Chapter 3: Light in the Night

“No price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.”

Everything about Ghoul City demanded, required, a sepulchral obeisance to it. Observance of the quiet, and its mad inhabitants engendered survival. Disturbing the natural order that reigned over the ruined metropolis only invited doom. The haze, the ash, the ghouls, it necessitated a mindset of awareness and attentiveness. Disobedience was rewarded with retaliation, as is the way of such things, which I am well familiar with.

My reinforced barding definitely made me feel more secure, but as I grew closer to the hospital the temperature had risen steadily until I was gradually sweating beneath my clothing. A coating of dust and ash clung to my exposed feathers and fur, making me little more than a faintly moving smudge. So far I had avoided detection; not wanting to waste time or risk getting caught in a fight, having no healing potions whatsoever. I fervently prayed the hospital would return a plethora of everything Cinder and I would need to keep going.

I came across the old battlefield on the way, traversing the dimly illuminated, desolate streets. Stepping over mutated pony bodies I slipped through a gap in the barricade and scavenged what I could. It wasn’t something I was proud or glad to do, but it was necessary. Necessary to survive.

Pity whined in my chest for the group of hapless ponies who had not abided by the tenants of the city. I reconstructed a rough history of the events based on the physical evidence. The four had set up an improvised barrier of derelict carriages in the middle of a four way crossing. While admirably constructed, the ghouls had proven too much for the defenders and they had been subsequently killed and eaten guessing by the level of damage to the corpses. They had been there long enough to accumulate a thin covering of ash, probably having died only a week or two before.

As I turned over the remains of the quartet one by one, I wondered who they had been, and why they had come to Ghoul City. Treasure? Salvage? Had there been more in their group before being forced to make their last stand? Had they died quickly, or been torn apart, screaming and thrashing even while being cannibalized? Did they have lovers? Family? Would anypony miss these fallen?

The first body had nothing but a lead pipe and a bottle of contaminated water, and then I saw the butt of a gun sticking out under the next and smiled under the rag I had tied around my face to keep out some the polluted air. I it slid out of dead pony’s grip and brushed it off. It was a short, over under shotgun with a screw for an iron sight. I thumbed the catch, admiring the wooden stock and the weapon broke open. Both hulls had been expended and were popped out automatically. After eyeballing down the barrels I exhaled in relief that both were clear. From the saddlebag the former owner carried I took a dozen twenty gauge rounds.

Fed with fresh shells, the scattergun closed with a solid clack! I holstered it over my shoulder for easy access, feeling much better armed. A few more twenty gauges, some old rations, a pistol smaller than mine with no ammo, probably nine millimeter, and three of the ponies were stripped bare. The last of the four had something of particular curiosity. Around the neck of the gnawed corpse was a little bag on a leather cord. Expecting to find maybe an article of jewelry or perhaps a religious token, I was startled to find a piece of stained white cloth wrapped around a bullet, a massive bullet.

The goddess-forsaken thing was nearly six inches long! It had a strange glowing green band on the casing but was otherwise normal besides being, you know, massive. I checked the bottom and examined the machine-stamp. ‘.50 MWT’ Sure enough, my inventory labeled it .50 DB.

DB? As if that didn’t just raise more questions.

One of my favorite books back in the Stable had been An Equestrian History of Firearms: From Matchlock to Machinegun. So I knew that fifty caliber rounds were one of the largest pony portable grade ammunitions and had quickly became a fearsome and reliable zebra killer in the war, mocking all forms of personal armor, and most cover, and many lightly armored vehicles, and just about anything else that got in the way with its many iterations and payloads.

I guess the pony, lacking any weapon with which to fire the colossal slug, had probably kept it as a lucky charm, judging the way it had been kept in a bag by itself.

Loot obtained, survival chances improved, I sent a silent prayer skyward for the souls of the dead, ponies though they may have been, and continued my quest. Deeper into the city I dared not fly even though a fair bit of me wanted to. The air was so hazy that visibility was cut to forty feet at the most. It was safer to advance slowly, stopping to listen rather than flapping carelessly. My contemplations wandered to Cinder.

The thought of my sister made me worry and fret again if she would be okay. Before I left, I had mined the approaches to her hiding place on the top floor with the frag mines I myself disarmed in the lobby. Fortunately the roof was half gone so I wouldn’t have to worry about exploding on the way back in. I had also given her the pistol of the nameless pony that had left behind the journal entries, just in case I failed to make it back. For a second my mind tormented me with the possibility falling in some ditch, breaking a leg, or getting stuck, ripped apart by a ghoul horde while she sat there, getting sicker and sicker and eventually succumbing to her infection.

I would not fail. I could not fail.

The rest of the explosives had come with me, including the two 10mm pistols with what little ammo was left for them, and the brass knuckles given by Master Grimm. I was somewhat doubtful about the effectiveness of the bottle cap mine but at least it might buy me time if I needed to make a quick getaway. Firearms were not my strong suit, at least without more practice, but hopefully I could just sneak in and get back out without being seen. That was the plan anyway.

