TALES OF THE DESERT RAT

by anarchywolf18

THE SICK AND THE DEAD

It had been raining for weeks. Long enough to make anyone's mood go foul. In Desert Rat's case, his was worse, because he was going into the town of Orida. To make matters worse, he went without his guns. Not because he was a prisoner, but because of a promise he made to his present company. A mare named Mage Meadowbrook.

It was after he fell ill that Miss Meadowbrook helped Desert Rat to get better. For as much as the drifter offered payment, she did not want his money. Instead, he offered his services. He became her bodyguard.

Miss Meadowbrook saw there was no deterring the insistent drifter, but only accepted the offer on one condition: Desert Rat was not to carry his guns.

As they neared Orida, they were hit by a strange smell. A smell Desert Rat knew all too well. The putrid stench of burning corpses.

Past the edge of town, the smell grew stronger. Meadowbrook had to cover her nose the nearer they walked to the center of the small settlement. In only a matter of steps, Desert Rat sighed at the sight before them.

A five-foot pile of corpses was mounted up in plain view, burning with magical flames that flared brightly in the pouring rain.

Miss Meadowbrook’s stomach lurched as she averted her eyes from the horrible sight.

Desert Rat stared in silence, motionless. In the light of the fire, his eyes caught sight of a filly dragging the dead body of a mare behind her.

The filly struggled to haul the larger body, until she reached the pyre. Soon, she was joined by a colt, who took hold of they corpse, and helped her heave it onto the flames.

More foals arrived, dragging the dead bodies of more ponies behind them. None were spared. Young or old. Mare or stallion. They all fed the flames.

“Hrm…” Desert Rat sighed.

The sound of Miss Meadowbrook’s labored breathing diverted his attention from the pyre.

Meadowbrook jumped when she felt Desert Rat nudge her side. She saw the drifter walk ahead of her, and saw his mouth moving beneath his hat. Whatever he was saying, his words were muted by the constant pattering of the rain, and the roar of the flames.

Desert Rat motioned with his head toward the direction of the nearest building. A dismal heap of splintered wood and broken windows, which hardly seemed fit shelter from the rain.

The mare followed the drifter to the shelter. She saw a sign above the door, the word ‘TAVERN’ written in what she hoped was red paint.

The inside was just as uninviting as the outside. The tables and chairs had rotten away from years of neglect, and the floorboards were loose with rusty nails half stuck in them.
The only hint of welcome was the faint scent of cornbread baking in a pan over a tiny fire. Seated near the fire was an elderly war horse, fast asleep.

Miss Meadowbrook watched as Desert Rat magically retrieved a gold bit from his pocket, and levitated it over the counter.

The drifter glanced to the sleeping war horse.

Meadowbrook saw him briefly twitch an eyebrow at her, before he loudly slammed the coin down onto the counter.

“Huh--wh--Damn you for living, you plague dog!!” the old stallion said, as he jolted from his seat, wobbling to stay on his hooves.

“Actually, it’s a Desert Rat. And we need us some rooms for the night,” the drifter said.

“Desert--?”

The old stallion staggered forward, and fell onto his side.

Meadowbrook gasped, and rushed to help the fallen stallion. Before she took the first step, she was stopped by Desert Rat’s hoof.

The old pony’s whole side ached from the fall. From his fallen position, he turned his head, and saw two pairs of hooves before him. One belonged to an unfamiliar mare. The other was owned by a stallion he once recalled from his days on the battlefield.

“Is that you, Ke-Woh-No-Tay?” the old stallion asked.

“Who else has a face this pretty?” Desert Rat said, flashing the markings on his face.

Both chuckled heartily at the exchange, as the drifter stepped forward to help his elderly friend. No sooner did he start moving, did Miss Meadowbrook go to the fallen pony’s aid.

“I thought you said your name was Desert Rat,” Meadowbrook said, as she helped the stallion to his hooves.

“Only to you ponies,” Desert Rat said.

Meadowbrook steadied the old stallion.

“What does that mean?” she wondered.

