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On July 25th, 2125, the final Salvation departed.

Gargantuan engines roared to life, enveloping a colourless landscape in thick, black smoke. Fire blazed, turned sand to glass as the howl of fuel combusting at a million degrees exploded across the rugged earth. A shockwave tore through city windows in a deafening chorus of raw power, and light fiercer than the centre of a star seared across the skyline.

Its shipyard had been hastily assembled in the crumbling remains of an acid-bombed neighbourhood, and as the steel-grey construct rose into the air its molten waste obliterated even the hardy relics of the past. Concrete skeletons, mounds of compacted rubbish, brick and glass and asphalt--nothing within five kilometres survived the take-off. Those near the Salvation's departure were obliterated in an instant, eradicated from existence before their brains could process the occurrence. Those beyond the protective walls of the strip and further into the city suffered flash burn and hearing loss, and any that had witnessed the event never saw the same again. But those that had prepared, hunkered in shelters or travelled to the city's outer rings, patiently waited for the Salvation's full departure.

It didn't take long. In four minutes the ship was barely a dot in the sky, the final echoes of the engine's bittersweet farewell reverberating through empty streets. In its wake the city slumped against itself, soaking in the first true silence it had ever experienced. Nothing glimmered. Nothing shone. Nothing shouted. Only settling dust and embers drifted between the husks of its burnt, cracked buildings.

The ship had left at five forty-five. Just late enough for the passengers to witness their final morning. But as dawn broke and red light filtered through the charred city air, the shadows of those that had remained began flitting through the suburbs. They were never still, always moving--despite the shared choice they'd all made, staying behind, the habit of distrust was hard to break.

One such shadow, Vincent, kept to the alleyways. He kept far from others as he travelled, skirting potholes and rubble and other remnants of generational neglect. He had always been a solitary animal. It was an effort, pushing through the oppressive city air, but it helped affirm his choice to remain. A decade ago he'd spent several months out in the frigid grasp of space, building the first of the Stations. Even amongst the company of his crew he'd felt so terribly empty, so out of place. His life was down here, with earth beneath his hooves and gravity on his shoulders. He couldn't leave it behind.

The old horse travelled for days, passing through alleyways and intersections, tightly packed streets and wide-open promenades, all blanketed in eerie stillness. Occasionally he saw the shadows of others standing in doorways or watching suspiciously from windows. Everyone was waiting for the other to make the first move. And any who bore ill intentions toward Others saw little point in accosting a mammal like Vincent. He had nothing to offer, nothing to take... and it would be a while yet before consideration would be given to how much flesh hung from his bones.

By the tenth day he reached the outer suburbs, which stretched far wider than the other districts. The buildings here were in shambles, and not just from when they'd been torn apart to build the shipyards. The first time he'd seen the true size of this city was when he'd gone up to the Stations. Strapped into his seat next to a spotless little porthole, he'd watched the familiar central district recede far below him. Its monolithic towers become tiny spikes, while around it the whites, grey and blacks of the surrounding structures continued to reveal themselves like bleached coral. To him, the pallid geometry was like a disease, one that had become so rampant it was visible from the stratosphere.

He was drawn from his thoughts by the crackling of a fire. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts he'd missed it, and cursed to himself as he ducked down behind a rusting skip bin. Holding his bag tight against his chest, he peeked around toward the flickering orange light. It came from a hole in the wall, and his ears flicked as he listened carefully for anything past the crackles and pops of the fire. Nothing. He peeked in, squinted, saw dark shapes slumped together by an impromptu encampment. Chest tight, he stepped through the crumbled bricks.

There were three of them, two old, one young. Deer, embracing by the warmth of their fire. Beside them, a gun, discarded amongst the dark pool in which they rested. Vincent envied them, being together at the end.

On the thirtieth day, he made it to the Wall. An ugly risen scar that had long hid the promise of beauty beyond. It had been constructed centuries ago, a last-ditch attempt by a desperate nation to preserve what little they had left. The few reports that had come back in the years since had not looked promising, though Vincent had learned that in the squalor of their collective imprisonment, authorities were not always to be believed. The massive sector gates had remained sealed since its construction, the wall protected by guns and charges and all manner of other wicked things. But as the Salvations had prepared for departure, it had been announced that the Wall would open. It was a moment of sullen realisation--truly, their planet had been left to die. And everyone left behind could very well die with it.

