Twilight was normally a pony of strict scheduling. She had her whole day planned down to the smallest detail. Making changes on the fly was borderline impractical, but not impossible. It was time-consuming work, but in Twilight’s mind, twenty minutes of rescheduling could save untold hours of scheduling nightmares. This meteor strike had shifted her sleep schedule so much that she was four hours overdue for sleep. After a quick ten-minute rescheduling session, she could rest easy knowing that her day could still go according to schedule. Mere moments after closing her eyes, she was awoken by a racket that only one pony could create.
“Ughhh,” Twilight groaned, “What is Rainbow Dash doing now?” Despite her body’s protest to stay in bed, her mind took control and sluggishly trotted to the door of her bedroom. Before she could get much further, Rainbow Dash beat her to the doors.
“Twilight!” shouted a frantic Rainbow Dash, “Green apes! Crater! Angry! Dozens! Move! Now!” Rainbow was speaking so fast and loud that Twilight could only parse a few words in her half-asleep state. What Twilight didn’t even realize until a few moments later was Rainbow was pushing her out of her room, seemingly without direction.
“Rainbow Dash!” interjected Rarity as she used her magic to pull Rainbow’s ear in a manner resembling a stern mother to a misbehaving child, “Firstly, your entrance left a mess in the observatory. Would you kindly clean up after yourself?” Rainbow struggled against the magical grasp, but it was no use. “Secondly,” Rarity continued, “it’s quite rude to interrupt a mare getting her beauty sleep.” Rainbow was close enough that a flick of her hoof broke Rarity’s focus and released her grip on Rainbow.
“We have bigger problems than getting enough shut-eye!” Rainbow had regained just enough composure to get a coherent thought out.
“Please Rainbow,” Rarity replied in a somewhat smug manner, “sleep deprivation is one of the most serious problems here in Ponyville.”
“Is it more serious than the eastern birds migrating back west?” Pinkie asked, pressing her face against the window.
Twilight was only half-paying attention to her friends’ argument and was still too unfocussed to intervene. Still, something out the window caught her attention. It was a haze over the horizon she had never seen before. At first, she was inclined to think it was just what Pinkie said: a flock of birds. A congregation larger than any known species of bird is known to do, but a flock nonetheless.
~~~
The Apple family had avoided catastrophe by the skin of their teeth. The farm house had taken a glancing blow from one of the lesser meteors, but that was still enough to nearly demolish the simple wooden structure. It was built to weather the mild gusts of wind Ponyville was known for, but not acts of Celestia. Applejack and Big Mac were hard at work bracing what little structure remained while Granny Smith held Applebloom close to her, comforting the anxious young filly. Granny’s rocking chair was miraculously untouched by the apocalyptic force that decimated the house.
“Granny,” Applebloom asked her grandmother worryingly, “what if the meteor landed closer to us? Would we still be alright?” Applebloom’s fears were more than valid. Half an acre of apple trees had been violently upended by the same object that nearly destroyed their house.
“Don’t ya fret now young’un,” Granny Smith reassured Applebloom, “The Apple family’s a hardy bunch, we are.” Granny’s confidence slowly made its way into Applebloom’s heart as she spoke. “We’ve been through more than a few close calls and we’ll git along just fine with this ‘un.”
“Yep,” Big Mac commented as he braced a badly damaged wall with a support beam.
Still, Applebloom worried, as any child would. “But what if they landed much closer to the farm?” Applebloom wondered as she looked out the broken window towards the western mountains. “We might a’ lost every apple in the west field. And the house is still barely standin’.”
“Applebloom, dear,” Granny intervened, “The Vampire Fruit Bat Plague o’ ’26 didn’t beat the Apple family,” she said as she pulled Applebloom close, “nor did the Dust Bowl o’ ’38, nor the Apple Famine o’ ’55.” She was dangerously close to the point of no return for one of her rants. “Why, back in ’72, potatoes got more popular than apples. Ya’ couldn’t give ‘em away back then! But we made a comeback, just in time for the Great War o’ ’75…” By this point, Applebloom had settled into listening to one of her grandmother’s long stories. “If we could make it through all that, we can make it through this here Meteor o’…,” she paused, as if she forgot what she was going to say, “uh, what year is it again?”