“Nothing. At least, nothing that would mean anything to you or me,” the old stallion said, before he hobbled over to the fire. “Pull up a chair. I’ll get us some cornbread. Sorry that I don’t have any plates, though.”

Meadowbrook tried to grab a chair, only for Desert Rat to magically pull it away for himself first. Instead, she grabbed a different seat, and took her place by the tiny fire.

The old stallion took a knife in his teeth and sliced the bread three ways.

“So, are you going to tell me your friend’s name, or do I have to guess?” he said.

“I’m Mage Meadowbrook. And may I ask your name?” the mare said.

The old stallion pulled up a slice of cornbread, and served it to Meadowbrook.

“Ponies call me One Ear. Because of this,” the stallion said, removing his hat to show the source of his namesake.

Even though he had both ears, Meadowbrook gasped at the sight of how his right ear had been sliced almost completely in two down the middle, leaving a huge scar that ran alongside his mane.

“Goodness! How did that happen?” the mare asked.

“That?” One Ear said, as he served cornbread to Desert Rat. “Just an old war injury. Our so-called doctor offered treatment for me, but I turned the bastard down.”
“Treatment?” Meadowbrook wondered.

“That’s what that quack calls it,” One Ear said, as he took a massive bite of his cornbread. “In his fractured little brain, ponies that can’t be treated just need to be put down. Try as you can, you won’t find a bigger load of bullshit. He just ain’t competent enough to treat so much as a sore throat.”

“That’s terrible!” Meadowbrook said.

“That ain’t the half of it. He charges the families of the folks he puts down for the bullets he shoots.”

Meadowbrook clenched her teeth. Never before had she heard such an inhumane, unjust practice.

“Do you know what ills these ponies? Maybe, I can help them,” the mare offered.

Her ire rose when she heard One Ear scoff at her.

“Who are you supposed to be, who can cure a plague like this?” the war horse asked.

box beneath his hat. Magically, he levitated it to light on the fire, before taking a small puff.

“Miss Meadowbrook here’s a famed healer. I don’t know just how good she is, but she cured me pretty good,” the drifter answered.

The words billowed from his mouth like the puff of smoke he exhaled.

Meadowbrook looked to her company, as her mind traveled back to the pyre in the middle of town. It seemed like all odds were against her in the endeavor.

“If I can just find out what’s wrong with them, I know I can help everypony. I don’t care how long it takes, I won’t give up on them until the plague is wiped out,” the mare resolved.
A cloud of smoke blew from Desert Rat’s mouth, and into Meadowbrook’s face as he scoffed at the mare.

“And what happens if the plague wipes them out first? That little barbecue out there’s going to have to get bigger. Pony and foal, everypony here’s going to feed that fire,” the drifter said.

Meadowbrook waved the smoke out of her face, and glared at her company.

“I know it’s going to be hard! But, lives are at stake! You just said that everypony here is going to die, if nothing’s done! I have to try, don’t I?” the mare said. “First thing’s first: that doctor’s got to be brought to justice.”

For as resolute as she felt, her heart wavered when she heard her company laugh quietly at her.

“There’s no justice for ponies like him. Not the kind that lawponies dole out, anyway,” One Ear said.

Meadowbrook saw the war horse glance to Desert Rat, and looked to the drifter. Desert Rat’s eyes glinted in the faint glow of his cigarillo’s embers. The tiniest of smirks twitched on the corner of his mouth, as another cloud of smoke billowed forth.

Steps were heard outside the door.

“Speak of the devil--”

“--And the devil shall come.”

One Ear and Desert Rat said one after the other.

The front door opened, and in walked three stallions. Two of them were obviously nothing more than dumb, hired muscle. It was the third who truly stood out.

He was a tall unicorn stallion, with a grayish-yellow mane, and stark white fur. He was clad in a white longcoat, a sure testament to his profession. On the right of his collar, a single daisy was pinned. On his waist, he carried a holster with a single pistol in it.

What truly was disturbing about his appearance were the cutie mark of a skull with a top hat, and the necklace with a noble’s coat of arms on full display.

