Fallout Equestria: Once Upon a Time in the Waste
By Sparkus Clark

It had been a fairly quiet ride since the ambush, after Mickie had settled down and Daisy had stopped crying. We’d found Two Stones with a knot on his head and a black eye. He’d been breathing fine but we couldn’t wake him up. So Mickie’d hauled him, and what was left of the metal owl, into the back of the wagon. We’d check on him every now and again, but he was still out cold. It wasn’t until I’d managed to climb aboard that I began to question the idea of letting a filly drive. Yet Daisy had taken the reins and was able to coax the brahmin into a steady trudge along the Western road, away from the bodies.

It felt like a long ride, what with Two Stones being unconscious and Daisy keeping her thoughts to herself. At the same time my broken leg ached with each bump we hit in the road. It was starting to itch too. Celestia’s eye was low on the horizon, painting the sky in crimsons and yellows, when we caught sight of the town, a dim silhouette in the setting light. Train tracks cut across the road directly in front of us, veering towards the small town. A paint-flecked sign was planted next to the tracks, the crossed pieces of metal still standing after nearly 200 years of weather and sun. Somepony had carved the words ‘Welcome to’ on a board tied to the top.

I turned to Daisy as we rattled towards the tracks. “What does that sign mean?”

“What? Oh,” the filly looked towards where I was pointing, “it says ‘Welcome to Ecks.’”

I frowned, puffing on my next-to-last cigarette. “Really?”

“Really.” The little filly nodded. “Why? Can’t you read? It’s okay if you can’t, some big ponies don’t know how.”

“I can read,” I grumbled as the cart bounced over the tracks, making my crippled leg ache. “Just thought your father said the town was called ‘Ecks’.”

“Sure is. Named it after the ‘ecks’ signs that’ve been there since before the war.”

I looked out the back of the wagon at the second weather-worn metal ‘X’, now behind us. It was an exact twin to the other one, except that the words carved on the board read ‘Now Leaving’. I shrugged in indifference. Who was I to question how a town got named? Daisy flicked the reins and the great beast gave a low, chorused ‘mooo’ as it plodded along the curve of the road.

The sun to our right, I finally got my first look at a pony civilization and found myself impressed by what I saw. The town lay spread out around a pre-war train station; a quaint village had been rebuilt and modified to survive in The Waste. Houses closer to the station had been fortified with parts from lesser buildings at the edge of town. Some even had extra floors added on or a sheltered passage between adjoining buildings. What really stood out was the wall that encircled the town. It stood near half as high as the station’s clock tower and looked to be as thick as our wagon was long, brahmin included. Ponies scurried around and along the nearest section, hauling rocks, erecting winches and levitating tools along its half finished length.

“Ain’t it nice?” Daisy asked. “Like one of them medieval castles in my picture book. ‘Cept rounder instead of square.”

I blinked. “That’s why you sell them rocks?”

“Sure is!” The peach-colored filly grinned.

“Huhn,” I muttered before asking, “what about the gems and such that mare was talking about?”

“Oh, that.” Daisy shifted awkwardly in her seat, scratching her mane.

It occurred to me that Daisy wouldn’t want to remember that she’d had a gun to her head. “Sorry.”

“What?” She looked up at me. “Oh. Nah, she was right. We do make plenty of caps when we sell those kinds of rocks. It’s just that… you see, with the work it takes and so few ponies to buy them, it ain’t really worth the trouble.”

She smiled again. “Building materials is where it’s at, ‘specially with towns like Ecks.”

“What kind of ponies buy ge-”

“Hey there folks!”

I looked down as the overly friendly voice cut me off.

“Gonna have to ask you to stop for a moment.”

A gray earth pony stood in front of a gate that blocked the way into town. The gate was a temporary one, not as tall as the stone walls around it, and seemed to be cobbled together from spare scrap. A pair of ponies were standing on a platform above the entrance, and casually aimed their weapons at us.

The buck smiled and nonchalantly pointed a riot shotgun at me. “Hey Daisy, who’s the new friend you got here? One of your father’s hires?”

“Hey Buckshot,” Daisy piped, all smiles again. “Naw, this here’s Sand. Met her on the road after a cougar tried to eat her. Daddy’s in back. He’s okay, we just need to get him to a doctor.”

