Day Twenty-five - East of what’s left of Tanover

I’ve reached Tanover. At least, I’m close to it, to what’s left of it.

Tanover sits in a low valley, with a river running through it. That’s how I can already see so much of it.

It’s why I can see what’s left.

I keep writing that, but it’s true. Tanover is a ruin. Far worse than Passtil or Holton.

It’s massive. Bigger than any city I’ve ever seen. I think I’m technically already in it, or some division of it. I’ve holed up in a house on the outskirts.

Manehatten would be smaller, maybe. It has tall buildings like Tanover—or like Tanover did at one point. I can see what’s left of them through the broken windows of where I’m taking shelter. But even destroyed, I think some of them are taller.

This world was massive.

The important thing, the reason I’m writing in here today, is because this is where I think the Cog were when I heard their voices over the radio at the Ramirez Estate. There’s a huge manufacturing center on the south side of the city, one that only took a partial hit from the hammer of dawn strikes—at least, I’m fairly certain that’s what toppled some of the larger buildings and created the massive craters in the ground. There’s a river that used to run through the city center. I write “used to” because it looks like the explosions changed its course, and the center of the city is just a big lake now with what’s left of the tallest buildings poking out of the water around it.

Anyway, the southern part of the city looks like a bunch of manufacturing complexes, and some of the destruction there looks, well, new. It’s hard to describe, and maybe it is just wishful thinking, but they were here, I’m sure of it!

Which also means that there are Locust here. Or nearby. Or ready to be here. The Cog arrived by air, and they were still attacked. So tonight I’m only using what light I get from the sun. No lanterns. I don’t want to draw any attention to the fact that I’m here. Tomorro—

The pen slipped, ruining the last letter of the word, and Sunset scowled. The waning light already made it hard to see inside the house she’d broken into. She needed to hurry while she could still see.

Tomorrow I’ll skirt the north end of the city. It’s a bit longer than cutting south, but if south is where the Cog was, I don’t want to risk running into any Locust that might still be hanging around.

The real problem is figuring out where to do that. The river running through Tanover isn’t small. My atlas does have a somewhat complete map of the city—yay for grabbing that book—complete with bridges that cross the east and west sides, but how many of those bridges are still up? How many of them were lost in the fighting? If I leave the city, it’s a good fifteen miles or so north to the nearest crossing. That’s a day’s travel up and back, assuming I don’t run into any problems.

The light was almost too dim to write by. She needed to wrap it up.

I’m doing all right with the travel. I practiced with the lancer out on the roa—

She stopped, squirting to see what she’d written and realizing that she’d deviated from the lines on the page. It was simply too dark to keep writing.

With a sigh, she snapped the journal shut and leaned back in the dusty chair she’d commandeered. Good enough, I guess. She’d twisted her seat so that it was pointed at the nearest window, trying to get as much of the last light of sunset as possible, but it was simply too late in the day for there to be much to work with, even facing directly at the western horizon. Stars had already begun to appear in the sky, along with one of the moons, providing enough dim light to make out the shape of the distant city, but not enough to illuminate detail.

Even in the twilight the ruins looked foreboding.. Moonlight glimmered off of the lake at the very center, a deep bowl ringed by the skeletal, blasted remains of buildings that, in Manehatten, would have been called skyscrapers. Not a single one of them had been left intact, though the ones further from the center of the city were in better shape than those at the middle of it.

Though not too much better. Most of them were still missing whole pieces. The streets were packed with rubble and debris, even at a distance. Sunset slipped her journal back into her pack and swapped it for her binoculars for a closer look. The world blurred as she looked through them, then jumped into sharp—if dark—focus.

The detail didn’t make the city look any better. More distinct, certainly, but there wasn’t much too that save more ruin.

And a lot of it. Gaping, empty windows stared back at Sunset, long devoid of any glass. Building fronts lay in shambles across streets, covered in a thick ashen mud that seemed to coat most of the city. Why hasn’t any of the rain washed that away? Is it just that heavy? Bits of rebar and other reinforcing poked above the rubble like the legs of dead insects, twisted and bent.

She panned her view across the city, alighting on old barricades and what had definitely been defensive locations like what she had seen in Holton and Passtil. Some even looked like they’d been formed from rubble, implying that there had at least been some fighting in the city after the hammer strikes had hit it.

Not that it did them any good. The city looked abandoned as everything else now, given over to the new rulers of Sera.

Locust. Sunset shifted her view away from the lake and toward the south end of the city, where she suspected the Cog airship had been. Though not actually an airship. According to her dictionary and an errant thought from the night before, a King Raven was a type of helicopter aircraft that utilized twin propellers spinning at incredible speeds to stay aloft. Such technology did exist in Equestria, but few had ever done anything with it. There airships ruled supreme thanks to liftgas, but on Sera … A check of the entry for “airship” had assured her that they did exist, but that they weren’t often utilized. A check of the term “liftgas” and equivalent terms suggested that no such thing existed. Equestrian airships, the question of the power supply aside, were likely much more capable than their seran counterparts.

Some of those buildings are huge, she thought as she swept her view across the south side of the city, taking in massive, gently sloping rooftops that were the size of several hoofball fields put together. Maybe even larger. You could fit the entire Guard training grounds in that one. Even with their capture the flag field! A few of the roofs had buckled over the years, with not one looking pristine, and those that were closer to the city center looked partially collapsed, but even so, the structures were impressively vast.

How many people must have worked in those?

Near the center of the complex, the buildings took on a less blocky look, more ornate and taller than the structures around them. That, combined with a road that led right to an open space that was probably a plaza, likely meant that the building was the center of the location.

What was more, the ash there wasn’t nearly as prevalent. Even through the binoculars, it was clear that something had disturbed the place. There were clear changes in the color of things, even visible under the dim, shadow-laden light provided by the moon. Places where the ash had given way in what looked like hard lines denoting—

Something moved, and Sunset flinched, dropping the binoculars. They were back up again in a second, the world blurring and shifting once more as her stomach clenched. Again she honed her gaze in on the distant center of the complex, still some ways off, but …

There was definitely movement around it. What, or who, she couldn’t tell. But she could guess.

Locust. This has to be where the Cog were! Looking for a computer chip, likely that had been held inside the very structure at the center of the complex.

So those buildings around it made computing devices then? She could only barely make out the windows on the massive building, what movement she could discern small faint twists and jerks of shadow. Anyone looking back in her direction would only see a dark window, since she was sitting well back from it, out of the moonlight.

