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The wheres and wherefores involved with the Apocalyptic Horsepersons going to motorcycles. Even has Pestilence in it!
DISCLAIMER: /me does not own the Horsepersons, or any of the locales featured in this fic. /me does, however, own the story and thoughts on the Horsepersons involved therein.
Share and Enjoy.
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SOUTHERN AFRICA, 1899
“Well, I suppose it’s time we head our separate ways.” Gazing at the destruction wrought by four straight years of their presence in the area, she added, “Damn, we make a good team.”
“That we do,” he agreed. “Any plans for the future?”
“There’s always work to be had. I’m planning on Germany at the moment. I want to look into this ‘horseless carriage’ thing I’ve heard about. Besides, I haven’t finished giving them grief yet.”
“And here I thought England and France were your pet projects.”
“Don’t discount anything, my friend. I will be in that area, after all.”
“True,” he conceded. “I’d better get going if I want to make the boat out of here.”
“See you later, then.” That was, of course, a rather ambiguous term, given the way they were constantly traveling. “Later” could well wind up being the end of the world, for all they knew.
She had a bit of a hike herself. Taking in the glorious carnage one last time, she turned in the opposite direction of her companion and started walking.
DETROIT, MICHIGAN, 1918
His long-standing partner in crime, if inciting normal people to make each other miserable could be considered a crime, was nearly through with her latest (and biggest to date) piece of work. And he was just about to start one.
According to the newspaper, so was an ambitious businessman called Ford. Something about how having lots of people make the different parts of an automobile could make the things affordable to the masses.
While not understanding all this technology himself, he knew there were many others who got it perfectly. Hell, *she’d* probably grasped it as soon as she was in a position to do so. She was good with machines like that.
The waitress, who was beginning to suspect she was coming down with something rather nasty, narrowly avoided sneezing into his sandwich before she set it down. The sneeze instead landed on the next table over, as well as its occupant.
Smiling, he opened the newspaper further. Perhaps there was something about his own piece of work in it. News had certainly hit the cafe.
KANSAS, 1930
One thing he’d never liked about Kansas, it was so bloody green. Green plants implied fertile soil, and in turn well-fed people. Both of those made his job that much harder.
All the more reason to stick with it. Maybe this time he’d actually get somewhere.
If one of the others showed up and offered help, he certainly wouldn’t turn them away. She wasn’t likely to turn up; she’d had her fun in this area, and would probably find anything after making a country fight itself rather anticlimactic. Then again, like she’d said after Mafeking, he really ought not be discounting anything.
White was somewhat more likely, though he’d been having a bit of trouble getting anything accomplished lately.
And there was, of course, a third possibility. Where two or even one of them went, the fourth was never far behind - whether he was actually seen was the question.
Another question, though not truly pressing, was whether or not they were still going to use horses for the main event. He’d taken her advice and looked into internal-combustion engines, and was not at all surprised when automobiles caught on like wildfire. On top of that, horses were all but forgotten by the populace as a mode of transportation, from what he’d seen.
Cars just didn't seem to be their speed, though. Not for something as big as the Big One.
He pondered this predicament as he watched the foliage wilt in the unseasonably warm and dry spring weather.
ETHIOPIA, 1935
She had a truck now, he noticed. Brick red, true to her style, and with all manner of weapons piled in the back. The natives seemed to be relying on her for even a fighting chance at stopping the Italians.
“So this is how you’re delivering now.” With a sigh, he added, “At least one of us is having an easy time getting business.”
“What can I say? People are eager to fight,” she replied. “What’re you up to?”
“Retiring.”
Her eyes widened. “You *can’t!* At least, I don’t think they’ll let you get off with it.”
“I already looked into that. All I have to do is provide my own replacement.”
“Why are you giving up now?”
“Penicillin.” He didn’t look at all happy. “They just *had* to find something that kills off my business. I haven’t got a major job done since 1918!”
She thought about that. “Wait a minute. They can’t cure viruses, can they?”
“Well, no. But I never really developed any of them. Didn’t think I needed to. I suppose this is what I get for thinking.” He sighed again. “Besides, I’ve got this feeling you’ve all but given up on horses so far as the main event is concerned. I still don’t understand that stuff. If I don’t know how it works, how can I be of any help?”
