• Published 23rd May 2013
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Fallout Equestria: Once Upon a Time in the Waste - S-Clark



Over 200 years ago the great war doomed Equestria and poisoned the world. Yet what of the lands beyond Equestria’s borders? This is a story of the great scrubland to the West, and the ponies and creatures who struggle to survive.

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Chapter 3: Strange Company

Fallout Equestria: Once Upon a Time in the Waste
Written and Illustrated by SparkusClark

Chapter Three: Strange Company
“Now listen here. What ah’m sayin’ to you is the honest truth:
Let go… and you’ll be safe.”

It had been so easy to die the first time. One bullet, a few grains of gunpowder, and I was gone. So easy. So simple.

One bullet had made all the difference.

***

The stallion’s mustard colored body spasmed, jerking and twitching like a spider with a pin stuck through it. With a groan, I reached over and wedged the rifle under the overturned desk. As soon as the weight was off his neck the twitching turned to thrashing and he caught me one in the face. The gun slipped from my mouth as the desk came down with a crunch that had a finality to it. Clamping a hoof over my bloody nose, I couldn’t help noticing the dead stallion's cutie mark was a chain in the shape of a noose. His body gave one last twitch and was still. At least it was quiet now. Just me and the dead again.

At that, I let myself flop down onto the floor; my body felt like a map of pain. Laying there was nice though, the dirty linoleum was cool enough that it drew some of the ache from my body. Most of my bruising was due to the part where I’d thrown myself behind the counter. It was either that or stand still when the stallion opened up with his semi-automatic. Then, instead of reloading, he’d lobbed one of the weird looking prickly pears after me. It had hit floor and exploded in a spray of barbs, each of them half the length of my hoof and jet black. They had peppered my side and most of the wall behind me. If I hadn't already had a leg over my face I might have lost an eye. I was trying to stand when he’d crashed through the divider, a medical syringe jammed in his neck. He'd slammed into me and we'd gone head over hoof into the desk. Luna's guidance was the only reason I hadn't been the one caught underneath when the thing had flipped over.

The teal unicorn was looking down at me, his head lolling to the side. He was still strapped to the overturned desk. Flies meandered across his sunken face. One stopped to nibble at the spittle crusted rags jammed in his mouth. Another buzzed its way towards his withers and the twin wagon wheels of his cutie mark. I couldn't help but notice that somepony had used a rubber band to keep him… ready. Somehow I felt this detail should not be entirely unexpected. The whole room, its chipped plaster walls decorated by bullet holes, ratty posters, and several words I didn't recognize, did not give off feelings of friendship or tolerance.

I needed to move. My body longed to stay on the nice cool floor but I was getting tired of watching the flies. Besides, the needles had started to burn a little. Closing my eyes I braced myself before rising painfully to my hooves. Steadying myself I brought the E.U.A. back online. After scanning around the room I hobbled over to the door and stuck my head outside. No red dots appeared and I almost relaxed as I retrieved my gun; almost. Tiny had said that a white buffalo was called a Teacher, and that they passed their knowledge on in the form of lessons. Maybe the Waste was one giant Teacher. If that was so, then the click as my speedloader chambered my last six bullets was proof I'd learned my lessons that day: one, never waste a bullet, and two, always keep your gun loaded.

If learning helped a pony survive then so too would being in one piece. Cracking the seal on the lid I downed my last potion and counted under my breath.

one… two… three… four…

At ‘five’ muscles wriggled and shivered beneath my skin. The sensation was both eerie and repulsive. As I waited for it to stop I found myself humming a tune I wasn't quite sure I knew. All the while bruises grew smaller, fractured bones knit together, and the knife wounds closed up at last. The fading magic left a strange tingle across my skin along with something more unpleasant. While the potion had closed my wounds it had not, much to my surprise, removed the needles but had instead healed around them, sealing them to my flesh. There were almost twenty by my count. Plucking them out with my teeth left me coated in sweat and fresh blood, and it also made me more than a little on edge. The dry decay that clung to the air didn't help either, forcing me to breathe through my mouth least I be assaulted by the stench of sour sweat, and a sharp tang that might be blood. Or maybe it was fear.