All the more reason to go north tomorrow, though. If the Locust were still poking around the city, then it would be best to avoid them as much as possible.

Unless those aren’t Locust. They could be Cog. Back for another chip.

She tempered her excitement. If they are Cog, it’ll be pretty easy to find out. I’ll just have to wait until the Locust show up and start shooting.

Then the Cog would leave, and I’d be stuck here. I wouldn’t even have a way of getting their attention without bringing the Locust right to me.

Again, if they are Cog. It was far more likely than they were Locust. But if—?

No. She shook her head. They’re Locust. Who else could they be?

You could sneak down there and see. The tantalizing idea yawned at the edge of her mind, the last step to an abyss she could vanish into, never to be seen again. You could take your gnasher and give it a shot.

In the dark? The Locust were subterranean. Logically, then, she’d have a better chance sneaking around during the daylight then at night. Or if their eyes were decently adapted to the surface, just before dawn or in the early twilight.

A flash of something across the night sky caught her focus, and she whipped the binoculars back up as a trio of … things … dropped down to land in front of the complex center.

What are those? The distant shapes were so indistinct between the dark and her distance that it was all but impossible to make anything out. But they had been flying, that much was unmistakable. Nothing else could drop out of the sky like that unless it could fly.

But those aren’t ravens. She hadn’t gotten a great look at them, but even as distant shapes atop the ground they clearly lacked the same shape or structure as the picture in her dictionary.

Locust. It had to be. Something that could fly, like a pegasus. But how?

Regardless if they were poking around the complex …

She lowered the glasses once more, decision made. Definitely the north end of the city. As far north as I can go. Quietly. First thing tomorrow morning.

Which meant she needed to sleep. She ate her dinner quietly, the meal lit only by the dim light of the moon, her ears straining for every out-of-place sound as she picked her way through another bland box.

Gnasher close by her side, Sunset drifted off to sleep.

Rubble clattered beneath her boot and Sunset froze, just as she had the last few times she’d kicked an errant bit of brick. The sound echoed back at her from the nearby buildings, bouncing across shattered storefronts and broken steps, dropping down over the barrier wall at Sunset’s side and into a long-since drained canal now home to faint choked weeds and more of the grey ashen mud that seemed to coat everything, even this far from the city center.

There were no cries of alarm or alert, and she moved forward once more, heart jumping with every errant rattle of her wagons. She’d risen early that morning and used what spare clothing she had to stuff any gaps she could see that could produce motion, but she'd apparently not gotten all of them.

Easy, Sunset. She moved forward again, her boots making soft pats against the dried mud and stirring up the occasional faint dust cloud as she continued down the wrecked avenue. Or pathway—she wasn’t sure which it was. Walkway? Causeway? The only thing she could say for certain was that it clearly hadn’t been meant for vehicles, but for foot traffic.

The road might have been easier, she thought as she stepped around another bit of debris, what looked to be a half-melted bit of metal that had probably been thrown across the city from the center of the hammer strikes. Or not. The rear wagon bumped the large piece of metal, scraping along the side. The sound of its echoing rasp made her wince.

Keep cool. The gnasher was in her hands, had been since she’d set out that morning. Tanover was silent as a tomb—fitting, since it was one. Unlike Holton or Passtil however, there was little sign that life had returned to reclaim what had been burnt to charred nothingness. Trees shoved scraggly, charred branches into the sky from planters, the claws black and charred without a leaf in sight. No birdsong echoed along the empty canal beside her. No living plants waved in the breeze. Here and there along the canal bottom she’d seen tufts of grass, but they been sickly, unhealthy if alive at all, choked by the omnipresent grey ash and mud that coated almost every surface.

Worse still was the heat baking down on her. What little wind there was had come and gone as she’d wound her way through the city outskirts, alternately providing a brief blessed relief or abandoning her to the heat of the sun that baked the ashen mud underfoot. Dust had settled on her skin, turning to a slick, sticky clay as she’d started to sweat and making her itch.

Sunset wiped a hand across her forehead, leaving a grey smudge on her palm, and trudged onward. Ahead the pathway intersected with a road, a crashed car blocking the exit to the street, and she took the next bridge across the canal to the other side.

Still moving in the right direction, she thought as she crossed the wide street, following faded white lines in the pavement that had probably indicated a crosswalk for the hoof—foot—traffic to follow. A signpost that had probably signaled to both the traffic and the pedestrians had been warped by some impact, leaving its upper half bent at an angle out over the road, and she ducked as she stepped under it.

There were bones on a nearby sidewalk. Seran bones, coated in the same omnipresent grey clay. She averted her eyes, shifting them downward until she was back alongside the canal once again. Aged, weathered shards of glass glittered beneath her feet, sunken into the grey like tile in a noble’s washroom. She kept alert for any pieces that might be protruding, baring razor edges that could cut into her boots—or worse, puncture one of the wagon train’s thick, heavy tires—but years of weather seemed to have blown them all flat. The constant glittering from the array made it appear as though the path ahead of her was being forged by falling stars, though in truth she couldn’t think of a less-fitting comparison to her current situation.

Worse, the glass made her nervous, and she switched sides once more as soon as she was given the chance, the wagon train bumping and rolling over another bridge to the other side of the canal.

What must Tanover have looked like before it was a ruin? It was hard not to look at the buildings around her and try to imagine them in their prime, panes full of glass. Or with signs. Bursting with bright, vibrant color, the trees bearing boughs of brilliant green. The empty metal chairs and dusty tables she was passing clean and used by people, laughing and talking as they enjoyed their day.

How could anyone do this to their own home? She left the empty tables behind, eyes sliding to what looked like a destroyed bookstore, the shelving and interior charred and blackened by fire. She could see how it must have looked in her mind, though likely not exact. The welcoming steps, the twin, engraved pillars outside each door, the row after row of books offered on sale. Signs, perhaps, to warn of upcoming book releases or events.

She could picture roughly how it had transformed into its current state as well. The blast from the hammer, a shockwave of heat and sound, rushing through the city, scorching the stones and blasting the buildings apart. She could see the books catching fire in her mind, the heat scorching the shelves until they burst into flame. Someone screaming as their flesh began to melt—

She shook her head and pushed on, forcing herself to look away from a set of dusty bones even as a shudder worked its way through her shoulders and back. Don’t think about it. It’s awful, but you don’t have to think about it.

Thankfully, the next storefront had simply collapsed, what looked to be a half-melted car having slammed down atop it from above.

She hoped there hadn’t been anyone in it when it had happened. The vehicle or the building.