“Oh, come on. You’re *terrible* with horses. They always get sick and die on you!” She kept looking back and forth between him and her truck, as if she were afraid the technology was tearing her away from an old friend. And she was starting to feel like she was fighting a losing battle, for once in her very long life.
“Stop trying to talk me out of it. I can’t adapt to all this as easily as you. I’ve been outsmarted, plain and simple.”
“At least tell me who your replacement is.”
“Met him in Pittsburgh, back during the flu project. You been there recently?”
“Can’t say I’ve been there at all, but I do know it’s a steel town.”
“There’s so much soot in the air from the steel mills the streetlamps are on in the middle of the day. And this boy absolutely *loves* it.”
She smiled, though somewhat bitterly. “Sounds like he’ll fit right in. You’ll still be hanging around, won’t you?”
“Of course. I’ve got to give those scientists something else to do once they know how all my other tricks work.”
NAGASAKI, JAPAN, 1945
“A toast to a job well done,” she half-joked - it really was a job well done, but because of that, there was nothing around to toast with. They clinked imaginary glasses together, pretended to down their contents, and surveyed the instant wasteland (just add plutonium).
“It is beautiful, isn’t it.”
She had to admit she rather liked this new guy. He’d come into the business with big plans, and while they weren’t all working out (the Antarctica thing came to mind), you also got results like this.
“Your predecessor was right about at least one thing. I’d really rather not have horses for the big event. They just seem too boring, especially now I’ve got my truck.”
He smiled, having seen the truck in action. “Sounds good to me, but I feel a catch coming on. Keep going.”
“It’s not really a catch so much as I ran out of ideas. Cars... don’t feel right for that job, you know? And I can’t think of anything else with an engine that’d cut it. If I thought the Plan was to flood out the planet *again,* I’d suggest motorboats, but...”
“Not motorboats, I don’t think,” he said after a while. “How about motorcycles?”
“Iron horses.” She pondered that possibility. “That just might work. Tell me, why didn’t I think of them sooner?”
“I wouldn’t know.” They enjoyed the (lack of) scenery in silence for a bit before he broke it again. “We should probably get back to our respective jobs and all that.”
“Oh, I think this one’s nearly through for me. You can head back to Pittsburgh if you want. I’ll find something to do down here.”
“Suit yourself, then.” He headed off in the general direction of civilization, and she admired their handiwork some more.
CLEVELAND, OHIO, 1956
The river had seen better days, if you were to ask any of the local human population. However, if you instead asked the new guy (currently calling himself “Chalky”), he’d call it a one-man beautification project. (He was still the new guy because, after all, twenty years had nothing on five or six thousand.)
He was currently enjoying the scenery with the other senior member of the operation, and they were placing informal bets on the survival rate of the project. The only other person at the gathering of park benches was some tall guy who was more interested in the passersby than the conversation.
“Carelessly tossed cigarette butt sets it on fire within fifteen years.”
“Spontaneous combustion by twenty,” Chalky replied. He usually had a much better handle on how these things worked out than outsiders did. Spontaneous combustion was more fun to watch anyway.
“Speaking of combustion, you given any thought to not using horses?”
“What, for the Big One? I’m thinking motorcycles would be perfect. She’s all for it - we talked about it in Japan.”
“I’ve given the matter some thought over the years. Not only is it our best option, but we may have to now.” He picked up a newspaper someone had dropped nearby, opened it, and started looking for something. “Here, look at this. I was reading some of it earlier.”
“Hell’s Angels, eh? Who told them they could steal our name?”
“Not like we ever really fought to claim it, you know.” A pause for thought, then: “You don’t think... he’ll object, do you? I mean, since he’s so busy and all, he may not have the time to pick up on-”
DON’T PANIC. YOU WOULDN’T BELIEVE HOW MANY AUTO ACCIDENTS I’VE CLEANED UP AFTER ALREADY. That said, the tall guy wandered away from the park benches.
“Well,” Chalky finally said. “I’ll take *that* as a ringing endorsement.”
