Spring was following a scent. Like other fluffies, his sense of smell was quite acute, if not particularly discerning, and the smell was strong enough that he could follow it easily. It smelled…strange, but in a good way. Not like food, but still somehow appealing.
He’d first noticed it as he wandered through the illegal dump, looking for anything useful. Nothing in particular had caught his eye, mostly just strange metal cylinders or scraps of metal, which he avoided since he couldn’t afford to suffer a cut. Then he’d noticed the smell.
It was quite unlike the strange, musty odor of the ancient, long-abandoned warehouse where locals disposed of any trash too big to just leave on the side of the road. Already it was packed with junk, in some places several meters high. It was a hazardous location, but prior experience had told him that sometimes he could find something with the pretty yellow shiny metal that humans would trade him a lot of nummies for. It wasn’t often, but it was worth checking every so often.
The smell was coming from the back of the warehouse, which was surprising, since the debris back there was mostly ancient and any organic material had long-ago rotted away. However, his curiosity was taking control, so he meandered his way through the winding tunnels generations of fluffies had painstakingly made through the rubble, seeking a safe place to avoid predators and humans alike.
Eventually he found it, but to his disappointment it wasn’t a flower or anything like that, it was just another one of the strange metal cylinders, thinner at the top and heavily corroded by time and a leak in the roof above. As he got closer the smell got stronger, and he decided to try to bring the cylinder back to his special-friend.
It wasn’t large, smaller than he was, in fact, so it shouldn’t be too hard to get it out of the dump. He pushed it, trying to knock it over onto its side so he could roll it along the floor. It tipped over with a crash, but the top part, so rusted it was impossible to tell its original shape, snapped off with a PAFF!
Immediately the smell went from strong to smothering, and he bolted. He ran all the way to the exit of the warehouse, spooked by the loud noise. He felt…perfectly fine. He’d been exposed to noxious gas before, but this time he didn’t have the painful coughing or the horrible bloody phlegm. He relaxed.
Well, that was a waste of time, but at least he was okay. Just to be safe, he’d avoid the warehouse for a while. Better to just scrounge for food normally, even if it didn’t taste nearly as pretty as the food he could get from trading. Safety was more important than comfort.
…
Spring and his special-friend Cupcake shared the little alleyway they called home with a few humans who’d fallen on hard times. It was through them that they could trade with humans without getting immediately stomped. They weren’t exactly beloved, it should be said, mostly just tolerated. That being said, such a safe nest was something to ignore the occasional insult for.
Nothing remarkable happened, and after a day or so, with no ill effects, Spring forgot all about the strange cylinder. Life went on as normal, with the fluffies and humans alike living the frugal life of those with almost nothing. The fluffies were happy, though, having seen just how bad the world could be to them.
…
Old Ivan and Young Dan were sitting in the makeshift shelter they called home, watching the pair of fluffies chattering happily. Apparently the female was pregnant, a source of great joy for the little creatures. Eventually, though, Old Ivan got up and left, growing annoyed by the high-pitched chatter. Young Dan, on the other hand, simply dozed off.
He woke up to panicked shouting from the female fluffy (Cupcake, was it?). She was shaking her mate wildly, pleading with him as he shuddered. Young Dan had seen something like that before in fluffies he’d pulled from the creek, but there wasn’t any water anywhere in the shelter.
“Pwease, speciaw-fwiend! Nu dwown! Nu tink 'bout wawa! Pwease!”
Wait, what? Young Dan was somewhat incredulous. Could a fluffy pony really suffer from psychosomatic drowning? It definitely looked that way. Shaking his head at the irrational frailty and stupidity of fluffies, he stood and wandered off to find someone to tell.
…
A Few Years Later
…
The cleanup crew was almost finished removing the last of the rubbish from the illegal dumping site. It’d taken weeks of hard work, and months of negotiation and haggling, but it was finally getting done. The work was considerably slowed by the frequent findings of dangerous waste, the worst being an orphan radiotherapy source.
The foreman was taking a break, sitting in the air conditioning of his truck. He personally believed in not asking his employees to do what he wouldn’t, so he did his fair share of the back-breaking work moving tons of scrap from deep inside the derelict building. He’d almost dozed off when he was alerted by a tapping on his window.
With a sigh he got out of the truck to see what they’d found this time. Wonderful, ancient chemicals dumped here sometime in the latter part of the last century. Most of the containers were long rusted away, but for the most part the labels had somehow survived. Good old-fashioned toxic, never-breaking-down plastics.
Most of the containers were nothing to worry about, especially after so many years. True, stuff like formaldehyde wasn’t amazing for you, but it’d have long ago dispersed. Then he saw a mostly-intact, small tank. It’d rolled quite a ways from the others. Leaning over he picked it up and glanced at the label.
HOLY FUCK! He knew the last century hadn’t had good practice when it came to chemical safety, but this was something else! It had to be a good 1.5 liter tank. Instantly he began shouting for everyone to get out, breathing protection or no. Maybe the tank was empty, maybe not, but this was something for hazmat to handle.
A few hundred meters away he finally slowed to a halt, breathing heavily. He hadn’t smelled it, thankfully, although the memory of the time he had sent shivers down his spine, remembering how the others hadn’t been quite as lucky as he was. Still, he wasn’t going to base his own life and the life of his team on that. Nope, hazmat it was. Hell, maybe bring in a bomb disposal robot.
The team newbie, a youth barely out of high school who hadn’t been with the team for more than a month or so, walked up to him. “What was that? Why did we all run?” The foreman closed his eyes and sighed, lamenting the recklessness of youth.
“Fucking phosgene, kid.”
“What?”
“Oh, right, you wouldn’t know about that yet. Sometimes we find it in old chemical dumps. Toxic liquid, but it vaporizes into a really fucking nasty gas. I don’t think there was any in that container, but…”
“Want me to go get rid of-”
“HELL NO! Kid, this isn’t something like chlorine where you know when the levels are unsafe. Phosgene is fucking terrifying, and don’t you ever volunteer to get near the stuff, understand?”
“Okay,” the newbie looked frightened. “Are we…?”
“We’re probably fine, but we’re all getting checked out anyway. Last time I was around that stuff…well…the others didn’t make it.”
“I feel okay, do we need to-”
The foreman cut him off with a sharp shake of his head and a bark of bitter laughter. “Not how that stuff works. You get a lethal dose, you don’t know it until later. Walk it off, you feel fine, nothing’s wrong. Then a few days or weeks later you drown in your own bodily fluids. Kid, don’t fuck around with phosgene.”
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I had a warning poster for phosgene on my door back at my old place.
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