Vincent remained behind the stark flat where the city ended and the firing range began. He was cautious of stepping out into no animal's land--there was nothing to prove the guns were deactivated. He waited there for several hours, hoping others would make the leap for him. But nobody did, and so with a gritted jaw he took the first step.

Nothing.

He took another step. And another. His body remained untouched. He continued forward, past the skeletons of ancient desperates and hopefuls, and behind him the shadows began stirring. Cowards, waiting for someone to go before them? No, they were smart. And probably had more to lose than he.

He cried when he made it through the colossal gates of the Wall. Beyond him, a sight he could never have imagined stretched beyond. A horizon. While the land immediately adjacent to the city was featureless, affected by the smog and refuse of the city that had been left to pour out and rot, the ragged hills behind carried an imperfect beauty that no iron, glass or brick could ever match. Further beyond those lay mountains, and Vincent found hope in their organic lines and natural colour.

He chose a direction and stuck with it, venturing out into the sullen landscape. He was eager to be away from others, worried that someone would follow him, and as he gradually left the city behind his heart grew a little lighter.

On the thirty-fifth day he came upon the wreckage of the Rescue II. It stretched four or so kilometres in each direction and much of it was still aflame, despite the months that had elapsed since its failure to breach the atmosphere. He took time to gather tasteless cubes of food and water pellets that had fallen in hulking crates from the wreckage and despite them in his bag. He'd only need the green fibre cubes, but took several protein cubes as well, figuring they might prove helpful in a pinch. It had been so long since he'd eaten real food...grass, vegetables, one time he'd even eaten hay. It was only a few strands vacuum-sealed in a packet, a thank-you from the Corp for his work on the Stations, but it had been one of the most wonderful experiences of his life.

As he picked his way through the wreckage, Vincent decided the name of this ship had been accurate. The crash had saved these people from a miserable life of misplaced hope and aimless travel. They had nowhere to go, no planet in mind. They sought only a way to escape from a problem they'd known was coming for centuries. He saw no attraction in such an empty existence, and once again envied these passengers for the peaceful sleep they now enjoyed.

As he began making his way out of the crater someone grabbed his shoulder. A younger Vincent would have thrown an arm back, tried a wild punch or run for his life. But now he simply stood still as a group of dishevelled young animals moved in front of him. 'I have nothing to give', he said, and was surprised by the cracking of his voice. He hadn't used it in so long.

'Food? Water?' the one who had grabbed him asked, a hyena with a torn ear and numerous colourful piercings. Her tone was inquisitive, not aggressive, not like the gangs he'd heard shouting at night back in the confines of the city. Vincent opened his bag and began pulling the protein cubes out.

'Don't let him do it, check what's inside! He might be hiding something'. A wiry rat pushed his way through the group and wrenched the bag off Vincent's shoulder, plonking it down on a bit of debris and pulling it open. Vincent watched the animal's face twist into a confused snarl as he pulled out a metallic cylinder and shook it curiously. 'What're these? What do they do? He's got another one in here.'

The hyena snatched the container from him and returned it to the bag. 'Nothing you want, idiot.' She gave the bag back to Vincent. 'Is that all the protein you've got?'

'Sorry, I don't really need it', he said quietly. 'Unless you want fibre...'

The hyena twisted around one shoulder and called out 'Tom, get over here. How much fibre you got?'

A nervous young voice replied, 'I'm good.'

The hyena grinned. 'It's all yours. And here', she slipped two water pellets back to him. 'Thanks for your generosity. Best of luck.' The hyena turned and walked left, the rest following close behind. The rat glared at him as he passed, but Vincent kept his eyes to the ground. He did see a pair of hooves pass, watched them hesitate in front of him, but when Vincent didn't move the quickly followed the others. When they were gone, he let out a sigh of relief and opened his bag. Two cylinders, six fibre cubes, two water pellets, and underneath it all, in the bottom of the bag...a gun. The one he'd taken from the house with the campfire. He dreaded to think what the rat would have done with that.