What a horrifying weapon. Is this what would happen if she had ever used the sun as a weapon?

She had before, Sunset knew that much. There were records of it from the Breaking, though sparse in detail.

Very sparse. She’d always wondered why. Now …

Ahead of her the pathway intersected with a main road once more, blending into a broad sidewalk of broken, uneven brick. Part of the road had dropped, collapsing over the canal and cutting it off, though whether the damage had been done during the hammer strike or the Locust invasion, Sunset couldn’t say. But the canal past the blockage glimmered under the sun, stagnant, brackish water baking in the heat. And past that …

Another blockage, and she sighed before she could help herself.. One of the taller buildings had collapsed, crashing down into the canal and across the paths on either side, blocking all off. Leaving her with only two choices. I can circle out, she thought, glancing to her right. Or I can cut in, closer to the city center.

The latter option was shorter, and she turned around, backtracking to the last bridge across the canal and putting herself on the correct side once more, heading deeper into the city when she reached the road. Now just to find another way to head north.

Time passed. The sun beat down across her shoulders, and she emptied one of her canteens. The center of the city grew closer with each step, the ashen mud taking on a blackened, charred shade, like the buildings around her. The air was stagnant, so dry it made her throat feel raw, and she refilled her canteen as she pushed deeper into the ruin, the towering frames around her taking on an increasingly skeletal appearance with each passing moment.

When she rounded the next corner and saw the figure standing in the middle of the road, she almost screamed. As it was she jumped back, almost tripping over her wagons and bouncing awkwardly off of the handle. Almost too late she remembered the gnasher in her hands, her thumb pressing up against the safety, ready to flick it off. As soon as she’d made sure the weapon wasn’t pointed at her feet, she gave it a push, ready to fire.

Her heart was hammering inside of her chest, pounding with so much force she felt as though it should have been visible through her shirt. Had the figure known she was coming? Was that why they were just standing in the middle of the street? She swallowed, her throat even drier than it had been minutes earlier, and then called out.

“He—hello?”

She waited as her voice resonated out around the street corner, quickly fading and swallowed by the ash. There was no reply. She tried again.

“Hello?” No reply echoed back at her. “I’m seran. I’m armed, but I won’t shoot if you don’t.” Not that she was certain she could shoot at the moment. Her hands were trembling, shaking. But strangely firm. For some reason she was staring at an oddly-shaped cluster of rubble across the street, pressed up against the side of a melted truck, and she jerked her focus back in the direction of the building corner. Why aren’t they saying anything?

It was up to her to take the initiative. “I’m coming out,” she said, hoping her voice sounded firmer than she felt. “Please don’t shoot?”

One foot in front of the other, she stepped around the corner, her gnasher held low but at the ready. The figure was still standing motionless in the middle of the street, their back to her.

“He—!” She didn’t even finish her yell as her mind caught up with what she was seeing. The figure hadn’t moved because it wasn’t a seran. Not a living, breathing on. It was a statue … but a very oddly positioned one. In the middle of the road? Looking right at the center of the city? The wide causeway she’d stepped out onto extended straight toward the city center, ending somewhere under the distant lake.

What in the world? She lowered the gnasher but kept her finger on the trigger. Why would someone build a statue like that? There wasn’t even a plinth beneath it. It was just … there. In the middle of the road.

It’s not alone either. She could see more statues nearby, posed on the sidewalks in strange positions, or crouched by cars next to—

No. She almost dropped the gnasher as her eyes set upon a small pile of ashen grey sticks next to one of the crouching figures. Great Creator no! Her stomach churned, and before she even fully processed what she’d seen she spun around, vomiting all over the ash-coated ground, acid and bile splattering across the street along with remnants of her breakfast.

They weren’t statues. They were bodies. Charred bodies. Every single one of them was—

She vomited again, purging the last remnants of her stomach out across her boots in a steaming, sickly mess.

Horrible. She looked again, unable not to. The lone figure standing in the middle of the road, preserved … how?

She had to know. She didn’t want to but at the same time had to. Wagons rolling along behind her, through the puddle of sick she’d left on the side of the road, she stepped up to the corpse.

Ash, she realized as she looked at it. It’s just … ash. The same color as … oh.

The same color as the dried clay she’d been walking through all morning. Her stomach heaved again, but there was nothing left for it to give. With mounting horror and revulsion, she reached out and touched the surface of the figure.

As she’d expected, it was hardened ash, stiffened into what was probably a hollow shell, or maybe a latticework of some kind. She kept behind the figure, not wanting to look at what was left of its face.

How long has it stood here? The other figures around it leapt out at her now in sharp resolve. It wasn’t melted rubble she was seeing crumbled by the side of one of the vehicles. What she’d taken for stones were backs, figures hunched by the carriage with the hope that it would protect them from what had been about to come.

It hadn’t.

She closed her eyes, a cold shiver rolling through her despite the heat. How many? She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to count, but she’d already glimpsed dozens of the ashen figures just in the immediate area. How many had died when the hammer had struck, frozen in their last moments?

It hadn’t escaped her notice how some of the figures were smaller than those around them.

“No.” The word was almost a whimper as she turned away from the horror in the middle of the street. She didn’t want to look at it. At any of it. There was an alley on the side of the road, and she moved for it, only wanting to get away—

There were bodies in the alley, some of them statues of ash, the others mostly bone or mummified by the thick layer of dust laying across them.

She turned again, looking for the nearest intersection that was further from the city center and finding it. She almost wasn’t aware that she’d broken into a run. All that mattered was getting away from what had happened to the people that had been caught by the blast.

How could someone do that!? She rounded the nearest corner, rushing down it, the wagons rattling behind her. How could someone make this happen knowing what it would do?

Because they had to. The answer echoed from the back of her mind, the rational part of her stating the obvious. They were likely dead anyway.

She wasn’t sure which sickened her more: The thought, or what had ultimately happened. She sank against a brick wall, away from the horror of the larger main road, willing her stomach to stop heaving.

It took a minute or two for her hands to stop shaking. Would she have been quivering this badly if she were still a pony? Probably so. Who wouldn’t be?

She rinsed her mouth out, spitting on the wall to get rid of the foul taste and shivering slightly as her spit dripped down onto the grey ash.

Slowly she began to calm. Her stomach still churned, and she wasn’t certain the horror of what she’d seen would ever leave her, but she couldn’t dwell on it.

“Get me out of this mausoleum.” Another swing of water helped drive some of the shaking away, along with the nausea in her stomach. “I want out.”

The long way around was better. Much better.