Keeping an eye on my E.F.S. the early warning it provided invaluable, I moved further down the street until finally rounding the corner to face where my objective marker pointed on my compass overlay. I was struck dumb by the scale of the raw desolation before me. The street dropped off right at the edge of a massive fire pit. It was easily five square blocks and the flames flickered up to almost twenty feet in the middle. My sight followed along the edge and spotted the cross christening the Ghoul City Ministry of Peace Hospital. It sat right along the rim of the pit. Half of it had fallen in, the other half tenuously balanced as the collapsing ground had eaten into the foundation while the sturdy upper floors remained jutting out over the hole.

It was a miracle of earth pony engineering that the whole thing did not go sliding into that hellish chasm. After two hundred years the building hung on by a thread and looked ready to go at any time. I approached guardedly, wary of the very ground falling out beneath me. The closer I got to the fire, the more my spine tingled. It felt sinister, like it was watching me, beckoning me in, telling me to end it all and just let it consume.
Not creepy at all.

Maybe it was the unusual colors. There was hardly any yellow or warm orange, it was mostly red. In parts it deepened to an abiding crimson, like pooled blood. It made me yearn for the comfort of my lighter, just to flick it once or twice and be comforted by the familiar fire, not this… stuff.

I wondered what caused the color change, or even the source of the blaze for that matter. It was contained to the pit, content to simply wear away at the rock and foundations of the nearest buildings. I tried to puzzle out what could possibly be fuelling such an inferno for such length and intensity. The only thing that came to mind were the megaspells which were said to house comparable magic, but if that had been the case there should have been no Ghoul City left! Or at least a larger, more concentrated blast zone.

Recognizing the fact that I had been standing out in the middle of the street gawking like a fledgling I looked around and spotted a low building that would make a good perch so I could observe the hospital. Charging blissfully into an unknown position in hostile territory was bound to end badly. With a flap that blew up a small flurry of settled debris I jumped up and settled behind a ledge to watch.

In the relative calm, a strange nostalgia nibbled at me, and my memories were free to wander while a part of my mind watched, other parts reminisced…

***

Nothing drives me up the wall quite like stupidity. Ignorance, not for lack of trying is excusable; however mind-numbing, aneurism inducing, senselessness is not. Attempting to teach something to a pony unwilling to learn is the metaphorical equivalent of ramming one’s head repeatedly into a wall. For me, it was a physical urge as I fought the itch to explain why ‘just yank some wires’ was never a good idea to the purple stallion hovering over me as I disconnected his personal computer.

“I want my terminal fixed immediately.” demanded Gilded Horn. His wife and daughter were lounging on couches, tittering to one another in the main room of the spacious living quarters, their conversation grating against my concentration like sandpaper.

“Yes sir, I just need to take it down…”

“It must have already been broken.” He interrupted, grating against my concentration like a claw hammer.

“Of course sir, let me…”

“I mean it was just a few silly wires. It wouldn’t let me into the archives!” No, you wanted to access the password protected section that held the smut, probably forgot it, and got mad.

“Yes, let me just bring it down to maintenance…”

“Why do you need to take it? Just do it here.” yeah, because you clearly know more about this than I do after frying the units memory block with the wire yanking approach.

“Well sir, I need to run a diagnostic to make sure…”

“Just do that here.” I could feel the muscles under my right eye twitch in annoyance.

“The equipment is not portable sir. I need to take it with me to service it. After that it may take a week or two…”

“What!?” Ugh, shouldn’t have mentioned that. The backlog of projects was always a pain. From terminals to toasters, they got fixed in the order that they came in, and of course it fell on me.

“I want it done immediately! It is your duty! I am a noble and require access to the archives and that is final.”

Urge. To. Bash. Head. Into. Wall.

Repeatedly.

“Sir, I don’t control these things, if you have any concerns please direct them to my supervisor.” It was easy to try and pass it off to my lazy bastard of a unicorn maintenance lead but more often than not, it was easier to pin it on the griffin just trying to do his job.

“Do it now or I’m reporting you!” Yes, threats. That will definitely speed your work order along.

“Okay, maybe there is something I can do so that this can get this done faster.” Let me ravage your daughter, or maybe bash your head into the wall for a change. “I’ll speak with my boss and see about getting you to the top of the list.” Which was utter shit, but he snorted and lifted his head so as to peer down at me and spoke in his thick, affected accent that was so popular among the high society.

“Now that’s more like it. Off with you then.” Fuck you too, fuck you very much. He turned tail and marched haughtily to his familial unit. His fake accent complimented his fake dress coat which highlighted his fake personality.