Vincent continued his travelling without further interruption. He'd always been good on his hooves, being a stocky breed of horse well-known for their endurance, and the openness of the landscape around him made each breath feel like a burst of energy. But he wasn't young anymore, and he needed to rest often. Even rationing his food and water, he knew he'd have to find a source of nutrition soon, and the grey, bent weeds on the ground would be too toxic, he was sure.

By the fortieth day, he was down to a single portion of food. He'd reached the foot of the mountains and elected to skirt them to the shallower hills. He figured they'd provide just as adequate a view of what lay beyond, and if he made it, he could plan the rest of his journey from there.

He climbed steadily for many hours, only resting when he had to. Late in the afternoon, he came upon a dilapidated building. It was an old farmhouse, like he'd seen in the archives, though the house was barely there--just a few walls of rotting wood and stone. He wondered what had used to grown here. Carrots? Apples? Hay? He could imagine it now: rolling field of swishing wheat and wild oats, growing in anticipation of the harvesting season. Where great big bales of the stuff would be rolled up ready for collection, to be divided up into delicious crunchy servings for hungry horses, sheep, cattle, whoever else could appreciate the greener things in life. The thought made his stomach rumble, and he curled up against a wall and tried to get some sleep to take his mind off his hunger.

His rest didn't last long. As the evening twilight began, he heard someone outside. The were running unsteadily, an awkward gait like a foal taking its first steps. Vincent tensed, got ready to make his own escape, when suddenly a dark shape galloped in through one of the many holes in the walls and tripped on a beam, falling flat on its snout. They made a pitiful sound then began mumbling 'Stupid, every time...' as they brushed themselves off.

Richard recognised that voice. Even from just three words he could hear the nervous tones of the animal that had answered the Hyena back at the wreckage. Amused, he said, 'make yourself at home, I guess.'

The young horse swore loudly and jumped back in fright, smacking into a wall and going right through the rotting beams. Vincent waited for the rest of the structure to come tumbling down around them, but mercifully it held sturdy. He watched as the horse, a bay with a large blaze down his nose, climbed back in and peered at him. 'You're that guy with the bag.'

Vincent nudged a hoof against the canvas bag on the floor. 'That's me.'

'I'm sorry we took your...we didn't really have much choice. We'd been out there for a week with hardly anything to eat.'

'There was plenty of food around the wreckage.'

'You got there before us. I...we...actually followed you there.'

Vincent sighed. 'That hyena could've done a lot worse. And she let me keep my bag, which is more than I bet that other friend of yours would have done.'

'He's not my friend', he said firmly. There was a moment of quiet between them, and then he cautiously made his way over. 'I'm Tom.'

'Vincent. Don't suppose you have any food? I remember you saying you were 'fine' in that regard.'

Tom brightened up. 'I do! Yes...um, here.' He took out a cube from his pockets. He was wearing a baggy pair of jeans with deceptively deep pockets and a button-up shirt that Vincent assumed was an old school-issue. He took the food gratefully and bit into it.

'Where are you parents?'

'I don't have any.'

Vincent frowned. 'None at all? You some kind of tube-foal or something?'

'No, no, I wish. We lived in the outer rings. Things happen there. Ended up getting shipped to the Youth Centre. That's where I met Alicia and the others.'

Vincent had heard things about the Youth Centre. All bad. 'I'm sorry.'

'Me too. I'm an adult now though...I know I don't look like it, but I can take care of myself.'

'Which is why you were in a group.'

'Safety in numbers. Or...' Tom bit his lip, 'until they run out of food, anyway.'

Vincent raised an eyebrow. That had started quicker than he thought. 'They tried to eat you?'

'Alicia said no. She tried to send Jaxson away but he...' the horse made a pained sound and vaguely motioned thrusting a knife several times. 'I should've stayed and tried to help but I just...ran.'

Vincent wasn't an affection horse by nature. He liked to keep his distance. But something about this young horse...he couldn't help feeling worried. He put an arm around him, and Tom leaned in close and sniffed. Vincent rubbed his shoulder. 'You did the right thing.'

'She's always been so good to me.'

'Were you two..?'

Tom looked up at him, distracted. 'What? No, no, I'm gay.'