Engaging the safety on her gnasher once more, she began to move north.

The first bridge Sunset found across the river had collapsed. Maybe deliberately. It was hard to tell after so many years. But something had brought it down.

Maybe it had something to do with those legs, she thought as she eyed the armor, skeletal protrusions rising out of the water amid the rubble of the bridge. I guess that’s one way to kill one of those … corpsers?

What a revolting name. Who names something that?

Her stomach had settled over the last hour as she’d worked her way north, picking back and forth across the broken city. When she’d finally recovered enough to be hungry she’d eaten on the move, slowly chewing granola bars intermixed with the occasional drink of water. She was down to two jugs, now. It was tempting to consider using the river as a water source—even with what could be in it, the filter she’d acquired would be able to handle it—but the idea of sticking around in Tanover any longer than necessary made her skin crawl.

But this bridge won’t get me out. She kicked a bit of broken brick out of her path and over the edge. It hit the water with a faint plop that was swallowed up by the empty city.

Thankfully, she could see up the river from where she was, two more bridges in sight. Both looked whole, if maybe a little worse for the wear. But then again, what isn’t in this city? She was far enough north now that even if she’d been able to turn and cross at the ruin she was now passing, she wouldn’t have ended up back at the city center. Thankfully.

Better yet, some well-minded civic engineer had decided to make the space along the side of the river a plaza for pedestrians and small businesses, rather than another road. Which meant despite the debris and general ruin, she could already see almost the entire path to the next bridge. I’ll have to wind a bit to avoid those stairs, she noted, and that rubble, but otherwise it’s fairly straightforward.

With luck, the towering barricades someone had built on the next bridge would have a way past them, and she’d be one step closer to getting out of Tanover.

Out of this tomb. She’d not seen any more of the ashen statues in the last hour, but she hadn’t wanted to either.

She made her way along the promenade, winding back and forth to avoid the large, ornate staircases that led down to lower levels she had no interest in. Ruined stores and shops littered the building fronts to her right, windows open and gaping and the insides scattered messes. Some of them showed damage from fighting of one kind or another, bullet holes pocking countertops and brickwork. Someone had vandalized the structures as well, the first she’d seen of such an act, marking them with what looked like spraypaint of some kind.

Fairly bland work, though, she thought as she stared at a giant red “X” that had been put across the storefront. It’s basically just a—

Oh. It wasn’t vandalism. The marks had clearly been made after the ruin of the city, right over shattered brick and broken glass.

Markers, Sunset realized. Someone was marking what structures they’d been through. She almost felt like a fool for even taking a few seconds to figure it out. I did the same thing with my map of Holton.

She slowed. Could the people that made these marks still be around?

But no. The marks were old, the paint faded. More than likely they’d been rescued, moved out of the city, or—

Wiped out. As much as she hoped it wasn’t the last one, it did seem quite likely.

She was halfway to the next bridge now, the “structures” atop it clearly hoof—or hand—made from what looked like scrap and other debris. Vehicles flipped on end formed crude barricades, what looked like scrap metal and weathered wood affixed atop them to form crude paraphets. Glass-less windows that were closer to slits—to fire out of, she realized.

It’s a defensive emplacement. Made after the hammer strikes! Quite possibly after the “emergence” was over, as well. But how long after?

The logic of it she could see plainly now that she was close. Establishing the defensive refuge on a bridge meant that the locust couldn’t tunnel up beneath them without flooding their tunnels, and confined any ground assault to one of two directions. Defensive chokepoints. Funnel the foe into a location where they’re at your mercy.

That had clearly been the intent here, along with some other further precautions. From the look of the bridge something had taken massive chunks out of it, bare open holes gaping in the structure leaving only exposed structural beams or a single, jury-rigged looking drawbridge across the gaps.

So either whoever lived in that thing did it themselves, or they took advantage of the damage to the bridge to make an island. It was good thinking.

Unfortunately, it didn’t appear to have been enough. The front of the barricade was riddled with damage, some of the slits looking as though they had been blown out from within. One of the defensive paraphets had been blasted apart as well, the metal it had been formed from split down the middle. Like the rest of the city, the small fortress was silent and motionless. The real question was whether or not it offered a clear path across the bridge, or if she’d find herself blocked partway across.

Or worse, the wagons stuck, Sunset thought, glancing back at the three wagons behind her and coming to a stop in the middle of the road. She could see light and what looked like clear space through the opening on the other side of a drawbridge, but that was no proof that there would be enough room past the wall to maneuver the wagons around. Maybe I should check it out on foot first.

Or I could just go to the next bridge. She could see it—though not fully, thanks to a bend in the river. It was closer to the edge of the city, out of the higher structures, but …

No, that’s out. The bridge was distant, but even then she could see a clear gap, wide enough to make out the river beyond it. Maybe someone had come along after the fact and built a causeway across it, but leaving where she was on such a gamble didn’t seem wise.

Still, there was no way she was taking the wagons across blind. The metal drawbridge, which looked to have been assembled from sheets of metal scrapped from … Well, she wasn’t really sure. But the thing looked steady enough. It wasn’t swaying or shaking that she could see.

But then again, would it? She left the wagons by the edge of the river, disconnecting the harness before moving out on the surface of the bridge itself. It felt solid as stone beneath her, despite the craters and damage that had clearly been done to it.

There were more signs of battle everywhere as well, spent bullet casings being the most obvious. Her foot brushed against a pile, sending them skittering across the pavement and down an open hole in the bridge. A chorus of scattered plops sounded seconds later as the collection hit the water.

She could see bones, too, though seran or Locust she wasn’t certain. There wasn’t much left after however long it had been since the battle, and there were only a few left. But they were definitely bones. Empty magazines were scattered around as well, mostly the larger, curved ones that seemed to be favored by the Locust.

Another clue as to the ultimate fate of the holdout, not that there had been much doubt to begin with.

Sunset slowed as she neared the drawbridge, eyeing the rusted, worn metal. Even close it still looked sound. Crude pipe rails had been bent and welded into place to give those that passed over it something to hold on to, and the bridge itself was wide enough for the wagons to cross—in fact, some of the remaining paint even looked worn in way that suggested maybe its builders had done similar—but that still didn’t say much about how firm it was.

Her hands held out for balance and against a sudden need to throw herself backwards, she stepped out onto the drawbridge. The metal let out a shifting creak in response to her weight, but didn’t sag or give way unexpectedly. She did feel it bob up and down slightly as she made her way step by step to the middle, painfully aware of the long drop down to the river below her, but even at the halfway point the makeshift crossing held firm.