“Thank you, sir.” I came prepared when I had noticed the work order was for a terminal and loaded the malfunctioning (or idiot tampered) tech onto a wheeled cart I brought. Feeling relieved at having escaped the attentions of the obtrusive stallion I made my exit. On the way I passed a griffin butler dressed in a stiffly starched coat and vest ensemble carrying a tray piled high with mouthwatering delicacies, individually picked hay, apple butter rolls, and more besides.

He and I made momentary eye contact, acknowledging one another with an ever so slight nod. It wasn’t likely he would ever sample anything near to the culinary mastery that was simply hors d'oeuvres set before an even grander meal for the nobles. The physical perks were the main reason I went after high society mares, though fringe benefits did come along. Besides, more often than not, a refined palette was a useful tool in the dashing rogue personae I adopted as the occasion required.

Of course the games I played were not without risk, while the butler might get a public whipping for theft, much direr consequences were possible for me. After any particularly intimate encounter, or at any time after really a mare could cry rape, but that would mean exposing herself to open scrutiny, and her word against mine that it was consensual. An unspoken rule of noble court was to whisper, but never openly accuse of such deviant misconduct. Political backlash was my best safety net against being found in a corridor somewhere alone having suffered an ‘accident.’

Never, in any of my passionate endeavors have I forced a mare against her will.

Not after what happened to Lily Blossom.

Pushing my loaded cart out into the halls, beyond the aristoponies and their socializing, I found a very different scene.

“Watch where you’re going you stupid feather head!” Said an older, lime green colt to a gold griffin who had stooped to pick up the stack of books he had been carrying.

“My deepest apologies good sir, I did not see you.” I knew the griffin; his name was Yarlick, just an assistant record keeper tasked with inventory and such. He muttered more apologies quietly as he tried to gather up his spilled ledgers. Two more colts moved to flank their apparent leader.

“Let’s teach this cracked yoke to show a little more respect.” Yarlick knew what was coming and huddled close to the ground, covered his head and cringed away from the kicks of the young ponies. A crowd gathered, ponies jeering and laughing, griffins watching on in silence. Stable security in the circle of onlookers stood by to step in if it got out of hoof, dead meant paperwork, or simply for their own amusement.

Growling deep in my throat I felt the muscles in my arms prime, tense in anticipation and took a step when a griffin behind me grabbed my tail and gave it a firm yank.

Murder was written in my face as I whipped my head around to the one who dared stop me from stopping this insanity! Ireena matched my glare with her own frown, still holding my tail. I could hear the griffin bookie grunting in pain from the blows and the trio sniggering at his pain. My desire to crack some friggin’ skulls transmitted through my breathing and my stance but Ireena would not back down. Her emerald orbs holding against the inferno in my crimson spheres.

I wished that Blunt had found me. He would have backed me.

After what felt like forever, locked in my own private battle, the colts grew bored and spouted a few more derogatory slurs before wandering off. The crowd dispersed, a few griffins quietly moved to assist the injured. She released my tail and beckoned for me to follow. It hadn’t been an unusual occurrence, and I should have known better to try and get involved. I knew that.

I knew it but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. To avoid doing something I might regret later I tried to count the feathers in Ireen’s bright blue crest, pushing my repair cart once more. Down through the Stable we walked, the destination unspoken in the absence of conversation between us. Along the way I deposited the cart in maintenance, ignoring the snoring unicorn with the bottle cradled between his hooves.

As is inevitable with any compound occupied by sentient, social creatures, there were parts of the Stable that had fallen into disuse over the years as the warm blooded inhabitants clung to one another in tighter areas. Many old storerooms had been left to the radroaches and it was to one of these we walked. It had no windows, just a plain steel Stable door which I rapped my knuckles against.

Rap, pause, rapraprap, pause, rap rap.

Master Grimm opened the door and smiled before beckoning us inside. The derelict storage room was roughly a thousand square feet, the cement floor covered by dozens of ancient rugs, ornamental or otherwise, forming a strange patchwork of muted browns and faded yellows. An air vent whispered fresh air high on one wall and various improvised workout gear lay in neatly organized piles. My fellow traveler and I took our position sitting in line next to our four other peers. We were the last to arrive. I sat at attention with the rigidity of a rod rammed down my spine and kept my gaze fixed straight ahead. Kresh, Larissa, Redemption, and Raya all from my age group were already there.

The elder did not question our tardiness and took his place before us.

“Welcome. Recite your pledge.”

“Sir!” Together our voices rang in union as we all stood.

“We pledge to live by the way of the Iron Talon, perseverance in the face of adversity, courage in times of uncertainty, loyalty and respect to our brothers and sisters of the Talon, and to act with integrity and honor in all things.” My words resonated in my heart, mind, and soul. They were a part of me, part of my life, having recited them four times a week since the time I could fly.

“Be seated.” We did, keeping disciplined movements. Our teacher, Grimm, led us through warm up and stretching exercises, testing our muscles and working us up to sweat beneath our Stable jumpsuits and wing bindings. Not every lesson taught by Master Grimm was a physical one. Sometimes he would lecture on historical battles, old griffin tradition, or read from an ancient leather bound copy of Sun Tail’s Art of War. Once ready he dispersed us to practice our forms.