Something inside Vincent tensed. Tom felt the action through his arm and he put his head down and wriggled out of the embrace. Vincent sighed. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--'

'Anyway, I should be going. You shouldn't stay here either...if Jaxon's looking for me, he's going to find this place. And at this rate, he's not going to care which herbivore he finds.'

And before Vincent could say anything, the horse was gone.

He'd had a wife. And a foal, a real cute one that looked just like him. He'd loved them dearly, cherished every moment they'd spent together. He wouldn't have given them up for anything. But despite it all, those nights he lay with her, when she'd give him that smile, trail her hand down his chest, reach lower to find him, grasp him...there'd been something missing.

He'd never told her. Never told anyone. But the feeling had been growing, consuming him more, building inside him until he could barely bare to look at her. He'd felt so angry with himself, with her, with everyone, and it made him feel so selfish and stupid and it'd only made him hate more. He'd made a promise to talk to her. Sort it out. Make everything better. And he'd arrived home at his apartment and there had been sirens and flashing lights and a street packed with vehicles and a great big gaping hole in the side of the building. And his confession had locked itself in his mind and never come out since.

Vincent sighed and put the cylinders back in his bag. He'd made them a promise, back when the ashes had first been sealed inside. He would take them somewhere far away from that wretched city. Somewhere there was grass and clear skies, and clouds that rained water and snow. And only then could he begin his own life. The one he ought to have lived. He owed it to them, he told himself. He owed it for never saying an honest thing in his life.

On the forty-fifth day he found Tom again, alongside the steep, winding trail of an ancient path. The young horse was asleep by a stump, right out in the open. Tentatively, he tapped his hoof against Tom's, and the horse snorted awake and scrambled back. Tom's expression soured when he saw who it was. 'You woke me up.'

'I thought you were trying to hide. Anybody walking along here could see you.'

'I'm out of food and water. I don't care. If nobody eats me soon I'll eat myself.'

'We're nearly at the top. Aren't you curious to see what's out there?'

'I don't need to. More dirt and dust and dead things.' He tapped his knuckles against the stump behind him. 'I thought all this was meant to grow back.'

'Big wounds take longer to heal. Come on', he said, and held a hand out. Tom looked at him for a long time. Finally, he got himself up.

'Fine. And when all we see is more of this, I'm pushing you off the top.'

'Deal.'

The climb upward was even steeper than before. The old trail had disappeared under loose gravel, meaning they had to pick their own way up, and several time Tom slipped. Each time Vincent would steady him with a hand on his lower back, and just that little bit of contact warmed him.

'So why did you leave the city?'

'Hm?' Vincent realised he was still touching Tom and quickly withdrew his hand. 'I've been wanting to get out my whole life. When I was a foal I spent all my time in the parks, before they turned into more apartments, and since then I've wanted to see what was outside.'

Tom snorted and gestured around the rugged landscape. 'Satisfied?'

'Not yet. Not ever, really.'

Tom looked up at him in confusion, but didn't say anything. Another long silence fell between them, but this one was more comfortable. They were nearly at the top now, and the ground was beginning to level out. A faint scent drifted by on the wind, one that Vincent couldn't quite place. He was nervous about what he'd find at the peak, and to try and calm his nerves he blurted out the first question he could think of.

'What's it like? Being gay.'

Tom snorted again, then burst out laughing. 'Clearly you've never met one. It's just like being straight. Or bi, or ace, or anything else.'

'But you get to...you know, with other guys. Is it nice?'

'Yes. Fucking guys is pretty neat. At least, I think so. I've only done it a couple times.' He stretched back his arms behind his head as they walked, working out the soreness in his muscles, and Vincent couldn't help but stare as his shirt rode up, revealing a lean, tight belly. Tom caught his eye and quirked a smile. 'Why so interested?'

'Just curious.'

'Bi curious?'

'What? No! No, that's not..._I'm_not...' he trailed off, ears flat, staring ahead. Tom looked up at him.

'Vincent, have you ever thought about being with a man?'

The older horse didn't answer. At first Tom thought he was horrified by the question, but when he realised Vincent had stopped moving he looked back in confusion. The horse was frozen on the spot, staring ahead. Tom slowly turned back around to see what he was looking at and his own eyes widened.