Buckshot narrowed his eyes suspiciously at me. “What happened?”

“Ambush,” I drawled, matching his look with one of my own.

Daisy caught our staring match. “They, uh, they shot Sand, but Mickie and Anny saved us. Hoot’s pretty tore up though. Gonna need to take him to see Boomer.”

“Well I’m still gonna have to check your load, Daisy,” he said, trotting around to the back of the wagon.

Listening to the dirt and gravel crunch under his hooves, I wondered if this was the help the Watcher had meant. Leaning over, I whispered to Daisy, “Does he always check your wagon like this?”

“Pretty much,” she said, “but only recently. Been having some clever raiders try and smuggle stuff in.”

As Buckshot clambered into the wagon, I puzzled over what a raider might do to be called ‘clever.’ From what I’d seen they acted on a twisted base instinct, doing what they wanted when and how they wanted; and all of it done with a smile on their face. That reminded me of another pony I knew. Looking back, I saw Buckshot casually poking at the cargo with a hoof.

“Could I ask you something?”

“If it’s for a favor,” he said, “I don’t do those for ponies I barely know.”

“No, just… Have you seen a group of three come through here?” I asked.

Buckshot made his way up towards where we’d left Two Stones curled up on a blanket.

“Group?” he said.

“A Unicorn, a Griffon and a Donkey.”

Buckshot gave a low whistle as he spotted Daisy’s father. “That is a nasty bump he’s got there. You’re right Daisy, ought to get him over to Doc’s. But no, ma’am, that wasn’t so much of a group as it was a whole dang posse. They passed by, oh, almost a month ago.”

So the Watcher had been right.

“Can you tell me anything about them?” I asked.

“Them? Yeah I could tell you a thing or two, but if you want anything good you should ask Surly Stars. She runs the Schoolhouse Saloon.”

I nodded as, his inspection finished, Buckshot hopped over a yawning Mickey and out the back. He came trotting alongside us, giving the other guards the all-clear, before he looked up at Daisy.

“ You know where the clinic is, right?”

The little filly scrunched up her face. “Err, not really.”

“Don’t worry, I’m off shift in a moment. I’ll take you there.”

Nodding, Daisy snapped the reins and the brahmin lurched forward as the gate ground open with a shriek of metal. Orbs of light were buzzing to life as we rolled through the gate, their soft, flickering glow illuminating the streets. There were a great number of ponies milling around town; closing stores, coming off work, migrating home or towards the brightly lit areas near the train station. I even watched as two ponies stepped hurriedly into an alley behind a farrier’s shop, casting quick glances over their shoulders. It wasn’t a maddening crowd but it was still more ponies in one place than I had seen. The constant movement on all sides left me feeling uneasy, threatened even. After the stillness of the desert, it was a change I found unpleasant.

“Don’t take the searching personally,” Buckshot said, trotting along beside the wagon. “We just can’t be too careful.”

“You said somethin’ about clever raiders?” Daisy piped up.

“Eyeah,” he glowered. “It started a few months ago, same time as construction on the new wall. Hit us quick and run back into the Waste.”

He shook his head.

“Then last week some of them come waltzing in here dressed as merchants. Caught us during the shift change and everypony was out in the streets.” He growled, “Bastards got their hooves on some M.E.W.’s.”

“Mews?” I asked, the image of kittens fluttering across my mind.

“M-E-W’s. Magical Energy Weapons,” Daisy said. “You know, like the kind Hoot n’ Anny use.”

I decided to nod, then turned back to Buckshot, “Any trouble on the roads?”

“None more so than normal,” he mused, “you know the like; rabid mole rats, taint-squitoes, wild dogs. Which is weird since usually a raider comes running at whatever moves until either it or them is dead.”

“Aw shoot,” Daisy kicked a small hoof against the wood, “I was hopin’ there might’ve been a reward for that mare and her friends what attacked us.”

“I can check with the sheriff, Daisy, might be that they were worth a cap or two.”

I looked at the suddenly money-conscious little filly. She caught my expression and shrugged apologetically.

“Yeah, they were starvin’ and desperate and such, but…” she trailed off.

“If they’d really needed caps that bad they could’ve come and worked on the wall,” Buckshot said. “Celestia knows we could use an extra hoof or two. But ponies like that are just lazy, would rather take from a body that worked hard and earned it than doin’ the work themselves. Turn here.”

