//------------------------------// // Chapter 39 // Story: Unshaken // by The 24th Pegasus //------------------------------// Leave immediately: 44% “We already settled on packin’ up and movin’ out,” Kestrel said, shrugging her wings. “I s’pose we pick things up a little, head out a bit earlier than we anticipated.” “If everything we’ve heard about the Vipers so far is true, then we’re severely outnumbered,” Wanderer said. He pointed a ruddy wing toward the stitches in Kestrel’s stomach. “Kessie and Silvie might be feeling better, but they’re still not in top shape. Our best bet at walking out of this alive is to not come to blows with the Vipers at all.” “There’s a logic in that, it’s true,” Tumbleweed said. “But s’pose they catch us when we’re tryin’ to leave? We’ll be out in the open without any cover, and we’ll be dead meat if we walk into an ambush. At least here, there’s only one way up to our camp, and we can protect that with the Chatter gun. We’d stand a better chance.” “Not unless they tip off the Pinks,” Kestrel reminded him. She frowned out across the desert sands toward the little town of Rock Ridge in the distance. “The Pinks’ll be able to flush us out with little difficulty. Ain’t gonna shoot our way past an armored carriage, especially not when they got Chatter guns of their own.” “Let’s face it, Tumbleweed,” Wanderer said, putting his hoof on the younger stallion’s shoulder. “We don’t have what it takes to stand up to the big gangs and the Law. The sooner we get out of here, the better. We’ll find someplace new to set up camp and scout out the area, and we’ll get our money there. There’s no sense in lingering around here for a few thousand more if it means we’ll swing.” After a few moments of hard thought, Tumbleweed reluctantly nodded. “Alright. There’s sense in that.” He kicked the rattlesnake tail off the edge of the cliff and gestured back toward Rock Ridge. “See if you can find Rattlesnake’s lackey and tell him we’re good for a meeting.” Kestrel blinked in surprise. “What?” “We ain’t actually goin’,” Tumbleweed said, eyes turning toward her. “But if we say we are, he’ll have to think about what we’re really tryin’ to do. If we said nothin’, he might have done somethin’, sure that we weren’t gonna meet with him. But if we say we are, he might hold off.” He turned his attention back to Wanderer. “When did he want to have this parley?” “Tomorrow at noon,” Wanderer said, already glancing up at the sun with a wing to shield his eyes. Kestrel did the same, and saw that it was already well into midday. “We don’t have much time to act.” “We’ll leave tonight,” Tumbleweed decided. “Darkness should help cover our trail, but unless some clouds roll in and cover the moon, we’ll still be easy to spot from a distance, ‘specially in the desert. We’ll have to keep an eye out, but if we’re attacked, it’s not gonna be easy to repulse them.” “How we gonna arrange things, then?” Kestrel asked. “We got two wagons, plus Trixie’s. We need ponies to pull ‘em, two to each, though Trixie is used to pullin’ her own.” “Roughshod and I will pull the wagon with all the gold,” Tumbleweed said. “I know you’re still recoverin’, but you and Snapshot will have to take care of our supplies and gear. Wanderer and Miss Irons are far too old to be haulin’ wagons across the desert, and groundin’ our fastest flier ain’t a good idea.” “Finally, old age has its uses,” Wanderer joked. “At the very least, I can help Silvie keep an eye on things from above, considering we’re losing Kestrel to wagon duty. We should also set up that Chatter gun on one of the wagons.” “Trixie’s wagon is probably the best for that,” Kestrel said, quickly thinking it over. “The side can drop down, so if we place it inside, it’ll at least be protected.” “But it can only shoot to the left,” Wanderer said, adding that key detail. “Only the left side drops down, so if we aren’t attacked from the left, then it’s useless there.” “Better than leavin’ it on top of one of the other wagons and gettin’ shot from all sides.” Tumbleweed regarded Trixie’s wagon for a moment, tapping his hoof against his chin. “It’s probably our best bet,” he said. “See about gettin’ it stowed in Trixie’s wagon. Wanderer, get back to Rock Ridge and try to lay our cover for us. I’m gonna dig up our stash and get it safely hidden away, then start gettin’ the rest of our crew organized to go.” Wanderer nodded and spread his wings, jumping off the edge of the cliff and catching the air on the way down. As he flew back to Rock Ridge, Kestrel looked over their campsite in worry. “Lotta things to get ready, here.” “Less than we had when we fled the Pinks the first time,” Tumbleweed said. “Half our supplies are probably rottin’ away on the other side of the San Palomino.” “Ain’t nothin’ we can do about them now.” “Quite.” Tumbleweed’s magic tugged on his suspenders, and his nostrils flared with a deep breath. “I got a bad feelin’ ‘bout all of this, Kessie.” Kestrel raised an eyebrow. “How so?” “It ain’t gonna go smoothly, I can tell you that. None of this adds up.” The sharp frown along his muzzle deepened, and his hooves fidgeted on the dry and dusty stone beneath them. “How did Rattlesnake figure out who we are so fast? How’d he know to send somepony to Wanderer if they wanted to meet with us? Why try to parley instead of overwhelming us in force with the element of surprise?” “He might not know where we are,” Kestrel offered. “We could be outta his sights still.” “With how our luck has been lately, I sincerely doubt that.” He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it, the acrid stench of tobacco smoke wrinkling Kestrel’s nose and making her reach for her own pack of cigarettes. The two outlaws stood on the cliff side, poisoning their lungs as they watched the quiet town of Rock Ridge with worry and trepidation below them. “Where we gonna run to, then?” Kestrel asked him. “Wherever we go, we have to make sure that it’s got money.” “That’s what I’m thinkin’ about,” Tumbleweed said, and he turned toward his half-packed tent. After digging through it for a few moments, he returned to Kestrel with a weathered map and flattened it on a nearby crate. Scribbles and scrawls covered the map, marking out towns and locations of interest, but four stood out around Rock Ridge. “We’ve got a few options, and I don’t like any of ‘em more than the others. We’d have as much luck strikin’ off in a random direction as plannin’ things out, I feel, but it don’t hurt none to know where we’re goin’.” Kestrel could agree with that, and she pulled the map a little closer to read the names of the towns and the little notes Tumbleweed had scratched down next to each one. 1.     East to Hoofston. Something of a jewel of civilization in the arid drylands. Lots of ponies, lots of businesses. Railroad hub for Miss Belle’s fashion industry, big bank branch for ranchers. 2.     South toward the Badlands. Little law presence. Little civilization. Won’t have to worry much about the Pinks or the Law, but not much money. Probably lots of other gangs. Most worse than us. Lie low for a bit? Going nowhere in a hurry. 3.     West toward Las Pegasus. Big casino town. Lots of resorts. Lots of money. Lots of ponies. Good place to disappear for a while? Lots of Law. One wrong move and a hundred Pinks will be on us in minutes. Might be the end of us. 4.     North toward Dodge Junction. Railroad hub linking Equestria to the frontier. Lots of goods moving both ways. Have to cross San Palomino AGAIN. Not sure we’ll survive. Last place the Pinks’ll look. (Confidence Required: 45 Votes)