“Alright, y’all,” Applejack interrupted as she finished tying two sections of wall together, “The house is somewhat put back together,” she said, expertly hiding her worry for the family’s future, “so until we get ‘er repaired proper, best give ‘er a gentle hoof.” Applebloom curiously observed her siblings’ handiwork and started processing it in her own way.
“Can I help fix ‘er any better?” Applebloom asked, eager to contribute to the recovery effort.
“Well, uh,” Applejack stammered. The operation was well in-hoof, so there was not much more a small child could do to help out. Applebloom went off before she could think of something small for her little sister to do.
“I can help bring parts of the house back,” Applebloom cheerfully suggested. Her attempt to help drag Big Mac’s heavy timber beam was endearing, but her energy could clearly be better used elsewhere.
“Actually, sugarcube,” AJ started again, but AB still didn’t let her speak.
“We could start weatherproofin’ the house,” she said through the blanket in her teeth. It was a bed linen, but it was the only thing she could find to keep water and wind at bay.
“I’ll tell ya’ what we need ‘round here,” Granny announced as she got up from her rocking chair, “I need them whipper-snapper eyes ta’ help me in the storm cellar.” Applebloom followed Granny around back to the rear of the structure, more intact than the front. “Remember that ‘special stash’ I showed ya?” At the mention of ‘special stash’, Applebloom’s young eyes lit up.
“Ya’ mean that special stash ya’ said not to use ‘cept for an emergency?” Applebloom asked, “Ya’ need me ta’ help get them supplies ready for just such an emergency?” she extrapolated, hopping up and down at the prospect of finally becoming an integral part of the Apple family’s survival.
“Need ya’ like a wagon needs a rear axle.” Hearing this only widened Applebloom’s smile, “Open up them cellar doors and I’ll show ya’ how these food rations are gonna work.”
“Yes ma’am!” Applebloom enthusiastically replied, “Right away, ma’am!” She struggled to open the heavy oak doors, but nothing less substantial would have weathered such devastation. Applebloom let her grandmother take the lead as she was the one who knew the cellar better. Applebloom was about to follow suit, but something odd caught her eye. Of all places to find a distraction, she found it in the sky. Clouds were nothing new to Applebloom, but clouds that didn’t behave like clouds, now that was something attention-worthy.
“Hey, granny,” Applebloom asked just as Granny reached the cellar floor, “Is the cellar weatherproof?”
“Ma’ hearin’ ain’t so good down here, sport,” Granny replied as her voice echoed in the subterranean chambers, “What’s this about a pepper booth?”
“The cellar can stand up to storms, right?” Applebloom clarified, making sure to annunciate her words.
“Sugar lump,” Granny began, “If the cellar can take a meteor, it can take on a dragon for all damage it could do.” This should have answered the filly’s question and quelled any doubt, but sometimes, a simple explanation is simply not enough.
“So what kind of clouds are those?”
“Applebloom,” Granny retorted, “Whatever clouds ya’ see up there, they ain’t no trouble a’tall.” Granny was a patient one, but in a crisis situation, patience was a preciously limited resource. “If it starts ta’ rain, I’ll show ya’ where the drain gate is.”
“Yer’ gonna wanna’ take a look at this, Granny,” Applejack interrupted, her tone worried, “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like this before.” Granny knew something was wrong if Applejack, of all ponies, was worried about the same thing as her curious younger sister.
“Fine, I’m a’comin’,” Granny relented as she grumbled her way back up the stairs. It was rude to make an old mare walk up and down so many stairs in one day, especially if there was nothing to truly worry about. Once she got back up, however, she saw just how justified all the ponies’ fears truly were.
“Now, what in the salty saddles are we all worried…” granny asked as she emerged from the dark cellar, “…’bout?” she finished, stunned silent by what her old eyes were showing her.
Clouds were nothing new for any pony in Ponyville, but they stayed exclusively in the sky. On top of that, clouds never got darker than the ashes of a burned out camp fire. These clouds looked more like the pitch-black smoke of a raging forest fire. In fact, nearly the entire impact site of the meteor was covered in this charcoal-colored veil. Worse still, it seemed to be spreading at an alarming rate.