Daisy hauled on the reins and a group of ponies scrambled out of the way as the cart lurched around the corner.

Righting myself, I gave her a look. “You said you’ve done this how many times?”

“Loads of times. Tons of times,” the filly said, sweat forming on her face. “Loads of tons times.”

I arched my scarred eyebrow at her.

“Twice,” she mumbled.

“Well,” I drawled as the cart rumbled down the street, “you ain’t crashed yet.”

She ducked her head, her straw colored mane hiding her expression as we weaved our way towards the northern side of Ecks.

The labcoat-wearing pony held a small lamp up, examining Two Stone’s eyes. Buckshot had helped us drag him into the clinic and had only stayed long enough to chat with the doctor and nurse who’d come out to greet us. The doorway I limped through still had the barber’s pole outside, but I could see somepony had smashed through the lower walls. These new ‘doors’ had allowed the clinic to expand to the buildings on either side. The repurposed rooms were fairly clean for an old building. Once Two Stones was settled, a magenta pony in a nurses outfit had started fussing over my leg.

“What’s he doing over there?” I asked the nurse who had introduced herself as Ulna Radius.

She didn’t even look up when she answered. “Oh, just checkin’ him over for a concussion, don’cha know?”

“I didn’t know,” I said. “That’s why I asked.”

She gave me a dark look from under her orange bangs. “Oh? Is somepony being a Mrs. Smarty Pants?”

“What? N-nnrrgh!”

I stifled a yell as she jammed a hooftip down on my broken leg. It felt like hot wires burrowing into my skin, almost as bad as when it had been crushed. I broke into a cold sweat, breathing heavily through my nose.

“Now,” her voice was low but still chipper sounding, “I won’t tolerate a Smarty Pants in my office. ‘K?”

“Ulna? Is everything alright over there?”

The doctor set down the lamp he’d been using, a look of concern on his face. The nurse smiled brightly at him as she quickly pulled her hoof away from my leg.

“Oh we’re doing just fine Dr. Trots. Aren’t we missy?” She gave me a meaningful look. “Just a nice greenstick fracture.”

‘I’ve had too long of a day. I just want to get patched up and find somewhere to sleep for the night.’ I forced myself to smile.

The doctor took one look at my face and visibly flinched. “Are-are you sure?”

“Why sure we ar-” Ulna Radius saw my expression and stopped short.

"Uh, Sand?” Daisy asked with a look of unease. “Do you...uh, you know, smile much?”

I shrugged, letting my face go slack. “Not really?”

“That might be for the best,” the doctor mused, before turning back to the peach-colored filly. “Daisy, your father will be fine but I’d like to wait until he wakes up before we administer a healing potion. In the meantime I’ll have Nurse Radius fetch some of the ice that we keep for just such occasions. Ulna?”

“Already left for it, Dr. Trots!” Ulna said, halfway out the door, her chipper smile back in place.

“Alright then, Sand was it?” The doctor ambled over with a brown satchel in his teeth. “Let’s see about that leg shall we?”

“Sure,” I held out my now throbbing leg as something from one of Tiny’s books fluttered into my mind.

“Doctor Trots?” I said.

“Ah,” he popped open the satchel and started levitating out some bandages, “an educated mare, I see.”

I shrugged and kept my attention on the door as Ulna Radius came back in with a damp cloth and a bowl of ice.

“Well,” Trots chuckled, “not many have read Perplexing Pony Plagues. At least not this far out in the Waste.” Pulling out a metal splint of some sort, he noticed that I was watching the nurse.

“She did do something didn’t she?” he said quietly, a screwdriver in his mouth as he made adjustments to the floating splint.

“Yes,” I said.

“Dang it, I’ve told her time and again,” he sighed. “You’re gonna have to forgive her, she’s… adjusting to her new life.”

“Gonna have to…” Something about what he said stirred inside me and I felt that dry susurrus in the back of my mind.

“Being a nurse,” he added quickly, his voice scattering my thoughts. “She’s only been doing this for a month or two and, well, she’s still getting used to things.”

“Ah,” I said, not really paying attention.

“True, coming from where she started...” he trailed off, cinching the splint to my leg. “Well it’s just been a hard road for her. But at least now her talents are helping ponykind. Drink this.”