That was stupid. I was being stupid. Fear didn’t have a smell. Besides, there was enough new blood here to overpower anypony’s nose. The thought made me realize just how much of my own blood now covered the room, and that’s when a tightness gripped my chest. Why was I having trouble breathing? I felt ridiculous, laying there shivering and trembling like I had a desk crushing my neck. It was stupid and- and... weak.

I stood abruptly. Not because that word had oozed its way into my thoughts. No. The floor was too cold, that's why I was shivering and had to get up, nothing else. Spotting the mashed remains of my cigarette I plucked it off the floor and carefully relit it. Wispy plumes soon curled their way towards the ceiling, taking any strange imaginings with them. Closing my eyes I let the smell of burning tobacco fill the room.

It worked, and with each pull I felt steadier, more in control of myself. When I opened my eyes I took in the aftermath of the last five minutes: the shattered divider and upended furniture; each of the dead bodies under coating of powdered drywall; and, last but not least, the squishy, ruined remains of my hat. Thoughts zipped around my mind in a cacophony of feelings and reactions. Except the one I chose. The little voice that simply shrugged and said, ‘Oh well.

Shrugging, I spat the glowing dregs of my cigarette at the headless green mare. By luck it landed on her flank, sputtered, then caught; burning a hole through the middle of the pony skull and wing-flanked heart that was her cutie mark. The acrid reek of burning hair soon permeated the room, threatening to eclipse the overall stench that lurked beneath my tobacco smoke.

Business concluded, it was time to see if I could stock up on supplies. The place wasn’t much to look at and I found it offered even less. A battered cabinet stood empty in the corner, its doors rusted open. Another desk, a trash can, a metal box with one side made entirely of black glass, and a decrepit sledgehammer completed the setting. I had an old-mare’s suspicion that I should know what the box was called. It sat on the floor beside a burnt section of the counter, the glass was shattered enough for me to see the burnt wires and other pieces melted to the inside. There was some lettering on the back, blackened and worn: ‘Stable-Tec Terminal: Model No. 2Q4B’.

“Terminal.” I sounded like a bored foal trying to sound out a new word.

Searching random boxes and pieces of equipment was a waste of time. My ‘friends’ turned out to be just as bad; their weapons were in poor condition and they carried little in the vein of food or water. A few things caught my interest: something called ‘wonderglue’ and a spool of twine with some industrial sewing needles. At least that was what the PipBull called them when I stored them in my bags. The armor the bucks had been wearing gave me pause. A closer inspection revealed that they had been cobbled together from pieces of leather with bits of metal and rubber sewn on. They’d even taken the time to tattoo extra cutie marks on different parts of the leather. However, these were far less sinister. One was even a can of beans. In the end it was their bulky weight that made me decide against taking them. More promising items were in the saddlebags I found stuffed under the second desk. They had a pair of wagon wheel buckles and I had the feeling they belonged to the teal pony still strapped to the desk.

“You were a smarter traveler than they were.” I spoke with a strange feeling of formality, like I was asking permission to add his meager rations to my own.

Maybe it had been the gloom of being indoors, or the fading light of the sun, but it wasn’t until I had lit up that mashed cig that I’d spotted the two doors. They were so defaced that they almost blended in with the walls. One to the north and one to the south, they both stood facing each other on either side of the... foyer. I frowned and wondered how long it would be before my everyday vocabulary was back to normal.

