find something, or somepony, who could help us…”

“Save the stable?” asked Grapevine.

“What’s left of it,” I said.

“What makes you think we’ll find anything there?” asked Dmitry.

“Don’t you get it?” asked Grapevine. “This is Stable-Tec we’re talkin’ about! If what Stable-Tec builds is truly ‘built to last,’ then surely their office is still there!”

“Hmmm… I don’t know,” said Dmitry. “It all seems a little far-fetched.”

“Do you have any better ideas?” I asked.

“No,” answered Dmitry. “Not really.”

“Since we don’t have anything better to do, we might as well head on over to Stable-Tec,” I said. “And besides, it’s probably our only hope of getting our stable back.”

“Well, alright,” said Dmitry. “I’ll go with your plan, although I still think it’s really far-fetched.”

“Great!” said Grapevine, with a noticeable bounce added to her step. “Don’t worry Didi, I’m sure we’ll find somethin’!”

“‘Didi?’” I asked, confused. “Are you…?”

“It’s fine,” said Dmitry. “I had a friend who used to call me that.”

“Hurry up, slowpokes!” yelled Grapevine, who was practically bouncing down the road. “We’re gonna go to the ci-ty! We’re gonna go to the ci-ty! We’re gonna go to the...”

We continued walking down the highway towards the city. After a few minutes, I got sick of Grapevine’s chattering and random noise making, so I fished out a pair of ear blooms from my stable jumpsuit’s pocket, put them in my ears, and listened to what few songs I had on my pipbuck, while Dmitry plugged his ears with a hoofful of snow. Eventually she shut up, which was a great relief for me since remixes of remixes of DJ Pon-3 songs get old pretty fast. Seriously, why do I even have these on my pipbuck? I don’t remember putting them on there. Actually, I don’t remember putting any music on it, for that matter. If you can even call dubstep ‘music’ to begin with…

Finally, just as evening was starting to settle in, we saw a faint glow coming from a cluster of buildings on the horizon. When we approached, we found a town, albeit a shell of one. Most of the buildings were vacant and many were boarded up. The ones that hadn’t had seen their windows smashed and were mostly empty of valuables. However, there were lights coming from what was once the downtown area, which was now surrounded by a large makeshift wall. Where the highway met the wall there was a gate.

As we approached the gate, we saw a team of ponies, about six or so, on their way out of town. Four of them were pulling a wagon brimming with junk while two unicorns walked ahead, brandishing shotguns. As soon as they were three blocks out, several scruffy looking punks jumped out from behind some abandoned houses. Some began shooting while others charged towards them bearing machetes and sledgehammers in their mouths. The unicorn guards panicked and dove for cover, while the teamsters struggled to remove their yokes. I had no idea who those ponies were or what they were doing, but I felt the need to run in and help them.

I galloped forward a few yards, knelt down, whipped out my trusty hunting rifle, and pressed a button on my Pipbuck to activate SATS, the Stable-Tec Arcane Targeting Spell. As its name implies, it’s a targeting system developed by Stable-Tec. I’m not exactly sure how it works, but it slows time to a crawl (or rather, speeds up your thought processes in comparison to everything else) and creates a visual interface that assists with aiming weapons in combat situations. I’m not sure why they even included it on what is essentially a PDA, but it’s come in handy in many situations, such as this one. While time is slowed, a number of actions can be selected based on the availability of what are called ‘Action Points,’ and S.A.T.S. will assist you in carrying them out once you close the interface. For example, I had enough points to line up two shots each against two of the ponies attempting to charge at the wagon, aiming at their legs in hopes of stopping their advance and deterring further action. With its aid, S.A.T.S. informed me that I had about a 75% chance to hit, so I lined the actions up and let it go. For the next few seconds, my body was essentially on autopilot as the spell took over my horn, using my own telekinesis to aim the gun and pull the trigger in slow motion. It’s quite a surreal experience.