I downed the potion he handed me.

“There.” He stepped back, pleased with his work. “That’ll be 100 caps. That’s fifteen for the work, seventy-five for the healing potion, aaand ten for the leg brace. Unless of course you return it to us for your ten caps back.”

Testing my leg on the hardwood floor I asked, “Why wouldn’t I return it?”

“Well it’s best for you to wear it for a day until the bone settles. And there have been times when a pony will forget and wander off with one.”

I shrugged and started digging for my bag of caps. As the inventory system again reminded me that it was there to help, I asked, “Where do I find a pony named Surly Stars?”

Ponies filled the saloon, talking, yelling, or singing along with the radio. I found myself jostled every which way and spent ten minutes just trying to muscle my way to the bar. Once I got there, however...

“I ain’t got time to chat, lady.” The rust-colored mare spat, yelling to be heard above the crowd. She slapped a cleaning rag over her shoulder and started pouring a drink.

“It’s busier than a donkey’s rear end at this hour. No offense Webber,” she said, slamming the shot down in front of a toothless old donkey.

“None taken, Surly,” he chuckled before he guzzled his drink in two quick swallows.

“Good,” she hollered, cantering off towards the other end of the bar.

“Ahh,” Webber smacked his lips, “nothin’ like a good drink from a pretty lady. Even if she is a pony.”

I looked down the bar. Surly was thickly muscled with a twice broken nose. In The Waste, beauty must be where you could find it . It was a sentiment shared by the building itself. What had once been a well worn, one-room schoolhouse was now a well worn, one-room saloon. Somepony had bolted some of the old desks together to make crude tables. Most of the customers were ponies, but I spotted a few more donkeys and even a lone billy goat with a small shopping cart.

I turned to the old donkey to find him making a small pyramid from his three empty glasses. “Webber, right?”

“Sure is missy. What, ah, what can I do for ya?” he asked, taking in my scars and leg brace.

“I’m looking for a unicorn with a light grey coat.”

“You don’t say,” Webber mused, suddenly more interested.

“Came here a month ago with a griffoness, a male donkey-”

“‘S called a jack, missy,” Webber interrupted.

“-a jack, and maybe some friends,” I finished.

Webber raised a fuzzy eyebrow. “You, uh, bounty hunter, missy?”

“No,” I said, not having any idea what that was. “Just some… business.”

“Ah,” he nodded solemnly, much like Two Stones had.

“Do you know where they went?” I looked around the room again, because I had had a strange, niggling feeling on the back of my skull. “If they went.”

“Well now,” Webber chuckled. Leaning back, he gave me a look I couldn’t quite understand, tapping a hoof on the bar. “I might be able to help you out there if, uh, if I had a mite somethin’ to jog my memory.”

“Ah.” It seemed I wasn’t the only one who had trouble remembering things.

I took a breath, thought for a moment, then told him everything I knew.

“The stallion is a grey unicorn with a yellow mane and tail, cropped short. Well fed for a wastelander, he stands one hoof shorter than me. His magic is a bright blue and he carries a 9mm. The griffon looks like a Harris’s hawk with fur like a desert lynx, and she has many scars. Her armor is black and dark green, solid, not pieced together like a raider’s. She is also missing a claw. Left talon. The jack is older with scruffy coat and mane. Both of which are brown. He’s wearing a hard hat and a collar with a red, blinking light around his neck. They would be traveling west, expecting to reach their destination shortly, seeing as how none of them were heavily burdened.”

I blinked, slowly refocusing on the donkey in front of me, “Does that jog your memory?”

Webber looked dumbfounded. “Damn, missy. I was just askin’ for you to buy me a drink.”

“Oh,” I said, sounding louder than I should have.

The whole bar had gone silent. Even the radio sounded muffled as everyone stared at me. Something in the room made the air feel heavy, like the bar was filled with a nervous tension. One or two horns were lighting up as I mentally started counting the bullets in my gun. Then a small cough sounded, and a child’s wail split the air. Just like that the room was full of noise again as ponies turned back to their drinking and conversing. Across the room the lone goat bounced the kid on his knee, calming his child’s tears.

There was a thud and the sound of glasses scattering. Surly had shoved Webber’s head into the counter, holding him in place by one of his long, floppy ears.