“Random follow up, One Ear! Ready to pay your tab yet?” the doctor said, as he and his bodyguards rapidly approached.

“I told you already that you’re not getting a red bit from me!” One Ear said.

“Not a red bit, huh? Well--” the pistol on the doctor’s waist was magically drawn, and placed against the war horse’s forehead, “--I’d still settle for red lead.”

“You don’t scare me, you quack.”

Meadowbrook bit her lip as she watched the scene unfold before her. Her heart stopped when she saw one of the bodyguards glance at her.

“Hey,” Desert Rat chimed in. “You want to keep that shit to a minimum? There’s a lady here.”

The doctor turned his gaze to the strangers in the room. Without taking his gun from One Ear’s head, he addressed the newcomers.

“Oh, goodness, oh my! I didn’t know One Ear was entertaining guests. Forgive my ill manners, sir and ma’am,” the doctor said.

Meadowbrook wished to run, as the doctor approached her and Desert Rat.

“You’ll forgive the gruesome sight outside, but it’s what has to be done around here to wipe out any disease. You didn’t get near those foals, did you? Chances are, those little nippers will be my next patients.”

Meadowbrook wished to strike the doctor, but feared retaliation from his goons.

A loud exhale and a cloud of smoke dre attention to the drifter.

“What’s your deal here, doc?” Desert Rat said.

“What do you mean?” the doctor asked.

“You got kids out there doing your dirty work, when it should be the medical professional taking care of the corpses. The only reason I can think of for that is that you fear this plague. And the only reason to fear it is the inability to cure it. So, what strings did you pull to get this cushy, do-nothing job?”

“Sir, if you’re insinuating what I think you are…” the doctor said, as he started toward the drifter.

Desert Rat magically levitated his cigarillo in front of the doctor’s face, stopping the unicorn in his tracks.

“Buddy,” Desert Rat began, “I’m nastier than any of you three.”

And the point was driven home, as the lit embers of the cigarillo were jammed into the eye of the doctor.

The doctor shouted loudly, as his gun fell to the floor. He thrashed violently back and forth, knocking over the chairs and tables around him.

One bodyguard tackled Desert Rat and pinned him to the floor, while the other rushed to the doctor’s aid.

“Master Moravagine! Are you okay?” the bodyguard asked, as he helped the doctor up.

The doctor answered by magically picking up a bar stool, and breaking it over his bodyguard’s head. With a blind fury, he picked up every piece of the broken stool and bludgeoned the guard with the seat, and stabbed him with the broken legs.

“Worthless! Stupid! Incompetent! You let this L.R.E. piece of shit assault me!” Doctor Moravagine shouted at the corpse.

Desert Rat smiled at the assumption that was made of him.

With one last powerful burst, Doctor Moravagine threw every piece of the broken stool at the dead bodyguard.

With a furious exhale, the doctor fixed his coat and collected his gun, before addressing his remaining bodyguard.

“I’m going to go take care of this eye! Take this dead weight to the pyre, after you’ve taught that fucker some manners!”

The remaining bodyguard simply nodded, and decided to get the message across quickly and messily by stomping Desert Rat’s muzzle, breaking his nose.

Desert Rat did nothing. He did not even wince at the blow. The bodyguard felt slightly disturbed by the altercation, and quickly left after Doctor Moravagine. But, not before dragging along his dead companion.

“Hmph. And they call me Desert Rat,” the drifter, said, as he stood up and wiped the blood from his face.

“Why did you do that?” Meadowbrook said.

“Think what you will of me, but I can’t stand ass hat’s like that doctor, and his entourage.”

Meadowbrook sighed, and set to work cleaning the drifter’s face with a cloth from her pocket.

One Ear offered his help by providing alcoholic spirits to sanitize the wound.

“If I’m going to help anypony here, I’m going to need certain herbs and flowers. Those can help suppress the symptoms, while I try to figure out what ails these ponies,” Meadowbrook said.

“In the morning. After what just happened, we all need some rest. Let me show you to your rooms,” One Ear said.

The two guests were led upstairs, and found their rooms were as dismal as the rest of the building. Only, they were smaller, and more cramped.