“That there ain’t one bit natural,” Granny Smith said quite ominously. She wasn’t the only one who noticed that the fire seemed to be spreading down the slope of the mountain – straight in the direction of Ponyville and the farmstead.
As the smoke approached, something more foreboding came to the fore. The sharpest eyes in the family were Applejacks and even she squinted as she tried to identify the objects that were hurdling towards them. Moments later, she could see what looked like red chariots. They weren’t like any chariot AJ had ever seen and their riders appeared to be green ponies.
“I’ll handle this, y’all,” Applejack stated as she adjusted her hat. The rest of the family stayed in the safety of the storm cellar.
“Hey!” AJ called out, attempting to wave down the leader of the chariots, “Stop yer chariots!” In that interval, the crowd of chariots had closed enough distance to make out clear details now. The chariots were more like ramshackle conglomerates of random metal parts that somehow formed a working chariot. The dozens of chariots now in view grumbled like a rolling thunderstorm as they spewed thick black smoke from behind them. The ponies were more flat-faced with clawed hands instead of hooves. Their mouths full of sharp teeth were certainly intimidating, but AJ was not known for backing down in the face of danger.
“Go around mah house!” she screamed as she motioned for the riders to circle around. Their response told Applejack everything she would need to know about their new neighbors.
Before AJ was finished shouting at them, the leader was swinging a large spiked ball on the end of a chain. He had made no attempt to evade or slow down. In fact, his angry red eyes were aimed straight at AJ. She now had no doubt that this would not be a friendly encounter.
With all the strength she could muster, Applejack launched herself out of the way and into the cellar a split moment before the ball and chain gouged deep into the dirt where AJ once stood. Big Mac couldn’t have closed the storm cellar door any faster. No sooner did the ceiling above erupt with what sounded like a pair of rabid dragons pounding against the remains of the Apple family farm house. Occasionally, there was a howl of cackling delirious laughter. At least that is how it sounded to AJ over the deafening roar of the chariots above.
“Big Mac,” Applebloom cried to her big brother, “A’m scared!” Despite her loudest scream, nopony could hear her. They were all too frightened to move or take any action. The only thing they could do now was cower in fear and wait for the storm to pass.
~~~
On the east side of Ponyville, the damage had been markedly less than the western edge. Many ponies’ houses suffered only slight damaged if they were affected by the meteor at all. The small sturdy houses fared much better than the big flashy mansions. One such large dwelling belonged to Diamond Tiara and her family. The stallion of the house, Filthy Rich, was hard at work supervising and coordinating the repair of his family’s home. It was a big undertaking, considering the damage, but he had more than enough means to finance it himself.
“Daddy,” Diamond Tiara whined, “When can I go back upstairs? I’m tired of waiting.” Diamond had been waiting for over four hours to go back upstairs and her patience was running thin.
“Excuse me for a moment, gentlecolts,” Filthy said to the foreman and his assistant. “Diamond,” he began as he turned his attention to his daughter, “I told you five times already to just wait until they finish rebuilding the stairs.” He was firm, but calm in his repeated explanation.
“But I left my tiara in my room,” Diamond childishly protested, “I feel naked without it.” She blushed and tried to cover her head as if not having a headdress was a mark of shame.
“I know you want it, dear,” Filthy replied, trying to sound like he understood what Diamond was feeling, “But it’s not safe to go up there yet. I have the best contractors money can buy working hard just for you.” A nearby carpenter quietly scoffed as he overheard the conversation. He just carried on with his load of timber. He was working hard for the juicy overtime pay, not for some millionaire’s spoiled brat.
“They may be good,” Spoiled Rich interjected, “but did you have to agree to this price for the repairs?” she asked as she held up the repair quote for Filthy to see.
“Spoiled, it’s a necessary expense,” Filthy explained as he regained command of the conversation, “For my family, no expense is worth sparing.” He placed his hoof on his wife’s shoulder to accentuate his point.
“Ughh…” Spoiled sighed, “Penny Pincher’s going to have a heart attack when she sees this bill,” she groaned, referring to the family’s accountant. She knew that her husband was right, that family comes before money in all circumstances. It’s just that Spoiled wasn’t used to having such a costly expense so suddenly.