I was glad for the exertions. They allowed me to put Yarlick out of my mind, shut out everything but following the familiar motions. Muscle memory, imbedded to the marrow was effortlessly called from within.

Rear stance, back fist, downward swipe.

Pivot, turn, side kick, jab.

Back stance, hammer fist, front kick.

Reverse, hammer fist, reverse hook kick.

As I turned I took in the others working through the movements at their own pace of other forms, unconsciously lingering on Ireena as she refused to look at me. Master Grimm stood with Larissa, pacing out a lax stance while Kresh and Redemption resumed their usual rivalry, and Raya just going with the flow.

Step, spin, jump outer crescent kick.

Land in front stance, overhead X block, step back downward X block.

Step back, choke strike, break over knee.

Reverse elbow strike, swipe, swipe, swipe.

Master Grimm walked slowly around us, studying, nodding in warm approval here, offering advice there, giving a demonstration of a proper strike or adjusting a stance. Always kind, always constructive and sensitive. In all my years of life I had never once seen him even raise his voice to anyone, pony or griffin, in or out of class. He never needed to; such was the respect for him that it hung about his shoulders like an ethereal cloak for he was an old bird and had lived his life with poise and control.

Jab, cross, hook, upper cut.

Turn, jab cross mid, jab cross high.

Step turn, reverse hook kick, round kick.

Knife talon jab at eye level.

And so forth until I ended in the final stance with the last strike frozen. My chest heaved and my legs shook but I kept my focus on a point, waiting for the others to finish. Our instructor gave us the signal to ease and I resumed my original position. We went through our forms quite a few more times, until Grimm could see us all perform and give us individual appraisal.

“Pair up!” Oh great, sparring. As I tried to snag Raya or Kresh, I found myself face to face with Ireena. Of course she would single me out. We took our places across from each other. Raya with Redemption, Kresh with Larissa, and of course me stuck with miss blue attitude.

“Ready! Begin!” She wasted no time, moving in a cobalt streak and cracking me solidly on the jaw with her rock hard fist. I saw stars for a moment and backed away. Showing no mercy she pursued me across the rugs, scoring another strike past my guard and contemptuously kicking my stomach and bashing me to the ground. Only then did the she-griffin back away.

There were no safety pads, and the sparring was full contact so injuries did happen. Never anything too serious as we were all trained rigorous self-control, but with the frequency of physical abuse, a few extra griffins coming in battered and bruised never raised any brows at medical.

My anger was distracting me, throwing me off, slowing me down, so I narrowed it at her. We took our places again, squared off once more, but she didn’t surprise me this time. When her right jab blitzed towards my face I grabbed her wrist, trading her other claw to my exposed chest in order to bring my knee hard into her gut then my other hand gave a hard shove to her shoulder, my grip allowing me to push and pull simultaneously, accelerating her impact into the ground where she landed, breathless.

Ireena was fast, had always been faster than me, probably the fastest of our class. But my technique had always been better. For every strike of hers that was faster, mine was cleaner, crisper, and more precise.

Back and forth we went, beating the tar out of one another, venting pent frustrations on each other’s flesh until our instructor called a halt. The six of us lined up, panting heavily. His gaze examined each of us in turn.

“Perseverance, courage, loyalty, respect, integrity, and honor to bind them all. Live by these virtues. Live by the Iron Talon.”

“Sir!” We all snapped a closed fist to our hearts and bowed.

“Dismissed.” Then the salute was dropped and we brought ourselves out of the bow and started to head towards the door.

“Ashes to Ashes, Ireena Freemane, stay a moment would you?” Raya giggled at our expense and earned a slap on the ass from Redemption’s tail. The four, jostling each other amiably filed out the door. After they were gone Ireena and I sat, not looking at Master Grimm or each other. He let the silence stretch until we were both squirming.

“Well? What seems to be the trouble between you two?” Our gazes met, then broke away. Ireena spoke first.

“There was an incident in the hall before class, Master Grimm. A griffin was beaten by some ponies.” Grimm digested this and rumbled out his response.

“And did Ashes behave himself this time? I would hate for there to be a repeat occurrence.” I flinched and cringed inwardly, acknowledging that Grimm knew me just a step too well. Surprise and guilt twisted my gut when my peer locked eyes with me again and answered.

“Yes, he restrained himself admirably.” The elder griffin paused.

“Very good then, you are both excused.” With muttered thanks we both trudged out into the hall.

As we walked, it was I who broke the silence.

“Why did you do that, tell him that? I would have beaten the ever living shit out of those three if you had not stopped me.”

She stilled me with a claw to my shoulder and turned me to face her.