Three of the shots hit their targets, lodging .308 rounds into the raiders’ legs. The one who took two shots collapsed immediately and began clutching his injured leg while the other one merely paused momentarily, turned to his left, and began charging towards me instead. S.A.T.S. would take a few seconds to recharge, so I had to fall back on my admittedly very mediocre shooting skills, which I had honed in my Stable’s makeshift shooting range against stationary targets but not moving ones. I pointed my gun and fired off a round but completely missed. Then I had to reload, but it was too late: the raider had already closed the distance. As he attempted to pounce me, I leapt out of the way, then swung my rifle around and smacked him upside the head with the butt. This disoriented him long enough that I could have kicked him, but Grapevine jumped in and whacked him across the face with a baseball bat instead.

With that guy taken care of, I had enough time to fish out some more rounds and refill my gun. Then I went forward to try to deal with the rest of the ambushers. Nopony was charging at the wagon anymore, but a few were still holed up inside an abandoned house, having a shootout with the wagon’s guards. As soon as they spotted me, one of them started shooting, so I jumped over a low picket fence on one of the houses across the street. Using the fence as cover, I could safely snipe at them until I got a hit or they ran out of ammo. By this time S.A.T.S. had completely recharged, so I used it to get four more shots out. I managed to cripple the forehooves of an earth pony and chip off half the horn of a unicorn. While I was reloading my gun, the ambushers stopped shooting and left the windowsills. I suspected they had given up and were trying to make a run for it. I kept my gun aimed at the house’s front door, and after about a minute of waiting it finally opened just as I had let my guard down. I tried to hit them in the hooves again, but they were really fast and I only got to knock down one of them while her three friends got away I figured they had learned their lesson and didn’t have the numbers to try this again, so I didn’t attempt to pursue.

I quickly searched the house to ensure that none of the ambushers were planning another ambush. Finding the house was empty, I met back up with my companions. The pony who had charged at me earlier had been knocked unconscious during his scuffle with Grapevine, and the fleeing pony I had downed had lost the will to fight, so we confiscated their weapons and dragged them towards the gate. The wagon ponies had also tied three of the raiders up and taken their gear. One of the unicorn guards approached us with a look of gratitude.

“Thank you kindly, strangers,” he said. “I’m not sure what we would have done without you. It’s not much, but take this to cover your troubles.”

He gave us a box of .308 rounds and two healing potions.

“It’s our pleasure,” Dmitry said. “We’re happy to help. You’re the first ponies we’ve met in a while who haven’t tried to shoot at us.”

The guard laughed.

“Same,” he said. “Except for this town. They’re pretty nice folks. But it’s getting late and we’ve got to get going. See ya ‘round.”

The teamsters began pulling the wagon down the road, each quietly saying, ‘thank you,’ under their breath as they passed. Then we walked down the road towards the town. When we got close, they opened the gate very slightly and we were greeted by five ponies. Two of them looked non-threatening, and the other three carried rifles on straps around their necks but weren’t prepared to use them. All five smiled politely. When we were about two yards away, Dmitry stopped in his tracks like he’d forgotten something at home.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“We’re entering a town,” Dmitry said. “Maybe I should have transformed into a pony before we came close, and--”

“There’s no need for that,” one of the rifle-bearers, a bat pony, said as she stepped forward. “This town is pretty accepting. Most folk these days are happy to see anything that isn’t a bandit or a mutant. Also, we spotted you coming like, ten blocks away.”

“I see,” Dmitry said. “Well, in that case...”

One of the unarmed ponies, a brown cat-like mare who seemed absolutely delighted to see us, stepped forward.

“Why don’t you three come on in?” she said. “Welcome to Sandy Shades. My name is Katrina, and I’m the town greeter. My job is to greet strangers and welcome them to our town.” With a quick glance to the shotgun bearers, she continued, “We… find that there are fewer problems if you listen to what I have to say.”

“Tell us about this place,” I said, inviting her to indulge us. She obliged.

“You are standing in Sandy Shades. We are but a small town in a large world, just trying to survive amidst the wastes. Before the war we were known as the gateway to Mt. Hoof, and we used to get a lot of travelers passing through. These days, not as many, but we’ve all been pleasantly surprised at how many we’ve gotten this year.”

“Wait,” said Grapevine. “Ya mean y’all still get travelers? In this weather?”

“Oh, yes,” said Katrina. “Although it’s mostly just ponies traveling the IH-5 trying to steer clear of the city. And I don’t blame them -- only the most adventurous of ponies would try to go in.”

“Well, of course,” said Dmitry. “The city center’s probably decimated.”