Diamond tuned out her parents’ bickering as she gave a weary sigh out the window. She flopped her chin down on the soft velvety backrest of the sofa as she stared out the window hoping something would happen soon. Perhaps she should have been careful with her wishing…
In the distance, a large cloud of dust was being kicked up. By what, Diamond could only guess, but it was enough of an anomaly to get her attention.
“Well that was fast,” a nearby worker commented, “I didn’t expect them to get back from the hardware store so soon.”
“They’re coming up awfully fast,” his assistant noted, “Can those old carts handle that kind of beating?”
“If those are carts,” Diamond interrupted, “then who’s pulling them?” Diamond had the sharpest eyesight among the three of them and she could make out the carts seemingly moving on their own. As the hoard of carts approached, certain details came into focus that even the old stallion’s cataracts couldn’t obscure.
Indeed, these thirty or so carts weren’t the ones that were sent out just half an hour earlier. They were clearly not made of wood and nopony was pulling them along. The low rumbling in the distance slowly grew into a guttural roar as the pack of possessed carts approached the edge of the croquet field. They seemed to be hauling cargo, but the closest thing Diamond had for comparison was an enormous blow-torch. Others carried what looked like long metal tubes. Something seemed wrong to Diamond and she wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. Normally, somepony else would figure it out for her.
Without warning, one of the carts rammed its way through the box hedges and tore through the yard like a bat out of Tartarus. Dirt and freshly-cut grass flew in the wake of the cart’s wheels as it roared ahead, seemingly with reckless abandon. Its four wheels left deep tracks in the soft soil, leaving a clear indicator that it had been there. Another one followed suit not far behind. The deafening roars they emitted rattled the windows and nearly drowned out the confused screams of the workers inside.
Catching a brief glimpse of the carts’ occupants, Diamond spotted three distinct individuals. To her eyes, she thought each one was wearing an olive-green turtle shell that covered their chest and head. Their arms were covered in beige-colored sleeves that ended in gloved hands. They used these hands to grasp and operate their cart as it barreled forward. All three seemed completely unphased by the high speeds and intense jostling as their vessel tore across the uneven lawn.
Stunned by all the commotion, it took a moment for Diamond to realize that her mother had snatched her up and rushed down the hall to the center of the house.
“Out of my way!” Spoiled screamed as she shoved the workers aside. Her mother’s instincts to protect her child kicked in as she ran as fast as she could to the house’s shelter-vault.
“Patch those holes later,” Filthy called as he yanked a worker’s headphones out of his ears, “Go downstairs, now! I’m not having anypony hurt on my property!”
With a surprising amount of order, all 38 workers and Diamond Tiara’s family had made it into the vault in less than two minutes. Still, that was two minutes of bone-rattling terror that all but one of the ponies could process without hysterical panicking. The foreman was 20 years retired out of the service, but that ability to compartmentalize information under immense pressure never truly fades away.
After a quick head count, Filthy and the foreman heaved with all their might to close the vault door and seal it shut. The shelter was built for no more than ten permanent occupants, but could temporarily shelter up to 50 in place. The lights flickered on after years of non-use and the darkness gave way to the scene of a sea of panicked workers and a mother cradling her fear-struck child. Everypony was trying to calm everypony else down, but still being in the throes of fear and panic made their efforts far less effective.
“Everypony listen up!” the foreman boomed out, his shout only amplified by the claustrophobic room. Almost instantly, the workers regained their composure and turned to face their boss. It was unclear whether they were struck dumb out of fear or if he simply had them trained like dogs to those three words.
“This gracious gentlecolt,” the foreman continued as the rumbling of the metal carts passed overhead, “has seen fit to get y’all out of harm’s way.” Everypony was spellbound by the firm yet soothing tone projected by this old stallion. “In return, you will show your appreciation by listening to his instructions at all times. Understand?” His decree was met with a few nods and scattered “yes sir”s.
“Understand?” the foreman repeated, louder this time. The response this time was a unanimous, but asynchronous “yes sir” from nearly every pony in the crowded room.
“Well then, if you’ll excuse me gentlecolts,” Filthy said as he squeezed past the crowd to a telephone on the far end of the room, “I need to make a few calls to high places in Canterlot. Disasters like this need immediate and swift treatment for a speedy recovery.” In times of crisis, Filthy Rich still exuded confidence and conviction, completely in-character for any large-business owner.