Even, to her surprise, when she jumped up and down slightly. The metal flexed, squeaking, but it didn’t tremble or give, and the squeaks it let out came from the ends, not from anywhere along its length.

Even after the world ended, they built things to last, Sunset thought, moving with more confidence to the far end of the drawbridge. There it rejoined the pavement once more, attached to the bridge by means of an assortment of heavy metal hinges that looked to have been cannibalized from widely different sources. The bolts were peppered with rust, but like the rest of the bridge, still appeared to be holding solid.

She stepped off of the drawbridge, through the opening in the barrier wall, and into what looked like a small, compact settlement. Large metal containers had been mixed with scrap metal and bits of debris to form what had clearly been a community. Fences surrounded churned earth that bore signs of having once been a garden of some kind, now dry and baked. Torn, worn tarps hung halfway over doorways, concealing private domiciles.

Figuring out what had happened to the occupants wasn’t difficult. Signs of violence were everywhere. Broken chairs littered the ground, coverings had been torn down and left to lie on the pavement. A splash of brown beneath a covered awning could only be blood, though holes below it through the corrugated metal made the cause more than a simple guess.

I wonder what the last straw was? Sunset thought as she moved through the camp. Here and there spent magazines or bullet casings littered the ground. Some of the structures showed signs of having caught fire, black marks still evident on their metal walls.

But there was a clear path through the chaos all the way to the other end of the bridge. Or rather, to the other end of the makeshift fort, where another barrier and drawbridge awaited her. Unlike the one she’d passed over earlier, however, this drawbridge was up, blocking the exit and held in place by two pulleys and a small crank with a latch.

It looked sound, however. She eyed the hinges at the base of the drawbridge, then rapped her knuckles against the metal itself, producing a faint ring. It appeared functional.

And it’s wide enough for the wagons, she thought, stepping over to the crank. So I guess I use this lever here to—

The lever leapt forward at her touch, snapping away for her palm. A shrill metal squeal echoed through the fort as the drawbridge dropped like a stone, slamming into the surface of the bridge a second later with a colossal bang that echoed down the river like a gunshot. For a few seconds Sunset stood frozen as the sound of the bridge crashing down echoed back at her …

Then she bolted back through the fort, boots slapping against the pavement and sliding over spent casings as she raced for her wagons, her eyes wide. What are the chances—?

She didn’t know, but she didn’t want to risk it either. If the Locust in the city’s southern part were on alert, if they had patrols paying attention to the rest of the city—

The drawbridge rang and bounced as she ran over it, but she didn’t have time to slow and take it steady. If any Locust had heard the crash she’d just made, they’d be running to see what had caused it.

I need to go now! She slid to a halt by her wagons, grabbing the carabiner clip on her harness and snapping it into place. Grunting against the new weight, she began moving back out over the water, boots sliding slightly as she tried to pick up speed.

Go go go go! The Locust had something that could fly, like a pegasus. How long would it take a pegasus to cross the city at full speed? A minute? Less? How long did it take a chariot to cross Canterlot?

Tanover is a lot bigger than Canterlot. The metal drawbridge rang out beneath her as she moved across it, the wagons following. The sound was a ringing drumbeat, each step a rhythm in a chaotic song that shouting to the world to listen.

The drawbridge flexed slightly beneath the weight of her and the combined load of the wagons, but only a little, and a moment later Sunset was moving up and into the fort, the wagons bouncing over the hinges and tugging her pace back.

Go. There was a chance that she was overreacting, and she knew it. But the risk was far too high to do otherwise. The wagons rattled as they rolled through the fort, the thick tires soaking up most of the debris but not all of it.

She was at the other bridge before she’d even realized it, stepping out onto the metal and suddenly realizing that she’d not had time to test the structure for soundness.

It didn’t matter. It had survived the fall without any obvious damage. It would have to do. She rushed down its length, the thud of her boots once again bouncing back from the water like beats from a drum. The wagons rolled after her, bouncing and tugging at her shoulders with every bump.

And then she was off the end, running across pavement once more until she’d cleared the bridge entirely, racing down the road amid abandoned vehicles with the promenade off to her right. She turned, angling her course toward the waterfront, then shook her head. It’d be in full view of the river. I need another intersection.

There was one ahead, parkway split by another road that moved across the city to the north, and she took it, slowing only when the last of the wagons was around the corner and out of sight from the fort. Gradually, Sunset bled off the wagon train’s momentum until she was at a complete stop. Her legs were burning, the sore muscles protesting the sudden run, and her face was wet with a new sheen of sweat.

But I made it. And I was probably overreacting, but—

A scream echoed across the city, a familiar screech that sent her mind racing back to Holton.

No. Not again. She couldn’t hear the familiar sideways pat of scuttling feet just yet, but the cry was sign enough.

Wretches.

She spun, hefting the gnasher and glancing at the nearby ruin. Nothing jumped out at her, but before she could relax another low cry echoed across the city.

Feathers! Even if the crash hadn’t caught the attention of the Locust, the cries of the wretches certainly would. They were like hunting dog baying out to its masters.

And Tanover was home to a Locust force big enough to send the Cog running for their lives.

Run! Gansher cradled in her hands she began to run once more, ignored the burning protests in her legs and back. Get above the city center, get around it, and make for the edge. Maybe she could find shelter in one of the buildings on the outskirts, like the home she’d stayed in the night before. She reached the end of the block and turned left, heading west, wagons bouncing as the rearmost tire of the train hit a curb.

Careful. The part of her that was screaming in panic tried to shout down the warning, but the logical part of her was right. She didn’t want to lose the wagons.

Go go go go! Her breath was coming in ragged gasps now, but at the same time the city center was now at her left rather than ahead, the buildings shifting with each passing step. She’d outrun wretches before without a harness, and now both her hands were free to use the gnasher. She rounded a military vehicle that had burned in the middle of the road, spotting a sinkhole in the pavement ahead and once again choosing a side street to move north on.

She was halfway down the street when something hot and bright shot by overhead with a whoosh, slamming into the front of a building some ways ahead. Sunset let out a shriek as the missile detonated, the shockwave rolling over her and making her bones vibrate. Bits of rubble picked at her flesh, stinging and raising welts or worse as they swept across her body. She stumbled but didn’t fall, her balance recovering as the wagons pushed her forward and helping her keep her feet under her.

One of the things she’d seen the night before swept by overhead, a bulbous body trailing a number tendrils of some kind behind it, like a flying, elongated octopus. It arced back into the sky, then spun around and spread its tentacle-like legs, dropping down onto the street a few hundred feet ahead of her.