“Of course! It’s an absolute deathtrap over there,” shuddered Katrina.. “The radiation will kill you instantly. There’s nothing intact to salvage either, so don’t even try.”

“What about 205?” I asked. “It bypasses the city center. Can’t they just use that?”

“Well, yes,” said Katrina with a little hesitation, “It isn’t irradiated, and I hear most of the road’s still intact, but I’d still stay away if I were you. Travelers who go that way always tell me they have to turn back because they get overrun...”

Katrina looked nervous, especially as she said that last word, so I decided not to pursue that line of questioning any further. I changed the topic back to Sandy Shades, which she was more than willing to do. She happily told us about the various merchants who sold supplies and directed us to ‘check in’ with Barlow Road, the town’s mayor.

As she walked into the town and my companions followed her, I stopped and took a look at the three rifle bearers. I noticed one of them was wearing a County Sheriff’s uniform and hat.

“Why didn’t you step in and stop the ambush?” I asked.

“I did,” she replied. “I provided fire support from up there.” She pointed to a balcony above the gate where two lookouts sat. Then I looked down the street and saw that the gate was part of a tall makeshift wall which extended downward for several blocks, with a platform for lookouts or snipers stationed every so often. It continued in the other direction too. Then I realized that the survivors in this community had essentially turned the downtown into a fort.

“I would have expected a sheriff to take a more active role in law enforcement.”

She looked down at her uniform.

“Oh, this? Well, I’m not a sheriff anymore. Now I’m a militiamare. My jurisdiction doesn’t extend beyond these walls.”

“Why not?” I asked. “This place could use more law enforcement. You saw what just happened. And two days ago, some ponies tried to rob us near Timberwolf Lodge.”

She looked concerned, but merely sighed.

“I’m sorry kid, but it’s a whole new world out there. One where we can’t really enforce the law like we used to. We can’t maintain our patrol cars, most of the force has perished, and there’s no longer a tax base to pay our salaries. The County Commission unanimously abolished itself back in December, and my Department with it. Aside from this town and a few others, there technically isn’t even a law to enforce anymore. I’ll always protect ponies, but these days we have to use our resources very selectively, and it doesn’t make sense to patrol the countryside on the off-chance I’ll encounter a criminal when they need an active deterrent here.”

I looked back outside the gate where the five tied up bandits still sat. The unconscious one was starting to come to, and the others were still licking their wounds. They might die if they didn’t receive medical attention soon.

“Well, what about those guys? Are you at least going to put them in jail?”

“Well, we have a few cells, but they’re only for residents of the town,” she said. “We don’t really have the food or medical supplies to spare for some bandits from out of town. But you’re right, we can’t just leave them there. I’ll go deal with them.”

She and one of the other rifle bearers went out to where the bandits were while the third stayed behind to guard the gate. I walked forward into the town to go join Katrina’s tour, but halfway there I stopped to look back. Outside the gate, I caught a glimpse of the former sheriff towering over the subdued bandits, nonchalantly executing each with a revolver. It was honestly a little sickening, so I looked away.

We walked through the town center, passing by the various businesses and storefronts with windows that had been boarded up, most of which had been converted into housing. A few ponies shuffled around outside, bundled up in dirty jackets and coats, milling around and chatting with friends at the end of the workday. I took note of which stores were still selling stuff, as I intended to visit them later.

At the westernmost end of the town there was an inn. We negotiated with the innkeeper for a room and two meals for the cost of a hunting rifle and several .32 caliber rounds. They had us cornered since they were the only lodging in town (and because the ‘common houses’ were for residents only), but with the promise of a comfy bed inside a walled and guarded compound plus a complimentary breakfast, we couldn’t complain. Besides, since we’ve made it three days in a post-apocalyptic wasteland without dying, I supposed we deserved a treat.

Our room was rather dirty, having not been properly cleaned in ages. The sheets were stained and no vacuuming had been done, but it was still a noticeable improvement above our previous night’s stay in a derelict house. Come to think of it, all standards for cleanliness and sanitation have gone down since the apocalypse. Even back in Stable 76, ponies stopped cleaning up after themselves just before ‘it’ happened, and now the place is a complete mess.