Ireena Freemane, Stable masseuse. She was the only griffin I considered my equal or better. In both the Iron Talon, and working the insane social circles of pony high society. My counterpart in many ways. While I plied my wiles and wits to noble mares, she was schmoozing and seducing young, masculine stallions. For every one of my conquests Ireena had one to match it. Mares did not rat me out to their fathers because of the ramifications of lying with a beast, while the bucks could never admit to their mothers that they had become real stallions by associating with a griffiness.

Her beauty and seductive sensuality was legendary among the colts of the Stable, no male being immune to her charms. Admittedly, she was the only living creature I knew that could make a blue jumpsuit look good. Plumage from deep blue, to turquoise and cyan crowned her head in a perfectly preened crest, highlighting her sharp green eyes. Poems had been written over those features; even older gentlecolts had succumbed to her, she, playing them like well-tuned instruments.

Both working the same playing field, just at different angles, we were bound to meet in the middle. It had started out almost as a friendly competition, see who could get their partner to perform the lewdest act of depravity, uncover the strangest fetish, incite the biggest scandal, and so on. I extended the olive branch and soon a respectful professionalism was born.

My position as a repair griffin allowed me access to private information, and it was simply amazing what ponies said to or around their masseuse.

Every now and then over a pot of tea in the atrium, or perhaps after a flight together in the Aerie we would sit down together and trade notes, pass on the latest gossip, and test out different pick-up lines. She got a more male oriented viewpoint and I a female. Together, we were nigh unstoppable. If a particularly stubborn stallion wasn’t getting the hint I would come along and give him a nudge in the right direction. If a mare wasn’t reciprocating, Ireena would just fawn after me a little and the competition instinct would kick in.

With her training in the Iron Talon, and me to watch her back, she never had to worry about a pony overstepping his bounds. Even in practice we began to complement each other, pairing together, learning together, pushing each other to be better, be sharper.

We carved a swath through the nobility, and made ourselves untouchable, confident. A few months passed this way and such times were had, because we made them memorable. As is the way of these things we grew close.

It was late one night, having lingered a little too long in my secret hollow near the reactor and had just made it to her quarters, insisting on being the gentlegriffin and escorting her. She lived alone, no siblings, father passed on, and mother likely passed out from her sleeping medication we had wished each other good night but hadn’t moved. Before we could think I had my beak locked with hers and she was moaning and melting into my embrace. The heat, the passion between us was unlike anything I had ever experienced with a pony lover and I suspected from her actions, the same could be said of her.

Moaning into her mouth, tongue dancing with hers, we slipped into her bedroom, giggling like youngsters. We were both expert lovers, she made my flesh tingle at her well trained touch, and her feathers quaked as my fingers worked their own magic on hers. Never before that moment had I imagined intimacy to be like that, sharing something with an equal, and a partner.

In a near frenzy, we tore off our clothes and latched again, almost ready to consummate our union.

Something stopped us, something made of leather, straps, and metal buckles.

In that darkness, Ireena started to cry, and the sound tore my heart from my chest. For a mare, my bindings make me seem like a barely contained font of primal fury. For a stallion Ireena’s harness makes her seem submissive, or dominant depending on what they were into.

For us it was the reminder that we were not free. She clawed and beat at my chest in futility and dissolved into more tears. It’s not that we couldn’t work the mechanics of our union, but we could never be intimate as two griffins ought. Both she and I were smart enough to know that.

I held her as she sobbed, waited for her to fall asleep, and took my leave. From that time on, we still held parley, maybe not as often, and we didn’t laugh as hard, because of a barrier between us, one that neither of us would cross again. An unspoken need to drown thoughts of the other with the flesh of the species that held us in bondage drove us, our way to fight the control. If we kept busy we wouldn’t have to think about what we could have had.

I snapped back to reality and my question of why? She smirked ever so faintly.

“Because Grimm would have had you running laps until you passed out. Besides, I would have felt bad if security had stepped in and rearranged that pretty face of yours.” There was warmth there and a little worry even, but also a resigned longing.

“Yeah, whatever.” I waved her off and we went our separate ways. Words went unspoken between us though, shared, but never uttered.

***

With vigorous a shake of my head, I dispelled the fog of memory. Never had I imagined escaping and then yearning after life in Stable 57. Well, some parts of life. Having seen both sides of the world though, it brought a few things into perspective. Ugh, enough introspection for one day. Cinder needed medicine and here I was doing nothing. One more mental kick and I hopped down from my roof.

After watching the hospital for a while I had spotted no movement in or out and headed toward the precariously perched complex. The entry had once been many glass doors and was now so many empty frames and shattered edges. An overturned sky carriage had at one point crashed through the front, leaving the bottom floor in even greater disrepair. I stepped gingerly through the debris into the waiting room. I scanned my E.F.S. again, not seeing anything immediate I went over to the reception desk, hoping to find maybe the location of the hospital’s supply of medicine so I wouldn’t be plodding blindly around.