How it flew she couldn’t say. At the moment however, it didn’t seem important given the three Locust on its back. One was astride a saddle of sorts, clearly the handler, with more ornate armor over its body and a helmet, while the other two looked more like the less armored Locust captured in pictures, sitting across from one another astride the creature’s back. All three looked straight in her direction, and the one at the front raised a hand, pointing in her direction.

“Die, hominid!”

With a puff of smoke another rocket flew from the front of the saddle, flying out in her direction and shooting past overhead to detonate somewhere behind with another loud boom that rattled her teeth. With a panicked scream she lifted the gnasher, shoving the safety forward and firing. The weapon kicked, barking as it fired … But either she missed or the shot was ineffective at such a long range, the massive thing the Locust were riding not even flinching.

What it did do instead was open a large maw below the rider, a maw she hadn’t even noticed under all the armor, and roar before scuttling forward like a spider, the three riders on its back swaying from side to side as it moved.

NOPE! Sunset turned, rushing for the nearest side street and turning off the road as another missile shot through the air. It detonated a second later, a bit more distant than the other strikes, but still close enough that bits of rubble rained down across her shoulders.

The street ahead of her was in poor shape, and the wagons rattled as they bounced over cracks and old emergence hole craters. She didn’t care. Even the burn in her legs was gone, replaced by the electric tingle of pure adrenaline as the thing stomped after her.

Ditch the wagons! Ditch the wagons! But she didn’t dare slow or try to turn to disconnect the carabiner clip. Doing so would be certain death.

She did glance back, however, just in time to see the flying thing scuttle around the corner of the street on its weird limbs, two Locust on its back half roaring as they raised weapons in her direction.

Bullets hummed past a moment later, flying wide but still enough to add a further sense of terror to her panic. Shots struck the nearby ground or battered cars with sharp pings, and she yelped as something cut the skin of cheek.

Smaller! Narrower! She needed someplace the thing couldn’t follow her, someplace with cover from the sky. There! There was a narrow alleyway off to her left. Maybe—

A missile shot by overhead, slamming into the brickwork around the alley and blasting it apart. One of the walls gave way, collapsing and burying the alley in brick and dust. Clearly they’d seen the same route she had.

With a sudden growl that made her insides turn to water, the thing chasing her shot past overhead, leaping and slamming down on the road at the next intersection. Sunset skidded to a halt as the monster turned to face her, but instead of shooting another missile, the two Locust on its back end simply slid down, dropping to the pavement and lifting their rifles.

The flying beast jumped, rising into the air once more as its two former passengers opened fire. Sunset shrieked, ducking as shots whizzed by with angry hums and throwing herself into the side of a car with a bang. Bullets cracked through the windows above her head, shattered bits of glass raining down on her shoulders. What do I do what do I do what do I—?

Focus! She snapped her head back, banging it against the side of the car and sending a stab of pain right through her panic. If you panic, you die. If you—if I wise up …

The gunfire slacked, and she poked her head up for a brief instant. The two Locust were moving down the street toward her at a walk, firing from the hip, and she ducked again as the shots collided with her cover.

And that thing? There was no sign of the flying monstrosity. Maybe it had simply dropped the pair off in the hope that they would deal with her? Or maybe it’s nearby waiting—

No. She didn’t know where it had gone, but at the moment the two Locust on the ground were the more pertinent threat. If they catch me …

They would kill her. How not to die? She almost giggled at the absurdity of the thought.

Running. Running seemed like the best option. The backpack was loaded, and she could leave the wagon behind.

But I’d be forced to scavenge again, and I’d be out of water in hours. And those Locust are getting closer. Think Sunset, think! No magic. One gnasher. The lancer is in the back. What do you do? What would the Guard do?

Wait … She knew what the Guard would do. She’d seen it before, the games they played. A guard that was outnumbered would try to find a position that was advantageous to them.

Close enough for the gnasher to hurt, but not for them to catch me. The wagons couldn’t make it into the alley the flying thing had shot, not with all the rubble in the way.

But I can. Or into any of the buildings around here. She glanced back down the street, hunting for the right building. There! A large, two-story hotel of some sort just a few buildings back, one of its front doors cracked open. She hadn’t considered it earlier because of the massive steps leading up to it, but now … With a click she disconnected the carabiner, the wagon handle falling to the ground. The Locust responded to the noise by firing again, bullets shooting past overhead.

Then came the most beautiful sound she’d heard in months. A simple click that signaled the end of a magazine, both guns falling silent.

Go! She bolted from behind the car, twin roars of surprise echoing after her as she sprinted for the hotel. Bob and weave, right? Bob and weave! The Guard had done something like it back in Canterlot to avoid spells. A sound echoed after her as she ducked from side to side, strange and haunting, yet familiar.

Are they … laughing? More shots blitzed past, and she yelped as something stung the side of her leg. Glass from one of the nearby carriages shattered. She spun, firing from the hip, her shot so wide she wasn’t even sure where it went. The sound of the gnasher barking in her hands was enough to make one of the Locust duck for cover, the other roaring and pointing its rifle in her direction.

Rubble slammed into the back of one foot—or rather the back of her foot slammed into it. Rushing backwards as she was despite having only been in her new body for a few weeks, Sunset toppled backwards, slamming down into the ground with a loud oof just as her attacker fired, the shots whipping by overhead with hot, angry hums. Like angry bees, though far deadlier.

They also ended their path in short, angry snaps, slamming into the stone facade of the hotel. She was almost there.

Go! Sunset rolled, pushing herself up but staying in a crouch and trying to keep as much debris as possible between them as the creature fired again, more hot bullets spitting past. Another spray joined the fray, though wider than the first, perhaps simply meant to keep her from poking her head up. She slowed as she neared the sidewalk, waiting for the lull between the bursts of shots …

Now! She raced up the steps, heart pounding as she waited for the sudden blaze of pain across her back that would mean she’d been hit. Shots rattled, snapping past her, and something slammed into her back like her pack had been punched, but there was no flash of pain with it, no searing burn across her shoulders. Was I even hit?

There was no time to worry about it. Her arms slammed into the heavy wooden door at the top of the steps, pain rolling up her arms from the impact, and she rolled around the heavy door through the gap left by its open companion. A moment later a cluster of impacts rang through the wood as gunfire struck against it.

“Advance!” The shout trailed into a guttural roar.

They were coming. She had to hide. Hide … Or fight.