Speaking of messes, I was already starting to get hungry for dinner. There was a restaurant that had been converted into a mess hall of sorts, and I traded two .32 pistols for three meals. Curious to see what was on the menu, I wandered into the kitchen, where I saw a busy cook preparing a meal. When I got close to see what she was cooking, the cook turned to me and said,

“I’m too busy to talk right now. I’ve got to get this meal ready!”

“Hmm! That smells really good,” I said. “I bet it tastes great!”

“Why, thank you,” said the cook. “I’m sure you will enjoy it. Thanks for the compliment. I’m going to tell all my friends about you.”

I was a bit shocked at the cook’s reply to my simple compliment, but in this day and age, I guess kindness really does go a long way. It seemed like it would take a while before the meal was ready, so I went outside and had a look around town. I visited each of the shops to see what they had, but I ended up not buying anything; my saddlebags were already crammed with supplies I had looted from Stable 76’s stockrooms, and I wasn’t particularly low on anything.

After having made my rounds through all the shops, I went back to the mess hall only to be told it would be another half hour before dinner was ready. Feeling in an unusually social mood, I tried to occupy myself by chatting it up with the locals who were shuffling through the streets, but aside from the “Good day” or “Nice to see you,” the townsfolk didn’t really have anything to talk about. I literally couldn’t get more than a vague sentence out of any of them! Strange.

With everypony being rather standoffish, I instead bided my time by poking around the common houses. The rooms were furnished with some very nice looking beds, chairs, and simple yet well-made rugs. There were also some sturdy wooden bookshelves, which contained mostly tattered old books but also a few other pieces of junk.

The only decorations were some finely crafted wooden bowls and a few pretty clay vases, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary in the makeshift dwellings, except for maybe a mixed-breed canine or two. That was, of course, until I met Tandy.

Tandy was an earth pony filly with a brown coat and a jet black mane. From head to hoof she was dirty and unkempt, but there was a glimmer in her muddy-green eyes. A glimmer of excitement that fillies have when they see something new. She was also the only pony I had met in this town who was my age. I found her in what I assumed was her bedroom, an office room inside the town’s firehouse, which had been converted into the town firehouse/police station/town hall/guard barracks/armory/hospital/coroner’s office. Until she saw me, she had been working away at a computer, hammering down lines of code for some sort of a computer program.

“Hi!” she said, jumping up from her screen and brimming with enthusiasm. “I heard there were some travelers in town, but I was kinda skeptical until I saw you. My name’s Tandy, what’s yours?”

“My name’s Silver Bullet,” I said, trying to hide my nervousness. I’ve always felt uncomfortable meeting new people, especially peers.

“Well, Silver Bullet,…” she asked, “how do you like our little town? Bored yet?”

“Hell, yes. There’s nothing to do here and nopony wants to talk.”

“Finally!” she cried, tipping her head up to the heavens. “Somepony else who sees! It didn’t used to be this way, but ever since the bombs fell and refugees started heading our way, everypony’s become a lot less trusting of strangers.” Then after a few seconds, she added, “Of course, you’ve probably been everywhere, so this must be hell for you.”

I don’t know where she got the idea that I’m some sort of globetrotter. I only left Stable 76 three days ago, and even before then I never did as much traveling as I should have.

“If you’re so bored, why don’t you leave?” I asked. “It’s done a lot to cure my boredom.”

“Me, leave? she asked, as if my suggestion was an unattainable pipe dream. “I wish! I don’t know enough to survive out there alone and nopony else wants to go. And worst of all, my father says he would have a heart attack if something happened to me.”

Huh. When I left my prison of a home, I had never let a lack of survival knowledge or a lack of companionship keep me there-- I just up and left. And did my dad have a heart attack? I doubt it, but he probably had a conniption fit. Although I considered it payback for seventeen years of bad parenting. Though, I suppose if she was one of those fillies who actually love their dads, leaving would be more of a challenge for her. I mean, maybe if my mom was still alive, maybe I’d stay, but without her there to counterbalance things, my family was just unbearable.

“Tough situation,” I said, unable to offer any advice for her. “Can I ask you a few questions, though?”

“Sure, I guess,” she said cheerfully, though somewhat reluctant. “I’ve never been out of here since the bombs fell, and I’ve never been out of town very often before then, so I don’t know what help I can be. So, what’cha need?”