Gun in mouth, I eased open the southernmost door. The room beyond was dark and what little light that filtered through a small window was poor. Despite an empty E.U.A. I kept my gun trained on the darkness as I carefully switched on the PipBull’s yellow lamp. The beam swept around the room and it soon became clear that this had the living quarters. Sort of. Judging by the mattresses strewn about, sleeping next to flooded toilets hadn’t been a concern. A number of syringes and bottles littered the spaces between and across the stained bedding. Light reflecting off a mirror over the sink illuminated a loose ceiling tile that dangled overhead. It chose that moment to come crashing down in a cloud of dust and a distinct odor that washed over me. Whatever it was, the stains on their sheets stank of it and that smell I’d scented earlier. The latter was blood, I was sure of that now, blood and- and…

In quick almost fluid succession I turned off the lamp, shut the door, bagged my gun, and was trotting towards the northern door with a freshly lit cigarette in my mouth. The reigning silence made my hooves nearly echo as I crossed the tiles, the empty pit in my stomach slowly fading. There was a sign on the door that warned all non-certified PerciCo. ponies to not enter the garage bay. I barely glanced at it as I shoved my way through, my mind elsewhere. The garage had been a pit-stop at one point, a place for pegasi passenger and delivery vehicles to be repaired. It was now the final resting place for a battered passenger skywagon and stacked around it like cordwood, illuminated by the setting sun, were at least a dozen bodies.

I don’t know why, but I just stood there for the longest time. The stench was stronger in here than the brief whiff I had caught earlier. If fear did have a smell it rolled over me now in a noxious, cloying wave. My stomach churned and my head spun, but I managed to keep everything from coming up. At least, until I saw the little pony pinned just above a carriage window. I wouldn’t have even spotted the body if there hadn’t been a gap in the laundry line of drying ‘leather’ that hung from the ceiling. The brahmin this morning had been dead and dried for a couple of weeks. The dead ponies behind me had been a personal matter. The colt was different. At least, I thought it was a colt. Somepony had been very imaginative with a knife.

***

Healing potions, I discovered, are a cloudy color once the magic has been used up, and they taste vile. Shuddering, I spat another slimy gob into the sink. Catching sight of myself in the bathroom’s mirror, I grimaced. Unlike the hoof mirror, it gave me a better look at the scar that traced itself along my forelock. Tiny had said he’d needed to make the extra cuts in order to remove the bullet fragments lodged in my ‘noggin’. The line of pink tissue spread out from a knot of flesh the size of a bottle cap. My mane was making its reappearance in the form of a long, bristly strip of hair. Brushing a hoof over the stubble rewarded me with a smear of blood and vomit across my face. I needed to clean up and get out of this place, maybe find a place to camp before nightfall brought its cold.

The tap whistled emptily but gave a surprising gurgle before splashing a torrent of lukewarm water into the basin. The water was a reddish-brown but it was still the only water I’d come across so far that wasn’t already in a bottle. The PipBull’s Radmeter started clicking again, same as it had when I’d been near the strange looking cacti outside. Frowning, I the PipBull away from the water, paused, and then moved it back. Each time I did this the Radmeter would start clicking faster the closer it got to the water.

“Hmph,” I grunted. Whatever Rads were it wasn’t good. A memory tickled my mind and the word ‘radiation’ fluttered up to the light. “Ah, right.”

The needle was bobbing in the lower part of the dial and I noticed that it didn’t go back down. I felt fine. Shrugging, I got to work scouring myself with the brackish water. I took my time but it wasn’t enough. No matter how much water I used the sights and smells of the place still loomed beyond my lamplight. Washing my face for the tenth time, something in the mirror caught my attention. A metal box, bolted to the far wall. The faded yellow paint almost glowed in the lamplight. The pink and blue butterfly on the lid was barely recognizable, somepony had added red and black flames around them. Stick-like words were scrawled across the top.

“‘They come… from… the ceiling’?”

Immediately my Pipbull swung upwards, illuminating everything above. A dust-choked air vent and bare cement greeted me. Most of the other ceiling tiles had already fallen off. I decided that from then it would be best to ignore messages left by insane, murderous ponies. The box was locked, the number of dents and scratches told me I wasn’t the first pony to try and open it, only the most recent. Maybe if I used a little force.

The sledgehammer connected with the lid on my second try. It struck with a jarring clang that reverberated along the handle and into my skull. The hammer slipped from my mouth and I had to do a mad, scrambling dance to keep it from crushing my hooves. Turning, I saw purple liquid trickling down the wall. The lid fell open to reward me with a mess of ruined medical supplies. Three potions sat broken and empty, the bandages were filled with slivers of glass and a plastic bottle had popped open, the pills mixing with the liquid inside it to create a soup of swirling purples and reds.