She spun, eyes searching the front lobby of the hotel. It had been grand once, with a wide staircase and balconies on a second level. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, but only a few remained, their number again having broken free and crashed down to the ground some time in the past. The lighting was dim, but she could still make out one of the carts used by the bellhops to carry luggage to rooms. There was even luggage on it, though scattered, as though someone had slammed against it in a hurry. The floor underfoot was soft; plush carpet buried by a layer of dust so thick she couldn’t even make out an original color.

Hide. Her eyes scanned the lobby, looking for any alcoves or doors she could duck through, and she took two steps forward … only to stop.

The dust. A glance back was all it took to see that she would be leaving clear footprints wherever she went. Her pursuers, already close enough that she could hear their heavy tread, would easily track her through the building.

Hiding isn’t an option. Which means— Her eyes slipped the gnasher she still held in her hands.

Could I? The wretches were one thing, but the locust chasing her—

Are trying to kill me. And I already made this decision. A slow breath leaked out of her, like pressure leaving a heating flask. Every time I fired the hunting rifle, it was reinforced.

If they catch me, I will die.

That is not my end.

Her grip tightened, and she snapped the gnasher’s lever back, ejecting the spent shell and loading a fresh one. Six shots? Again she swept her eyes across the ruined lobby, eying the front desk, the furniture, even the ruin of the upstairs, this time with a more critical eye.

How can I use this to kill them?

It was like the world shifted before her eyes as she made her decision, every aspect taking on a new look. They’ll be coming up the steps blind. They may choose to enter through the windows, but have shown no caution so far.

They would come up the steps, as she had. Hunting prey.

She squeezed the gnasher grip tighter. I will not be prey.

Maybe it was her new body. Maybe she was losing her mind. Or maybe she just didn’t want to die.

Fire from a covered position as they enter the door. Close range was a gnasher’s strength. If it’s enough to stop one of them, or both of them, good. If not … Her eyes flicked to the chandeliers hanging above the door and the warped, broken boards of the ceiling. Fire upward. Create cover from falling debris to relocate.

Cover was the first step. The bellhop trolleys looked as though the bases were made of heavy metal, and she rushed toward one, sliding around it and ducking behind it. From outside came another roar as the heavy footsteps following her hit the steps.

The rest of her plan would have to wait. It’s like a surprise test. The thought flashed through her mind as she rested the barrel of the gnasher atop the toppled cart, and she smiled.

I always did well with those.

A scaly hand, tipped with claws, wrapped itself around the side of the door and threw it open, light spilling across the dim lobby in a bright beam. A massive humanoid shape stepped into the opening, its firearm held easily in one hand.

A Locust. Its skin was scaled, almost pebbly, and thick looking, like the bark of an old tree. It was wearing some sort of armored vest, like the bones of the one she’d found in the supermarket. Beady eyes stared out from beneath thick brows. The thing’s nose was flat, almost non-existent, the nostrils wide and reminding her more of the seran skulls she’d seen than her own form. Its lips were pulled back in a snarl, exposing mismatched, yellowed teeth.

She fired, the blast of the gnasher echoing through the lobby, and the creature’s top half seemed to come apart, head exploding like an overripe fruit and offal spewing from massive holes that erupted across its armor.

Her stomach seemed to clench as the remains of the body toppled to the side, fighting against revulsion—

She ducked as the barrel of a second firearm poked around the door, bullets spraying blindly across the lobby and shattering a sign atop the front desk that had somehow survived everything until now. It doesn’t even care, Sunset thought as the remaining Locust let out a roar and fired again. Bullets sprayed the lobby, striking the floor and walls with equal abandon. Did it even know where she was, or was it guessing? It’s just going to keep fighting.

Does it even feel anything at the fact that I just killed one of its own? She primed the gnasher, readying another shell. Again the Locust fired blindly—or perhaps not so blindly, since she felt the trolley shudder.

“Submit!” More fire poured across the lobby.

“Forget it!” She wasn’t sure if the thing had been looking for an answer or not. “How about you go your way and I go my way?” The words came, spilling out of her mouth without any forethought on her part. Maybe that was why her voice sounded so shaky.

A wordless roar was all she got in response. I knew it was a no anyway. Why did I even ask?

And why am I wasting time thinking about this? She leaned back, away from the trolley and trying not to flinch as another spray of bullets shot past overhead, grazing the upper lip of her cover. There was a single large chandelier right over the entrance, thick and heavy, the ceiling around it sagging. The gnasher’s heavy pellets ripped through the aged mortar and wood, shattering it like dry kindling, and a chunk of the ceiling gave way, crashing to the lobby carpet in a spray of dust and dirt and eliciting a yell of what she hoped was surprise from the remaining locust. Some of the debris fell on the body in the doorway, covering the remains with a layer of powdered plaster and molding.

The chandelier jerked but didn’t drop. Not good enough. She racked the lever back, spent shell arcing out through the air, and fired again.

Sparks flew as one of the pellets severed something vital in the cable holding the chandelier aloft. There was a loud creak, almost overwhelmed by the scattered crash of more bits of the ceiling falling in … And then with a loud snap the remaining fixings holding the chandelier up gave, the whole assembly dropping.

It hit with a mighty crash, but Sunset didn’t see it. She was already running for the lobby stairs, her feet slamming up the bottom steps as she climbed for all she was worth. From behind her came a yell, and she tensed, waiting for another spray of shots. But it never came. She reached the landing at the top of the steps, almost ran for a hallway directly ahead … but then spun, doubling back and rushing toward the front side of the balcony, where she could overlook the door. Part of the hotel had collapsed, the last third of the balcony before the outer wall a wreck she didn’t dare set foot in, and she ducked down behind a dusty couch instead, one with its back up against the balcony railing. It probably wouldn’t stop any bullets, but it would hide her for the moment.

She poked her head around the side of the couch, checking the results of her handiwork on the floor below, and grimaced. Dust hadn’t been the only thing the chandelier had kicked up. One of its arms had dropped down atop the locust body lying over the threshold and sliced—or smashed, she wasn’t sure which—through both its legs, severing them. The floor had fared little better, hardwood cracked and broken with some of the original boards poking up at odd angles.

That actually blocks the front door pretty well, she thought as she admired her handiwork. Maybe it’ll stop—

One of the lobby windows shattered as the other Locust threw its body through. Glass rained down on the carpet as the thing let out a howl, and Sunset stifled a yelp, ducking out of sight as the Locut’s beady eyes swept the lobby.