”What else is around these parts?” I asked as if I were a complete foreigner to the area, prompting her to elaborate on any abnormalities or things I should be aware of.

“There’s a big city to the northwest,” she began. “There are still some survivors living among the ruins, but most of them just raid travelers and hoard supplies. But since you’re such a great traveler, I’m sure you knew that already.”

“Thanks,” I said sarcastically, hinting my distaste for her comment on my traveling experience.

Part of me thought she was mocking me and wanted to slap her across the face for that, but another part thought she was just extremely naive and wanted to correct her by telling her that I had literally been living under a rock up until a few days ago. However, I wanted to remain polite, so I held my tongue.

“No problem,” she said cheerfully, oblivious to any discomfort her comment may have caused me. “Anything else?”

“No… that’s about it,” I said. “Thanks for your time.”

Tandi’s cheeriness began to fade.

“Well, thanks for… talking,” she said. “We don’t get many visitors here anymore, and it’s always good to talk to new people.” She gave a wistful sigh, then perked up to end the conversation on a happy note. “Well, see ya!”

“Bye,” I said, walking away.

It felt awkward leaving the conversation like that, but it was apparent that she didn’t have anything interesting to talk about. Not that our conversation wasn’t somewhat interesting-- it’s just that she didn’t have anything significantly more interesting than anypony else around here.

Back at the mess hall, most of the townsponies had arrived for the evening meal and had already been served. During my conversation with Tandy I had found that she didn’t really understand the concept of ‘personal space,’ so I made it a point to avoid her for the rest of my stay. I didn’t really want to sit by any of the other townsponies either, so I took my food to a booth on the far end of the dining room where I hoped to eat my food in peace. Then my traveling companions came and sat next to me, which I would rather they didn’t, but I didn’t have the heart to tell them to buzz off. Then two brown stallions came and joined us, forcing us to scoot over to make room, leaving me squished between Grapevine and the wall.

“Hey there,” said the first, a dirt-brown pony dressed in pre-war casualwear, with very thin yet well-combed hair. “Name’s Road, Barlow Road, though most ponies call me ‘Uncle Road.’ Welcome to Sandy Shades. I’ve been the mayor of this town going on twenty five years, and I like to meet our visitors.”

“Hello, Mr. Road,” I said. “My name is Silver Bullet.”

“And um… how old are you, Silver Bullet?” he asked.

“Seventeen,” I replied.

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “My daughter Tandy is about your age. Have you met her?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I have,” I said. “We had an… interesting conversation.”

“I’m sure you did,” he said. “My girl, she has a real knack for computers, pip-bucks, and all the other electronics you youngers have that I don’t know the first thing about. Why, I’d call it her special talent, if she didn’t already get her cutie mark in leathercraft! It just makes you wonder, ya know?”

He gave out a heart laugh, then went on a tangent about parenting. I wasn’t listening, and my mind wandered to other places while he kept on talking. Grapevine and Dmitry appeared interested though, but that’s probably because they’re adults.

“Hey,” said a voice.

I looked up and saw that it came from the other stallion, a greyish-brown one, who looked like a seasoned traveler.

“You’re a stable dweller, I see,” he remarked. “So, what brings you up to the surface?”

“Something’s wrong with our stable,” I said succinctly.

“Let me guess… broken water talisman?” he asked.

“Ummm… not exactly,” I said. “The problem is… everypony’s killing each other.”

“Oooh,” he said with a grimace. “So you’re fleeing?”

“No,” I said, “we’re going to do something about it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“We’re going to submit a maintenance request at the nearest Stable-Tec satellite office.”

I expected him to laugh himself out of his seat, but instead he just sat there, pondering my mission. Finally he said,

“Well, you just might find something there,” he said. “I’ve scouted this area enough to know that the suburb where the Stable-Tec office is survived the apocalypse quite well. Even if you don’t find any ponies there, you might still find a robot or two, or maybe some help documents.”

I perked up at this. I didn’t really expect to find any ponies there, but if what this guy said is true, then there just might be some resources available for us to use.