The rumbling above had not stopped, but it grew no louder than a dulled roar through the two-foot-thick concrete walls of the shelter. The lights would flicker as they rattled in their sockets, but held fast despite shat had to be some pretty severe punishment above ground. Filthy was making half a dozen phone calls to Canterlot’s director of this-and-that, General what’s-his-name and half a dozen more calls to business partners for favors he had with them. It was a flurry of business deals, delegation of emergency power and attempting to coordinate a massive relief effort from his tiny 500 square foot bunker in Ponyville.
~~~
Apple Seedling IV was ready to go into town to sell his farm’s bounty to the good ponies across the land. He had finally grown big and strong enough to haul his own cart to sell apples for the family. He could hardly contain his excitement as he fidgeted in place, ready to go.
“Calm down, Seedy,” Apple Seedling III said to his son as he tightened the last strap on his son’s cart, “I know you wanna go, but ya gotta get harnessed up first.
“Sorry daddy,” the young one apologized, “I’m just so excited to finally be sellin’ apples with you and Grandpa Junior,” he exclaimed, referring to his father’s father.
“And you sure as sugar will,” the father reassured his son, “If we can get the old coot off the porch. Probably fell asleep again,” he commented as he finished preparing his son’s cart for travel. “Wait here, I’ll go get him and we can head out.”
“Yes sir!” Seedy gleefully exclaimed as his father walked off, “Can’t wait, sir!”
As predicted, the oldest living Apple Seedling was sitting in his rocking chair on the front porch smoking his pipe. Such was his habit when waiting for something. This day, he was waiting for his son and grandson to prepare for their first caravan together. However, the old pony was displaying some odd behavior this time. He was sitting motionless, not rocking back and forth like he normally would. His eyes were fixated on something far off in the distance when he normally had a habit of zoning out or dozing off.
Apple Seedling III knew his father as well as he knew himself, but brushed his new behavior off as just getting on in years.
“Hey Pap,” he said, trying to get his father’s attention “I got seedy saddled up. We’re ready to head out to Ponyville.” Apple Seedling Jr didn’t even glance away from whatever was holding his attention off in the distance.
“We ain’t headin’ out Ponyville way t’day ,’boy,” the elder pony declared in a tone that had well-disguised fear. His son simply shot back a look of confusion as he tried to understand what changed his mind.
“What?” Apple Seedling III swiftly replied, “dad, you promised Seedy you’d come with us on Seedy’s first caravan. What’s got ya turning on your heels all sudden like?”
“Look out yonder,” the grandfather replied, still not turning away from whatever had his sight spellbound.
Looking out to the east it took a while for Apple Seedling III to figure out what was so fascinating. He had seen this horizon so many times over the years that he knew every minute detail that could possibly be, given the season. His father knew it even better than that. The only thing that looked out of place was two plumes of smoke appeared to be racing head first to each other.
“That there’s an act o’ war, boy,” the old stallion declared, speaking from decades of life experience. “Griffons in the Great War o’ ’75, whole army was them armored war machines. You see the smoke, the battlefield’s already claimed. Ain’t nothin’ a traveling farm family’ll do ta turn that tide.”
The father had never seen such a sight before, nor did he think it could have such dire implications.
“Pap, are you sure that’s-“
“Go on then,” the elder interrupted, “tell the young’un ta head on inside. If the finghtin’ come this way, best keep our heads down.” For the first time in the conversation, the old stallion got up from his chair, but casually started making his way into the old farm house.
Apple Seedling III always taught his family to respect and obey your elders and not talk back when they spoke, especially when they knew better given the situation. He learned that from his father and did his duty passing it on to his son. The smoke plumes were like nothing he had ever seen before and his father had over 60 years of living experiences to back up his claims. His father had never told him a lie ore even an untruth, no matter how bizarre or unbelievable his words were at the time. He never steered his family anywhere but right.
With a heart weight with disappointment and uncertainty, Apple Seedling III went to tell his son to come inside and avoid the coming fighting. He wanted to err on the side of caution, just in case his father’s war-torn past was coming to repeat itself…