I rooted around to no avail until I spotted a large visitors guide posted on the wall behind the desk. Of course it did not specifically say where everything was kept but I could assume that the blank rooms near to the emergency rooms would at least have something. Judging from the outside, my best bet would be two floors up. Mistrustful, I skulked in the direction of the nearest stairwell. Beyond the double doors past reception I was buffeted by a wave of heat that staggered me. Most of the walls this close to the pit had given way, leaving only support columns and a clear view into the red fire.

That’s when I caught sight of it.

A pony stood at the edge of the chasm, staring out into the flame. A Burning One was a ghoul unlike any I had yet seen. Heat distortion came from its hide, holes were visible that a red light shown out of that waxed and waned in time with the fire, the edges blackened and flaking. It was as though it had been invaded by the fire and hollowed out, wearing the pony like a grotesque marionette. I stood frozen, heart racing, feeling suddenly very cold inside. I stood unmoving, cowering behind a pile of rubble, not daring to take my eyes off the scorched demon. I stared for as long as it took to realize that it had not spotted me yet, indeed seemed content to ignore everything but the pit of fire.

With a deep breath through my cloth covered beak and a prayer to whatever gods remained in this forsaken land I made his way slowly to the stairwell. Moving from cover to cover I then darted the last few feet and did not stop until I heaved and panted on the landing to the second story. I strained and stretched my hearing to the furthest for any sign of pursuit. It seemed I had gone by unnoticed so far. Right next to me was a medical case with three butterflies marked for emergency use. Inside were some magical bandages and two healing potions. Already I was breathing a little easier as I scooped them into my bags.

The second floor hallway had survived much better than the bottom floor. I poked through empty doctors’ offices and various treatment rooms turning up nothing but junk. Another emergency box at the end of the hall bore another pair of healing potions and some med-x. Various posters with nature scenes were placed on the peeling wallpaper. A softly colored Pegasus with watery eyes looked down upon me. I mouthed the words ‘We must do better!’ and made my way further on.

The third floor would hopefully hold what I needed. The very first door opened to an operating room and had been torn off its hinges. A typhoon had gone through it. Old blood coated the walls and ceiling and empty shell casings were scattered around. An only pony skeleton slumped against the far wall. Evidence of severe fire damage was evident and I could guess what had been responsible. I turned from the wreckage and checked the next one. The pit had left only a fraction of what had once been a major city hospital behind.

Fear and doubt started to creep in on me during my search. Magical bandages could help stymie the infection from the ghoul bites my sister had suffered but would not be enough at this point to purge it completely. I needed serious high grade pharmaceuticals or my efforts would be in vain. Approaching a state of anxiety I almost walked right by the door marked supplies. The heat was making my thoughts and limbs sluggish and heavy. Too much time had passed already I knew. Up in the third floor the smoke was thicker and was burning my eyes.

The door handle was hot to the touch, and locked. I nearly screamed in frustration but ground my teeth instead. I grasped the handle in both talons and put all my weight on it, trying to force the lock.

“Please don’t jam. Please don’t jam. Please don’t jam!” I whispered.

Cursing and begging the door I strained and sweated. In a few moments I began to feel light headed and the door turned with a strained click. With all my mass balanced on the nob, the door swung inward suddenly, the handle coming off in pieces and sent me sprawling. I stared out into the chasm that yawed just a dozen feet from where I lay. The floor looked as though some giant had taken a bite out of the room, leaving a curved remainder. Three cabinets still remained in the room. Two safely away from the edge to my right and another to my left somehow still perched on a small jutting ledge of flooring.

I picked myself up and hurried to the first cabinet, the faded white paint was chipped and the glass front broken and cracked.

It was empty.

Trying to quash the rising panic I went to the next and found a pouch of rad-away, more healing potions, and a few empty bottles. I turned to the final cabinet with a resigned sigh. Hovering was an option, but I feared that my wings would cause too much noise and attract the attention of the Burning One below. Ever so carefully, I edged out onto the ledge. There was just enough room for both my front and back feet squeezed tightly together. Then I heard my PipBuck ticking.

The fire was radioactive. The fire was radioactive! Of course it was! Because the wasteland wasn’t full of enough horrors and another thousand deadly things beside!

I risked a glance down, having a clear view of the ground floor from my ledge. Next to the fiery ghoul sat a pile of almost neatly stacked remains. In that pile was a skeleton different from the rest in that it was larger and sported wings.

Insight lit my memory and I recalled the name from the unknown unicorn’s log entries. Reginald had been an older griffin ponyservant that had chosen to escape with his mother those years ago. Sure enough, a griffin compatible PipBuck sat next to his bones. I risked a glance at the ghoul and one back to the PipBuck, weighing the odds of me getting to it without alerting the infernal sentinel. I was distracted and my right paw caught on a loose tile and sent it sliding and shattering down to the second level.

Uh, oh.