“As for the other Stable-Tec facilities, they didn’t survive quite as well,” he continued. “The Seaddle office got leveled, the San Flankcisco one is practically underwater, and the Los Arboles one’s been ransacked by thieves. I can’t say much about Bronco City, Salt Lick, or Las Pegas, but of all the metropolitan areas I’ve observed, this one seems to have fared the best.”

“How much traveling have you done?” I asked, astonished at how he could have visited so many places under conditions such as this.

“Quite a lot,” he replied. “That’s my life-- I’m a traveler. I’ve been drifting from place to place for a while now. I support myself by buying and selling rare artifacts.”

“Rare artifacts, huh?” I asked.

“Eeyup,” he said, sliding a pre-war business card across the table. “Goosey G. Gaggleskein, dealer in curios, trinkets, knickknacks, bibelots, and baubles of uncommon varieties. I also trade small quantities of precious metals.”

“Precious metals, eh?” I asked. “What’s the going rate for silver?”

“It’s about… nine bits per Troy Ounce,” he said.

“NINE bits!?” I exclaimed. “Only nine? I swear it was at least ฿3,200 last October.”

“Yeah, well, it turns out that precious metals really aren’t all that valuable after the collapse of the monetary system and all,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Gold has been hurting too, but it’s still considered slightly more valuable. Though, I’m confident that these prices will rise as society rebuilds itself. Check back in a year and I’m certain you’ll see significant gains. Also, there are a great many ponies out there who still believe the old myths about the inherent value of these metals. Buying some Gold, Silver, or Platinum would still be a good investment in the event that you come across some of them. However, Palladium doesn’t produce the same effect because nopony knows what it is. How many ounces of Silver can I get you down for?”

“No thanks,” I said. “I’m looking for something more… practical. Do you have any advice for first-time travelers?”

“A knowledge-seeker, eh?” he asked. “Well, ‘knowledge is power,’ that’s your first piece of advice. Any more will cost ya. Wait, let me cut you a deal: if you give me 240 bottlecaps, I’ll let you ask me 20 questions on anything about surviving in the wasteland, and I will answer them to the best of my ability. What do you say?”

“Fair enough,” I answered, “but why bottlecaps?”

“I’ll answer that after you pay me,” he said. “And no, I won’t accept other payments. I’ve already got enough food and bullets on me right now, but I’m really, really low on caps.”

“Can you at least tell me where I can find the caps?” I asked, “Or is that something I’ll have to pay for as well?”

“Anywhere in the wasteland really,” he replied. “Trash cans, especially. Just use your head! Sometimes you’ll find them in the most random of places, like inside of desks and what-not, but most of the time they’ll be in trash cans or anywhere you can get bottled beverages. You can even take them from unopened sodas, but you should at least drink what’s inside, since throwing the actual soda out is wasteful.”

As I scavenged around Sandy Shades’ outskirts looking for caps, I thought about what my 20 questions would be. I stressed myself out way more than I should have, but it just seemed so important at the time, and I felt as though someday in the future I would be in a situation where my life would hang in the balance and all I would have left to save myself is what Iearned from Gaggleskein, so asking the wrong questions would give me useless information and--

“Wait a minute. I’m overthinking things again, aren’t I?” I asked myself (I tend to do that a lot). “Let’s just focus on the task ahead and think about the questions later.”

The last of the sun’s rays had retreated beyond the horizon, leaving the wasteland almost pitch dark. Fortunately I knew a flashlight spell, so by the light of my horn and the glow of my Pipbuck’s screen I could continue searching. Everything was made twenty times scarier by the darkness: the rustle of the wind, the creaking of the floorboards and door hinges, even my hoofsteps. The night isn’t that scary when you have an abundance of electric lamps to pierce the darkness, and it tends to lull you into a false sense of security. It makes you believe the darkness isn’t that bad, that you can handle any kind of situation no matter how dark… but you never know true darkness until you have to live without electricity. Only then does the prospect of an ‘eternal night’ sound like a nightmare. And if you can’t even see the stars? Then it becomes hell.

I thoroughly searched the first house on the block, opening every drawer and scanning the floor for bottle caps. Despite the thick layer of dust that lay upon everything, it still felt like somepony lived here and that I was invading their privacy. After all, I hadn’t been invited in, which made me a trespasser. I kept looking over my shoulder every time I heard a loud noise, fearing that I might get caught by whoever owned the property, or a police officer out on patrol. I had to keep reminding myself that nopony lived here anymore and that everything was fair game. I also had to keep reminding myself that the police no longer existed and that I had absolutely nothing to be afraid of.