A vision of paradise. Beyond the hill, a flat of modest turf and shrubs began, quickly growing into a lush plain of hock-high grass and trees. There was something sparkling beyond, a lake perhaps, and the patchwork and greens and yellows and browns and blues stretched infinitely beyond, together with the promise of new life. But that wasn't what most held Vincent attention. About two-thirds across the plain was a smudge of yellow, lighter-coloured streaks shivering through in the wind. He knew what that was. Wild oats.

'Woah.'

'Woah indeed.' Vincent's ears flicked forward and he held out his arms. 'Food! Water! Life! I told you it was out here.'

'Well, what are we waiting for?' Tom turned back to the city, looking at it one last time before the hills and mountains would obscure its smoggy, ominous presence. He wouldn't miss it. 'Ready to leave it bef--' he broke off. Vincent turned as well, stared in shock for the second time. There, a rat, barely fifty metres away. He'd been trying to sneak up on them, but without any cover on the barren hillside there was nowhere he could hide. Instead the rat stood up straight, turning a knife between his paws.

'I see you've made a friend.'

'If you're looking for meat, Jaxon, it'll be in the city.'

The rat's fur was patchy and flea-bitten, his nose red and raw. He'd clearly been in a few fights already. 'You'll last me long enough.'

'Where's everyone else?'

'Difference of opinions', Jaxon said simply, running a claw over the marked blade. Then he flashed a grin. 'Do you want to make this quick? Or fun?'

To the side, Vincent was reaching into his bag, trying to be as still as possible. His hand scrambled around and finally he found what he was looking for and pulled it out. It glinted it the light and Jaxon saw it and suddenly he was sprinting directly for him. Vincent tried to steady the weapon but then the rat was swinging and he barely avoided the whistling blade. Tom crashed into the rat from the side and they both went down and Vincent dived in too, trying to extricate the young horse. Jaxon swung his arm out, adjusted his grip and began bringing the knife down when Vincent kicked his hand viciously. The sound of hoof cracking bone was sickeningly loud and Jaxon screamed as the knife flew away. Tom tried to wriggle out but the rat swung a leg and sent him crashing back to the floor and he got on top and bared his teeth. Vincent grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him away, but the limber rat twisted in his grip and sunk his sharp little teeth into Vincent's shoulder. He cried out in pain and dropped the gun and Jaxon went for it...

Only to come face to muzzle with a cold, metal barrel.

Jaxon hissed. 'You wouldn't.'

Tom glared at him. 'Let's see, shall we?'

The rat bared his teeth but remained still, injured paw held in his other one. Vincent got up and tentatively examined his wound. It was shallow, and only a few drops of blood wet his fur. Tom glanced at him, but kept the gun pressed to Jaxon's face. 'What do I do?'

'Let him go.'

'Seriously? He'll just come after us again.'

'There's nothing for him where we're going. Nothing he can eat. You'll leave us alone, won't you?' He directed the question to the rat who glared at him, but nodded. 'Good. Fuck off.'

Jaxon turned and scampered away. When he was gone, Tom let out a sigh of relief. 'Thanks. I have no idea how to use a gun.'

'I know.' Vincent carefully took the weapon and checked the safety. It was on. He put it back in his bag. 'Tom, you...you asked if I'd ever thought about being with a guy. You know, in...that way.'

The younger horse looked at him in amusement. 'Yeah?'

'Well, I have. A lot. And I've never said that to anyone and it's about time I stopped lying about it. So, yes. I have.'

Tom gave him a small smile. 'Well, maybe I can help you make sure.'

'Now?'

'What? No!' He chuckled and pushed Vincent. 'Let's get down there first. And get to know each other a bit better. I'm not that kind of guy.' He took Vincent's hand, who looked down at it in wonder.

'That feels nice.'

'I know. Come on, you can show me what it was like being a horse back when we lived out here in the plains.'

'I'm not that old!'

'Hey, I'm not complaining. I like a bit of experience.'

They began their descent. Soon, they'd be among the trees, wild grass, clean wind new growth. Soon, Vincent would begin living like he'd always wanted to, not just as a man but as a horse. And more than anything, soon...well, soon, he'd get to eat some of those oats. And next to hay and, he hoped, gay sex, that was one of the most wonderful things in the world.