My breath caught, eyes flickering back to the ghoul, right into its gaze. The pits where its orbs had been were hollowed out and filled with the fire. Smoke and heat distortion leaked from its mouth as the Burning One turned to me and roared. I had heard a similar sound when Stable 57’s industrial incinerator opened. It charged straight towards me! A fraction of my mind wondered at the ghoul’s curious choice of path but the rest of me was screaming to get my ass in gear!

With the last few steps to the final cabinet I threw open the front and gazed at a lone bottle and a case holding several syringes, both marked antibiotic. A large crash came from below and cracks spread along the wall. The floor beneath my feet as well as the medical supply cabinet gave way. Despite years of Stable dwelling, a deeper instinct took over and I flapped my wings, staying aloft where otherwise I would have fallen. Both case and bottle tumbled out. I extended desperately and the tip of a single talon brushed the smooth plastic shell of the bottle.

Both items miraculously landed undamaged on the bottom floor, the bottle rolling towards the edge and the pit of fire. I flew with a single minded purpose, straight and true as an arrow, scooping up the bottle barely a foot away from tumbling into oblivion. The small flutter of joy that rose up within me was short lived. Like a thing alive, possessed of malicious will, a massive tongue of red fire lashed across my chest like a whip.

The impact sucked the breath from my lungs and made my eyes go wide.

My PipBuck wailed and ticked furiously, rad counter edging into the yellow as my reinforced barding was cut through like butter. Pieces sloughed off around the impact area as the armor saved me from being seared to the bone. My wingtips crisped in the backwash as I was thrown backwards into the pile of bones. All I could do for a moment was lay on my back unable to find the breath to even moan, the bottle clenched in a death grip. I blindly stuffed it into my pack as my brain started to fuzz over.

I retched and tried to gasp some oxygen in, but my lungs refused! I was choking and strangling on dry air! Gaping like a fish on land I managed to locate a healing potion, get the stopper off and guzzle the thing.

I choked and sputtered on the purple liquid but succeeded in breathing again as the magic took the edge off. With a groan I rolled off the bone pile and took a sharp inhalation as the skin on my chest, blistered and cooked, was tightened. My claw hit the lost PipBuck and into my pack it went, griffin bone and all. That was all the time I had before a charging blur crashed into my side.

I was sent sprawling and the Burning One hissed as it struck me and continued on. I got up in time to bat a hoof aside that was aimed for my head. This close, the light shining through the holes in the ghoul’s body made its skull stand out, the equine bone stuck in a rictus grin. However there was no mistaking the hatred and hunger that smoldered in those eyes. It possessed an unnatural strength coupled with relentless endurance. It did not relent nor give me even a moment to recover.

With a grimace, desperate, I dodged and backed away, driven away again and again. I drew out a frag grenade and pulled the pin, counted to two and jumped. I entered my Stable-tec brand targeting spell and left the grenade right at my opponent’s hooves. The three second fuse went off and the grenade detonated with a bang. Despite shrapnel and the explosive force, the ghoul did not react in the slightest. Back into S.A.T.S. I went, and another two grenades rained down, delivering their deadly intent with an explosive finish.

Ghoulified flesh was flayed from bone but still the monster came on.

I fell back further, tripping over rubble and turned the tumble into a roll that put some distance between my attacker and I. Thinking quickly, I went over my options. I had gone with the grenades first hoping to put the monstrosity out of the fight quickly, not taking chances with something capable of snapping a griffin spine in two. After careful deliberation consisting of ‘oh fuck what am I going to do now?’ A stun grenade was next, right into the Burning Ones face. The magical blue stun field finally elicited a reaction from the thing as it tossed its head and reared back in confusion.

The damn thing was between me and the medicine case! I cursed my luck again and pulled out my one loaded pistol and expended my remaining 10mm against the creature. Maybe one bullet in five hit the ghoul.

My burning eyes and chest did not engender optimal shooting conditions. Cursing myself this time, I put away the empty firearm and pulled another stun grenade. Just in time, the second blue pulse sent the pony reeling once more. Taking quick stock of my remaining weapons left me grasping at straws. Somehow I doubted the firebombs would do anything to the infernal creature and while the stun grenades did a little I only had one left, the frags had proven ineffective and I was left with an untested bottle cap mine.

With a prayer to the princesses I brought out the unorthodox weapon, flipped the arming switch and tossed it down near a thick concrete column. I hunkered down and waited, keeping the mine in line between me and the ghoul, mentally urging the creature on, lacking the ability to draw in a deep enough breath for verbal abuse. There was no chance for me to outrun the Burning One in this state. I could only hope to buy enough time to grab the medicine and make a break for it.
Full of malicious intent, the ghoul pony charged him once more, heedless of the grievous injury already done to it.

One BEEP! Was all the warning the ghoul got before the bottle cap mine detonated with a huge bang! Okay, wow, I had seriously underestimated the payload potential of the innocuous explosive. I shielded my eyes and caught a razor sharp bottle cap in the arm for my trouble. I made a mental note to both never underestimate the bang bottle caps could bring and invest in a blasting mask. When the dust cleared a little a faint hissing reached past the ringing in my hearing.