With each successive house, my search became quicker and quicker. I knew to check the trashcans and the kitchens since that’s where all the caps were, and I thought it was foolish how thoroughly I searched the first house.

“Stupid Silver,” I told myself, “Nopony puts bottlecaps in dressers and desk drawers!”

By the time I reached the end of the block, my search time was only a fraction of what it had once been. Though I had to fight off the feeling that I was missing out on some good loot by skipping most of the drawers and cupboards in the house. I made a note to myself to come back later and check them, but I knew that I wouldn’t follow through on it. I couldn’t spend all night here because ponies were waiting for me-- my friends might get worried if I didn’t return after a few hours, and the town’s guards usually don’t let anypony in after dark, and had been generous in granting me a few hours extension. If I wasn’t back by the time they changed shifts, I would have to either be really persuasive, or wait until dawn before I could come back in. This was unacceptable, because I had paid for that hotel room, and it would be a waste if I couldn’t even sleep in it.

After I exited the last house, I turned my sights to the west where another block of houses lay waiting for me across the road. I still had 146 bottlecaps to go, but it was almost ten o’clock. I groaned in frustration at my shortcoming.

“Seriously, not even a hundred bottlecaps?” I asked a nearby telephone pole. “What am I supposed to do now?”

The telephone pole -- or rather, the face of a mare advertising her foalsitting services on a flyer -- grinned at me, with a smile that seemed mocking and callous to me under the circumstances.

“Why did I ever agree to this?” I asked. “Two hundred forty? And bottlecaps, of all things! Stupid, stupid bottlecaps! I mean, I know that we need to find alternate means of exchange after the apocalypse and all, but bottlecaps? What a trick! I should have just laughed in his face when he said ‘bottlecaps.’ Heh, some wise man he is. What other advice would he have for me? ‘There’s a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow?’ ‘Follow a herd of lemmings to get to safety?’”

The telephone pole just stood there placidly listening to my little rant. I gave it a long, hard look, waiting impatiently for a response, half-forgetting that I was just talking to a poster. Then all of a sudden, it whispered to me:

“You like the sight of your own blood?”

I furrowed my brow and stared at it for a second. Did that poster just talk? And did say ‘blood?’

And then I realized that it came from behind me. I turned around slowly, and saw the grinning face of the mare from the poster. But this face was covered with scars and dirt and blood. It was also attached to a body, also covered in scars, dirt, and blood. She also wielded a sharp combat knife in her mouth.

I screamed and ran. This mare, who the poster described as ‘upstanding member of the community,’ was now chasing me with a knife between her teeth. I could hear other ponies behind her, egging her on and threatening me with torture and death. I rounded a corner and slipped inside a house, locking the door behind me. I quickly went to the kitchen and locked the back door, and found to my pleasant surprise that all of the windows on the first floor had been boarded up. For the moment, I was safe.

I went upstairs and crept into a bedroom. I could see a dim light outside the window, and I slowly crept over to investigate. Outside I saw a small group of barbarians, including the mare from the poster, standing in the roadway, illuminated by the light of small torches they had planted in the snow.

“They’re all boarded up,” said a stallion plodding away from the house.

“Well, fuck,” scoffed the mare from the poster. “How are we gonna get her now?”

I had taken the opportunity to quietly get out my shotgun and aim it at one of the ponies before they could see me.

“Well, maybe we could find a ladder and climb through one of the upper--”

Bang! It was a miss.

“--windows...” finished the stallion as all of their eyes trailed over to me. I had been spotted, and all of them quickly took out firearms and pelted me with lead… or they would have, had my reflexes not driven me to seek cover. The barrage continued, but I hid behind my wall and waited for them to stop firing. As soon as there was a lull, I went back to the window and tried to get an aim, but couldn’t because they started shooting at me again. I tried to pop back up and shoot them again a few times, but each time I missed and they just fired back. Bullets hit the walls and furniture, and I wondered how long the building could hold. Of course, they couldn’t keep shooting forever because they’d run out of bullets at some point. But then there was the siege element: how long until I ran out of bullets? And what would I do then?