“Damn it, Webber,” she hissed. “What have I told you about soliciting drinks in my bar?”

“T’ not to,” Webber grunted into the scattered pile of shot glasses.

“You’re darn right,” she spat. Seeing the pony seated next to Webber watching us, she gave a winning smile, “How’s your drink there, Sugar Bear?”

The stallion with a trio of candy-colored bears on his flank gave a tired nod.

“That’s great,” Surly said, “glad to see you’re enjoying yourself.”

As soon as Sugar Bear looked away she was back to frowning at me .

“Alright,” she huffed, letting Webber have his ear back. “If you want to ask questions, stick around until it gets quiet. Until then, don’t buy him a drink.”

I’d spent the next few hours trying to avoid a staring contest with the goat. It seemed that nopony had questioned why he’d been allowed to bring an infant into the bar. Then again, most seemed content to leave him alone. Of the five ponies that approached him, two were ignored, one was dismissed, one talked with him rather quickly, and one bought him a drink.

As the night wore on folk slowly trickled out the door. One of the exceptions was Webber who was still at the bar. Mostly. He’d put his head down shortly after his fifth drink and was slowly slouching towards the floor. The ponies at the table next to me had been taking bets on how long it would be until he hit the floor.

Surly wandered out from behind the bar just after the clock on my Pipbull ticked over to twelve.

“Here’s the thing;” she grumbled, pulling up a well-worn bucket to sit on, “I don’t generally like to deal with information.”

“Why not?” I asked, still watching Webber.

“Because a posse that big is trouble for anypony who goes sniffin’ around after them.”

She propped a foreleg on the table, watching as the old donkey’s face slid across a puddle of drool.

“Especially with that many Stone Throwers with them.”

“Stone Throwers?”

“Local guns for hire. I think they might be apart of another religious movement, or something.”

My PipBull ‘pinged,’ and a small light started blinking next to the display screen.

“I just want to talk with him,” I said.

“Talk?” She raised her eyebrows in interest. “Just talk and only talk?”

At the bar, Webber lolled to one side and slipped off the counter, stopping as one saggy cheek snagged on a barstool. He hung there, swaying a little.

“Yup,” I told Surly as Webber drooled a little on the floor.

“Not the way it sounded to me,” she grumbled. “Already had a couple of folk in here talking about you. Saying that you’ve been asking all kinds of questions.”

“I just have something to settle with him...ma’am,” I said, adding the last part because it was what other ponies had called her.

“Uh-huh,” Surly snorted, “Two Stones’ little girl tells it another way.”

That pulled at my attention. “Daisy’s been in here?”

“A filly? In my bar?” She asked...indignantly. “What kind of mare do you think I am?”

“But…” I struggled to put my thoughts together. There was something about what she had said that felt out of place. “Didn’t you say you’d talked to her?”

Surly waved a hoof. “Never said such a thing. Daisy likes to talk. Ponies like to listen. Ponies who, it so happens, like to talk to me.”

“Ah.” I said, feeling a fluttering thought land in just the right spot, before adding, “you know an awful lot for a pony not dealing in information.”

Surly’s lips tightened and her emerald eyes narrowed. “You were the filly always played by herself, weren’t you?”

I kept my mouth shut as Surly glared at me. We locked eyes and, after a long while, she grimaced, looking down and away, back to Webber’s balancing act. I settled myself and waited realizing that a shift had happened in our conversation. Something that had put things more in my favor.

Finally Surly sighed and turned back. “I can’t say where they went, but I know someone who could say. And if you ask him, then I guess you might not get connected back to here.” She thumped a hoof in thought. “Don’t get your hopes up, though. He left a few weeks ago too. Went off to join a group or somesuch out in the foothills. They do...stuff.”

I watched as she traced a circle somepony had gouged in the wood of the old desk. Something felt off. She hadn’t been looking at me when she’d said that last part. What..? I shoved the thought aside. It didn’t matter, she had what I needed. So I asked the more important questions.

“Who are we talking about, and where is this group he’s with?”

Across the bar, Webber hit the floor with a clatter of hooves and a bray of surprise.

----------------

Footnote:

Settlement Discovered: Ecks

New Quest: Postal Pony

New Mission: Casting the First Stone

Quest Progress: Returning the Favor

30% Completion