Meadowbrook warily eyed the beds made of straw, and the ragged blankets beside them. She was surprised to see Desert Rat smirking at the sight. Knowing him, it was the first bed he had seen in months.

Readily, the drifter fell onto the bed, and was asleep almost as soon as he hit the hay.

Morning came, and the sun fought to appear behind the dark clouds. The wind blew violently, as Meadowbrook and Desert Rat picked through a patch of wild herbs on the outskirts of town.

Hours passed, and the two ponies returned with a saddlebag full of medicinal plants.

Since she met him, Meadowbrook could not figure out Desert Rat as a pony. Now, as she trailed behind him, she began to observe him in detail.

His body was muscular, and covered in scars. Testament to the rough and intense physicality he was sure to have been in. Curiously, for a stallion his age, his flank was blank.

“It’s not polite to stare,” Desert Rat said, without turning around.

“Uh--Sorry,” Meadowbrook said. She glanced just once more at his muscular flank, “Why do they call you Desert Rat?”
The drifter was silent a moment, before answering.

“My tribe’s from the Badlands. Nothing but desert there. We lived off of anything that crawled or flew. Sometimes, we’d raid griffin or aks territory for food,” he answered. He took off his hat, revealing two long feathers tied to his mane. “See those? They’re from my first kill. Griffin the size of a minotaur tried gouging me with his talons. But, I gouged him first.”

Meadowbrook turned a slightly paler shade when the drifter touched his hoof to his pair of horns.

“Took forever to get that bird’s blood out of my eyes. But, after that, I was considered a man. Even if I was just a colt. The tribe elders gave me these marks under my eyes, and taught me the secrets of their buffalo magic. Then, after the years passed, I got sent on my warrior pilgrimage. That’s when I came to Equestria, and enlisted in the army as a scout. I was still just a colt then, so the vets all called me Desert Rat. That’s why the call me that.”

Meadowbrook said nothing, but nodded after hearing the story. It was enlightening to hear about her present company, but she felt it was more than she wanted to know.

Back in town, the pyre of corpses had grown another foot taller.

Meadowbrook quickly averted her gaze from the gruesome sight. Her mind raced to remember the recipe to make the medicine.
“Something on your mind?” Desert Rat asked.

“No. Just...What’s with that doctor? He just gave up trying to cure ponies, and now he’s killing them!” the mare answered.

Desert Rat huffed. He knew there was more to the doctor than met the eye. He knew there was another reason the doctor had for not curing ponies, and he was going to find out.
They returned to the tavern in silence, only to meet with another gruesome sight. Meadowbrook shrieked at the sight, and turned away.

Desert Rat glowered at the sight of One Ear nailed to the door of his own tavern. It did not take a closer look to seen his entrails hanging out of his open stomach cavity. That would not have been so bad, if not for the way his intestines were strung about like streamers at a party.

A ragged breath was heard. One Ear was still alive.

“Mark my grave with the saber that sliced my ear…” the war horse quietly said. “Under my bed...with the bastard’s hat...Piss on them both...It’s all he deserves…”
With one last breath, One Ear passed away.

Meadowbrook had only glanced over her shoulder when she heard the old stallion’s voice. The next thing she heard was the click of a hammer.

Desert Rat had magically drawn his two guns from his saddlebag, and readied them at his sides.

“You said you weren’t taking those,” Meadowbrook said.

“Welcome to the real world. Ponies don’t always mean what they say here,” Desert Rat answered. “Do what One Ear asked, will you? But, leave the pissing to me. First, I got some business with that doctor.”

Meadowbrook warily eyed the drifter’s guns, before Desert Rat turned to leave.

“Just wait here for me, until I get back.”

It did not take long to find the doctor. In the only building that looked well-kept, Desert Rat saw the Doctor Moravagine and his bodyguard through the second story window, which overlooked the pyre.

He checked the front door.

Unlocked.

He walked inside, and climbed the stairs. Down a hall, he knocked loudly on a door at the end.

“Answer that,” the doctor said, as he sipped his tea.