“Great,” I grumbled, as my oozing wounds started to itch.

I trotted out to the foyer again, abandoning the sledgehammer and the torpid mess in the medical box. Once again my mind buzzed, forcing me to stop and try to organize my thoughts. What to do next? Wounds could get infected. I wouldn’t be searching the garage. The sun was only a slip on the horizon. Cold would be setting in soon. Wouldn’t be staying here. The colt was still in there. Should do something. Not my problem. Night falls, the bad predators come out. Can’t be out after dark. How had I known that? Need a defendable camp. Need a distraction. Need to find my grey unicorn friend. Need to repay him. Need ammo. Need supplies. Need- need to… What I wanted was another cigarette.

Lighting up again I could almost feel my body relaxing. The rich scent of fire and tobacco eased my mind and I felt better for it. It was then that my eyes fell on the tarp just beside the entryway door. A tarp that had, until then, escaped my attention. Lifting the corner, I shone my PipBull underneath, and felt a thin smile on my face.

“Luna be praised,” I breathed, “it’s my own Hearth’s Warming Eve.”

Under the tarp were two long rows of turpentine cans.

***

Night had come to the desert.

poc

poc

poc-poc

I should have been asleep.

poc-poc

poc

Dropping the rock I pulled the rad-pear needle from the leather and inspected my work. The hole didn’t line up well with the rest, but then again, it was my first time trying to repair a leg holster. My eyes were starting to cross and a I didn’t need to read the status screen to know the day had left me fatigued. With a sigh I packed away my equipment, thinking I might be able to stitch it together in the morning.

Hitching my blanket up over my shoulders, I idly tossed a piece of wood into the wastebasket I had scavenged. The flames burned brightly and underneath the crackling I heard the unmistakable sound of horn music getting closer. Now, maybe I would have seen the spritebot coming if I hadn’t turned off my E.U.A.; it had been difficult to see what I was doing around the compass and other meters. Several misses with the rock had added a throbbing fetlock to the number of aches I had earned today. Luna knew I could hear him coming. The music cut out with a *pop* just as the spritebot floated into my campsite.

“Hello, I’m… surprised to find you all the way out here.”

I sat with my back to a wall, glowering at him. In truth what was supposed to be a pace-setting canter had ended in an all out gallop. The exertion sent wisps of steam trailing from my body into the cool night air. It had kept my mind away from the image of the foal. I had become so lost in the steady rhythm that I hadn’t even looked at where I was going. When I’d finally looked up I found myself beside an old train station and a box-shaped water tower.

“I didn’t need to be near that place.”

“Errr, I noticed,” his voice crackled.

From the east there came a muffled whoompf. We had a decent view from inside the ruined water tower, watching as the distant flames from the garage turned a bright, roiling green and billowed high into the air.

“Ah,” he said, “and there goes the skywagon.”

I watched the fire settle back to a steady orange glow. “Was it supposed to do that?”

“No, not really. But if the spark battery is damaged enough it will release the magic stored in its cells.”

If I had known that, I might have thrown a few more cans into the garage bay.

There was a buzz from the spritebot. “I must say you made a decent job of it.”

“Of what?” my voice rasped darkly.

“Hmm? Oh, just surviving is all.”

A sudden gust blew through the rotted hole in the side of my camp. The shadows danced in the flickering light of the guttering campfire, casting wild figures across the inside of the water tower.

“Did you know?” I asked.

“About the raiders?” He hovered there as though considering how best to respond to this. “I suppose you could say I had an idea they might not be the most hospitable.” The spritebot bobbed in a way that might have been a shrug. “It is one of the problems that most frequently arises out here.”

I grunted, “Really.”

“Ok,” he sighed heavily through the speaker, “that, ah, group needed to be cleared out in order to make travel… safer. Relatively so. Either way, congratulations, you’re now a hero.”