I decided to change my strategy. Crawling along the floor, I made it into the hallway and went into a bathroom. The room itself was much smaller than the bedroom, but so was its window, giving me more protection against the raiders’ shots. The window stubbornly refused to move, so it took a heavy push to open. Unfortunately, the push gave my new position away and they started firing in my direction. I waited for a lull, then made a few shots in their direction. Again, these were all misses, except for one which hit a stallion in the hind leg. But this wasn’t enough to disable him, because he kept on firing at me.

I changed my tactics once again, going back to the bedroom and lobbing out a grenade, then ducking for cover. Judging by their voices, I must have missed, but I had clearly startled them.

“Woah-- what the fuck?” exclaimed one. “She had a grenade!”

“Bitch probably has more,” said another.

“Then we should change our strategy,” said the poster mare. “Bardo, get that torch!”

I peeked out the window as one of the stallions in the group picked up one of the torches and began to approach the house. The others aimed their guns at the two windows, ready to shoot in case I tried to lob another grenade or snipe the torch stallion. They were going to set the house on fire!

All of a sudden, a bullet hit the torch stallion and he fell to the ground, the torch falling out of his mouth and into the snow. The others all turned towards the origin of the bullet, which had come from a sniper hiding behind a parked car. They all turned towards the car and started firing, giving me enough time to take aim and get a headshot on the poster mare. Two of the remaining ones saw their comrade go down and turned their fire back towards me, but two were a lot easier to take down than seven.

I took one of them down, and the other decided I was no longer a worthwhile target and ran. Somewhat rashly, I decided to go downstairs and unlock the door, to finish off my attackers at a closer range. I found the remaining three in a shootout against the pony behind the car, but with their attention focused on that they made easy targets. However, during the firefight, one of their bullets had hit the engine, and it began to smoke. Recalling several bad car accidents I’d seen on the news, I made the wise choice to run away just before it exploded.

KA-BOOM!

The deafening roar of the explosion reverberated throughout the neighborhood, and the flames burned for several minutes. I waited until the flames subsided and the smoke began to clear, then ventured forth cautiously. A figure emerged behind the plume of smoke. Could it be the mysterious stranger who broke the barbarians’ siege? Or maybe it was one of the barbarians-- in that case, I readied my gun to fire at a moment’s notice. Or maybe the mysterious stranger was a barbarian, or a bandit, or any other kind of evildoer who wanted all the spoils for themselves? Then the stranger came forward.

“Dmitry?”

“Silver!” he cried, and came over and hugged me. “I was worried about you,...” he said, but was interrupted when another pony emerged from the smoke and approached us..

“I’m… *cough, cough* ...going… to… *cough, cough* eat… your...”

I shot her and she fell to the ground.

“...So I came looking,” continued Dmitri. “The guards are changing shift soon, so we should get back to the hotel.”

“Can I loot the corpses first?” I asked. “I don’t want this trip to be a total waste.”

“Go ahead,” he said, “But do it quickly.”

I rifled through the barbarians’ bodies, taking only ammunition, healing potions, coins, and other small items that wouldn’t drag me down too much. Upon finally reaching the mare from the poster, I found a small sack in her position, the contents of which jingled when I shook it. I undid the string and found nothing but…

Bottlecaps!

One hundred and fifty seven, and I had counted them twice. Lining them all up in groups of twenty across the hotel room floor, I was now certain I had enough to pay Gaggleskein. And if the whole bottlecaps thing is just a joke, (which it better not be!) then I’ll sock him across the face for it, because I had a hell of an evening just trying to collect them.

“You know, she’s a lot like a child, the way she lines those bottlecaps up,” Dmitry told Grapevine, and she nodded in agreement. They were sitting on one of the beds, watching me count my caps, talking each other, Dmitry wrapping his hoof around Grapevine’s shoulder and-- wait, what? Was he really… or am I just imagining things? Surely they can’t be that close, what with them barely knowing each other and all…

“You know what? Maybe I’m just tired,” I thought. It was quite late, so I gathered up all the bottlecaps and put them back into the bag, then headed into the bathroom to wash up before bed.

Progress to Next Level: 185/550

Author's Notes:

8/5/19: Added another scene to flesh out the setting.