Thick ichor leaked from the monster’s left foreleg where it had been sheared off at the knee and it was trying desperately to get up and limp towards me. With a certain satisfaction, I took a moment to inject myself with some med-x for the pain and skirted warily around the maimed ghoul. I tossed my final stun grenade at it just to be on the safe side and stumbled weakly over to the small, impact resistant, life-giving case and slipped into my pack.

There came a loud structural groan that made the inner engineer in me cower in alarm. The age of the building in conjunction with my not so gentle blasting proved too much for the Ghoul City hospital as the final supports started to give way with metallic pops.

“Oh, fuck me.” I managed to whisper in comprehension.

The floor started to slowly tilt and the central beam, cracked through by the bottle cap mine started to bend. I yelped and started heading back to the entrance when the massive vehicle that had driven through the front of the hospital crashed through the intervening walls straight towards me!

“Fuck me sideways!” Yep, had enough breath for that given the situation.

The noise was horrendous as shrieking metal screamed and threw sparks everywhere while the pit of fire loomed nearer, its flame reaching closer to my heels. I strained with all the strength left to me and flapped for all I was worth.

Rubble and chunks of masonry rained all around me. The truck was big enough to scrape the floor and ceiling so I was left only with the option to dodge left, but had underestimated the tenacity of the Burning One. As I swooped past, the pony reached out and wrapped its front hooves around my back paw, trying to drag me down into the fire. I turned and punched the ghoul with a perfectly placed knuckle duster shot to the jaw yet still it clung on. Somehow I found the breath to curse the creature too.

“Get,” Nearby, the burning truck screeched past into the fire as the floor continued its tilt, missing the ghoul and me by inches.

“The fuck!” I reached over my shoulder and drew the shotgun, pressing it to the glowing head as it reached to try and bite, my wings struggling with the extra weight, my pectoral muscles screaming.

“Off!” The Burning One screamed its hatred at me one last time before two twenty gauge shells took its face off and it too dropped into the fire. Everything was now canted at an excess of fifty degrees and only getting worse, but fortunately for me, I could fly and did so now despite the pain and my shortness of breath from my burned chest. I strained and flapped for all I was worth and shot from the crumbling building like a missile.

Below me the whole hospital and much of the surrounding street crumbled and fell into the hungry flames. A throaty rumble shook the city. I landed on the nearest safe rooftop and tore the grime and ash choked rag from my beak and threw myself down. Sweat and dust caked in my fur and feathers in clumps, drying in the cooler air.

A bath or shower sounded really nice, but I was content to be alive.

Nausea washed through my stomach. A glance at my PipBuck informed me I was now suffering from minor radiation poisoning and a crippled torso. Another healing potion was this time chased with the salvaged rad-away.

I practically shook all over from my brush with death but found the will to step up to the edge of the rooftop and looked down to where I had dumped both hospital and ghoul. I beamed as a line from an old war story came to mind.

“Fire in the hole.”

***

The walk back from the hospital was uneventful. Damn was I tired though. Evading the few roaming, blind ghouls became ever easier, even in my exhausted state. It felt like everything in me that did not itch, hurt, or feel singed was aching to just lie down and sleep for the next three days. So it was with great relief that I flew through the hole to me and my sister’s temporary safe house in the hellish city.

I knocked three times to let Cinder know that it was just me and pushed the old wooden door open. She lay where I had left her. Her eyes were closed and her breath came in slow, shallow rises of her side. I rushed to the mattress and fumbled through my pack for the salvaged case of medicine I had nearly died to obtain and pulled out one of the four hypodermic needles. I ran a critical eye over the faintly glowing contents before injecting it right above her wounded shoulder and another into the inside of her injured arm. Although I was not sure what good it would do I also managed to coax her head up to tilt a healing potion into her.

That done, I sat back on my haunches with a deep sigh and tended to myself. The remains of my reinforced barding came off in pieces, held on by the straps of my pack and pretty much beyond salvaging at this point. Packs came off too.

I delicately felt around the angry, swollen tissue that went from my shoulder to almost midway down my stomach, touching the irritated, blistered flesh told me that I had gotten away with mostly second degree burns. Only a small line of black in the middle of the injury showed where it edged into third degree. The damage to my pectoral muscles, providing much of my flight power, would necessitate I take it easy on flying for a while.

It took a whole roll of magical bandages but I managed to wrap the worst of it. The healing properties infused in the soft linen gave it a cooling touch that managed to bring the amount of pain from ‘please rip my skin off’ to ‘it could be worse.’ Down to a level anyway that made me remember how tired my everything else was.

Simply leaving my discarded belongings where I had dropped them, I crawled next to Cinder, who thankfully was now breathing much easier. I closed my eyes, drifted off, and slept like the dead.

Footnote: Level Up.

Perk gained: Bird Brain - +2 skill points upon level up.