Firewood shifted in the wastebasket and the crackling sound filled the silence.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, uhm,” the Watcher seemed at a loss for words, “generally a hero is a pony who helps others when nopony else will.”

I mulled this concept over and found it hard to believe, especially in regard to my own actions. The place had been a- a- a hunting ground, but an unnatural one. There was a part of me that had known what it was doing, that the fire I had created hadn’t been so much ‘right’ as it had been necessary. Even as that thought occurred to me I found myself forcing back a yawn. Between the long trek, the fight for survival, and the rapid healing from so many potions, my body had been through a lot. I was exhausted, but there was one thing I needed to know.

“I’m still looking for my unicorn friend. Grey coat. Yellow mane. Seen him?”

The Watcher hung there for a long while before answering.

“There’s a town southwest of here. They might give you the answers you’re looking for.”

I eyed him warily.

The bot gave a tinny chuckle, “Oh, I’m sure you’ll do alright.”

With a burp of static the music cut in as the spritebot hovered lazily away from my high perch. Straight past the coyote sitting idly on the peak of the station’s roof. It watched the bot float by before turning its attention back over to me. I raised an eyebrow but it seemed content to watch me with its luminous yellow eyes.

I called out across the divide, “You got anything to add?”

The coyote put a dramatic forepaw to its chest and, in an affronted manner, called back, “Me? Why ever would you ask?”

It took a moment for any thought to come fluttering back into my head.

“Because you’ve been following me since this morning?”

The coyote threw his head back in cackling laughter that echoed in the stillness of the night. “Yes, well,” he chuckled, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, “I must admit that curiosity is one of my more fascinating vices.”

“Right,” I drawled and brought up the E.U.A., only to find him in the yellow ‘friendly’ color. I gave a snort. “Really could have used some help back at the garage.”

“Oh it was nothing, really. Don’t even have to thank me for it.” He scratched at an ear with a hindpaw.

I glared at him. “When did you-”

He cut me off. “But since you did ask so nicely, I will add a thing or two to your earlier tête-à-tête. Ahem.” He drew himself up and spoke in a very advising voice.

“Be careful who you trust.”

The silence stretched between us.

“That’s it?”

“Well, only and especially if they’re acting like a friend on your first meeting.” He eyed his paw as though inspecting it for dirt. “And you might want to keep that blank flank of yours covered. You stick out like a cave troll in a juniper forest.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “And who are you to be giving me such advice?”

He grinned wide, his teeth bright in the moonlight. “Oh, just a friend.”

With that, he leapt off the edge of the roof, doing two lazy somersaults through the air before vanishing on the far side of the building. Kicking away the blanket, I grabbed my gun and dashed to the towers’ edge; he hadn’t just left my line of sight, he’d vanished from the E.U.A. altogether. Scrambling down the ladder, my tongue on the trigger, I flipped on the PipBull’s light to find… nothing. No tracks, no fur, no anything. The ground between the station and my camp was completely empty.

Climbing warily back to my camp, I covered myself with my blanket before laying the gun down next to my head. I stared out into the darkness for Luna knew how long, my eyelids getting heavier and heavier. A meter in my E.U.A. told me I was too tired to try staying awake any longer.

“Nice trick, friend,” I muttered before rolling over and drifting off to sleep.

-------------------
Footnote: Achievement Progress Unlocked

Lessons Learned- 2 of 200:

#23. Never waste a bullet.

#4. Always keep your gun loaded.

New Mission: With Friends Like These...

Author's Note:

Yeah... this was way late. I know there's no real deadline for posting fanfic chapters, but this chapter was just a giant struggle to work on let alone finish due more to outside forces: August was depression. September was a new school year. October was a placement change at work. Etc. etc. etc....

But the important thing is that I actually got it done and posted! Pictures will come later, for now I'm just happy to have some finished work up and running.

Big thanks again going out to ButtonsTheMuse, Bobdat, and my darling AnaxibiaClark.

P.S! Bonus points to folks who can spot both easter eggs.