Now what? She could hear its breath, hot and raspy. And angry, though maybe that was just her pure panic seeping in. A faint thump sounded as the locust took a step, and then another. Stupid seran ears! Where is it? How am I supposed to tell? All she could make out was the sound of it moving about the room, but it was almost impossible to tell where.

A barking roar from below made her jerk. Now what? I’m concealed, and I’ve successfully beaten one of them. She couldn’t bring herself to think of it as “killed.” Not yet. But this one is definitely looking for me. There was a heavy thump followed by the sound of something bouncing across the floor. A kicked bag, maybe?

Maybe it’ll just leave? She’d barely had the thought when the Locust let out another bark, the thuds of its heavy tread picking up speed. A second later the pitch changed, and Sunset realized what she was hearing. It’s coming up the stairs!

In seconds it would be able to see her. She slipped around the side of the couch, the now-empty lobby coming into full view. Don’t make a sound, she thought as she pressed her back up against the arm of the couch, her legs tucked tightly up against her chest. How she wasn’t whimpering she wasn’t certain. Maybe it was because she wasn’t breathing. Or was she?

It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the footsteps had stopped. Could it see her? She squeezed her eyes shut. Had she reloaded the gnasher? How many shots did she have left?

She could hear the Locust breathing, a rising and falling rasp. What was it doing?

Another quiet thump as it took another step. Then a second.

The landing! It stopped at the landing. It was deciding which way to go.

Did it see my footprints? Even she could see the disturbed trail she’d left in the dust in her haste to scoot around the side of the couch.

A growl. Then a wet, huffing sound. Sniffing for her scent.

Fight. It would smell her at any moment. At a thought, the layout of the upper level jumped back to the forefront of her mind, complete with her position … and several places where her attacker most likely stood based on the number of footsteps and its pause at the landing.

Once chance.

She snapped the gnasher level forward, the abrupt click as it ejected the last shell almost a gunshot in its own right. The sniffing of the Locust cut out at the sound, but she was already moving, sweeping the gnasher up and around as she rammed the lever back back. The balcony came into view, along with a scaly head and upper body that was just turning, arms lifting its own rifle in her direction—

She fired first, the crack of the gnasher ringing out as the weapon kicked painfully against her palm. The locust let out a yell of pain as the heavy pellets tore into its side, sending it stumbling to one side and spraying red mist across the balcony floor.

But it was wounded. Not defeated. Press! The gnasher let out a double clack as she chambered another round. Already the locust was recovering, turning its bloodied face toward her and trying to bring its firearm to bear.

The gnasher kicked again, pain shooting from her wrist as the weapon recoiled. This time her shot struck home, red craters appearing across the thing’s flesh and armored vest as the heavy pellets slammed into it. With a grunt it toppled backwards, twisting and falling.

Don’t stop. Sunset rose, another shell arcing away from the gnasher as she prepared to fire.

Only to stop. The Locust was on its hands and knees in the middle of the landing, its breathing strained. Red trickled around the edges of its armor, pooling and dripping to the floor where it puddled in the dust before seeping outward to make blackish mud. Shuddering, the thing looked up at her, hatred burning from its eyes as it let out a raspy, wet growl.

“I didn’t want to,” she said before she could stop herself. “I tried to avoid you.”

The Locust only coughed, the sound wet. She could see wounds across its body, deep rivulets carved through its scaly flesh and thick hide.

“I … I …” Again it glared up at her, the blood on its face still wet. Though around the wound … Is it … healing?

The locust growled again, this time with a deep timbre to its voice. Then it shifted, moving one leg beneath its body like it was preparing to rise. The flow of blood from its other injuries was slowing as well, its wounds clotting and the flow of blood slowing. She could see the creature’s muscles tightening, readying to stand once more. Eyes still fixed on her, one shaky hand reached out and clutched at the grip of its firearm.

The crack of her gnasher filled the lobby as Sunset fired again, her finger squeezing the trigger of its own violation. The upper quarter of the locust’s body, head included, evaporated and came apart, spraying the balcony behind it with flesh and gore. The thing slumped, collapsing atop the rifle and oozing gore across the fine carpet.

A cold chill settled over her, like all the warmth and light in the world had just disappeared. For a second or so Sunset simply stood there, staring down at the body as its blood oozed from its meaty bit. The acrid smell of her shots filled her nose, followed by a rankish scent a moment later that made her stomach churn.

Gore. The Locust’s.

Slowly she let the gnasher down. I did it.

I killed them. Both of them.

She could feel the flesh of her arms prickling as the rush of the last minute or so faded, replaced by a mounting sense of newer, different horror. I killed sapient beings.

It happened. She knew that. Even in the history of Equestria death, via direct application of force, was a thing.

I just never thought I would ever do it.

But you already did. The thought rose from the depths of her mind, pushing back the growing sense of revulsion and sickness. You set that trap at the estates. You know Locust died there.

This was just more direct.

Because they would have killed me otherwise. Her chest felt tight, like she hadn’t taken a breath in minutes, and she sucked air in with a greedy gasp, almost gagging as the scent of the dead thing became a taste.

I need to go. The large flying one could come back at any moment. And if its rider discovered that she’d killed its compatriots …

One second she was motionless, the next she was running past the still-hot corpse, boots almost slipping on the now-bloodsoaked steps. She ignored the corpse by the chandelier, tearing past both and only stopping when she was on the front steps of the hotel itself, outside under the hot sun and scanning the sky for any sign of the flying monstrosity that had started the whole mess to begin with.

But she didn’t see any, and a second later her boots were pounding down the pavement as she rushed for her wagons. They were right where she’d left them, mercifully untouched. Apparently the Locust hadn’t cared about her supplies.

Stick to alleys and the sides of buildings, she thought as she clipped the harness to the train once more and began moving. And run. If that thing comes back …

But it didn’t. Or at least, if it did, she didn’t see it. She reached the “edge” of Tanover an hour or so later, her chest heaving and her legs limp, so pained they were beyond feeling. Ahead of her the homes grew distant, giving way to more grey, ashen dead farmland that stretched on ahead until the horizon.

But Tanover was behind her, and she was alive. Head throbbing and her body shaking with exertion, she pushed onward, keeping to the edges of the road, so exhausted she could barely find it in her to look around from time to time.

Her sleep that night was blissfully dreamless.

As a reminder, if you've enjoyed my work here (regardless of my stance in the opening chapter, some still might) or want to see this writing taken to its prime, then I'd urge you to check out the rest of my work here on fimfic as well as my website, which is a springboard to a number of my published novels and epics you can enjoy.