The bodyguard stomped to the door, and nearly opened it, when a volley of bullets broke through the door.

Whole chunks of the pony were blown off, and scattered around the room. Flecks of the bodyguard’s blood landed in the doctor’s teacup, which he grimaced at.
The bullets stopped, and the broken door slowly swung open, allowing Desert Rat in.

“Who says you can’t find good help these days? Of course, he did inadvertently ruin my drink,” Doctor Moravagine said, as he poured out the contents of his teacup onto the floor.
“Should have guessed you’d have your goon answer the door,” Desert Rat said, as he deliberately reloaded his weapon.

Doctor Moravagine saw what the drifter was doing, and grasped his own revolver in a thin aura.

“You know why I’m here,” Desert Rat said, more telling than asking.

“That I do. Sorry about your old friend. He’d been suffering from stomach pains, see. Unfortunately, he didn’t take to surgery too well,” the doctor said, as he produced a scalpel from his coat, and spun it on his hoof.

“Hrm…” Desert Rat grumbled at the sight of the fresh blood on the instrument. He loaded the last bullet into his revolver, and set to work on his shotgun. “What you got there’s supposed to be an instrument of healing. You’re just giving all medical folk a bad name the way you use that thing.”

“Medicine? That’s got nothing to do with my job. I just do what the Order wants,” the doctor said, as he levitated the scalpel, and mimicked dragging it across Desert Rat’s neck.
There were two loud clicks as the drifter finished loading his shotgun.

“I’m guessing that order of yours isn’t some medical board,” Desert Rat said.

“Hmph,” Doctor Moravagine huffed, as he stood up with his pistol drawn. “Tell you what: you seem like the inquisitie type, so if you beat me here, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know about the Order of Death.”

“No need,” Desert Rat aimed his guns, “The name says it all.”

There was only a moment’s notice as the doctor twitched his eyebrow. In the next instant, a volley of scalpels magically flew from his coat.

Desert Rat rolled to the side, as the blades stuck into the wall behind him.

He fired both guns at where he last saw the doctor, only to see he was gone.

Doctor Moravagine had already moved to parallel his opponent, and fired his pistol.

Desert Rat rolled again, and charged forward, keeping just to the side of the doctor’s shots.

They were face to face.

Desert Rat places his shotgun on the doctor’s nose.

Doctor Moravagine leaned his neck out of the way, just as the shot was fired. He shouted loudly, as the shot rang in his ear.

The doctor fired back, just as Desert Rat dodged. He drew another scalpel from his coat, and sliced at every major artery he knew.

A point blank fight against a pony who knew the ins and outs of the body was proving disadvantageous for the drifter.

Desert Rat jumped back, and fired both his guns.

The scalpel was shot out of the air, and only the doctor’s leg was hit.

Desert Rat eyed the scalpels stuck in the wall, and quickly used his magic to pull them out.

The crippled doctor saw only a flash of metal for a second, before the many blades sliced into him. Over and over they cut into him like a swarm of angry bees, slicing off every piece of meat on him inch by inch.

As Doctor Moravagine was flayed alive, Desert Rat aimed his revolver. He carefully placed his shot, and let fly a bullet that pierced the doctor’s forehead, along with the many blades.

The force of the combined hits was enough to send him flying out the window, and onto the pyre he had reserved for everypony else.
His work was done. Now, Desert Rat had only to honor the wish of his fallen friend.

One Ear’s grave was dug, filled and marked with the saber and hat. Meadowbrook took the extra step to add a plank of wood. Only a makeshift headstone, but more proper than a weapon and a hat.

Desert Rat took his knife from his saddlebag, and carved one last goodbye.

The funeral was over. Without even taking the time to mourn, Desert Rat was done saying his farewells.

“Miss Meadowbrook,” he began, “I paid you back what I owe, so I’m heading on my way. Thanks for your help.”
And that was all he said, before leaving.

Meadowbrook said nothing, as she watched him leave. There was nothing she could think to say. All she could think was that wherever that stallion went, death was sure to follow close behind.