Amie was not a coward. Indeed, she was willing to stand and fight to give her brother a chance to escape, even when that opportunity was remote and his odds of success seemed slim. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to keep her family safe, even if it meant putting her own life at risk.
But it wasn’t her brother being attacked right now. Instead, strangers from the sky descended on the people who were trying to murder her at that very moment.
Instead of joining the melee, Amie dropped quietly back down against the rock, sliding as low to the ground as possible. She wouldn’t run from the fight—that might lead these enemies to her brother. But she wouldn’t intervene.
Even without a view of the fight, Amie could still feel the terrible anger of it. She couldn’t fail to feel it, not with how completely overwhelmed her emotions instantly became.
With one possible exception, sensing the emotions of her fellow human campers and counselors was a difficult task, requiring focus and concentration. She had learned to read them at an expert level, considering she had a whole group of mostly-boys to care for, with their sanity gradually degrading as their banishment extended.
But these creatures, whatever they were—they required no subtlety whatsoever. Even without looking, Amie could feel exactly where they were standing. She felt the potent mixture of hostility and fear blending together in their minds, merging gradually towards resolve.
Their intensity was so overwhelming that she could barely even feel the other bugs anymore. They were pale echoes, imitations of what emotions were meant to be.
She felt the instant of white-hot pain as a shotgun blast struck one of them, echoing like thunder over the wilderness. That mind went out within seconds. Meanwhile, the other fought against two bugs. They flared with rage, and she heard the terrible sound of something metallic cutting through flesh.
“Did that bitch call you?” the bug screamed, furious. “She betrayed the camp, selling us out to some… monsters from the sky? You’ll never get away from here! Look at your friend—her armor didn’t mean shit!”
The shotgun went off again—the second and only time she expected to hear it. They were double-barrels, meant entirely for sport. God knew they were never intended to be fired at magical horses in the sky.
There was a terrible metal crunch, a trap snapping closed. the bug yelled, and something splashed into the water. “Fuck you!” he yelled. “Planned this whole thing! You think they won’t find out? Think they didn’t—”
She heard a few more meaty crunching sounds, furnished life by her horrified imagination. Strangers fought to the death against monsters who wanted to kidnap her brother and do worse to her.
Then they fell limp into the river. Something else splashed, a single set of steps moving through the water. “Traps—” grunted a low, male voice, weak with pain. “Doesn’t seem like their…” He continued for a few steps more. She heard something dragging through the water, before reaching the opposite bank.
“Sweet Celestia. Gale you’re—you have to wake up.” The speaker was overwhelmed with pain, each word a struggle. But she didn’t need to rely on his voice to know how badly he felt—his agony radiated from him. But those feelings were dimming rapidly now. He’s dying.
Amie finally poked her head out from behind the boulder, squinting through the gloom.
This was not the first time she had seen these strange creatures—it was the second. Both in glittering armor, both covered in deep red blood. The female lay limply on her back, with her companion struggling in vain to staunch the bleeding. It was no use—she’d been hit with a spray of buckshot right across her face. A few pieces had bounced off the helmet—but it didn’t cover her whole head.
If Amie still ate food, she would probably have vomited at the sight.
The stallion finally flopped to the side, breathing heavily. Blood dribbled out from beneath him, soaking into the mud in a crimson pool. But he hadn’t been hit nearly as badly as the other horse—the armor on his leg had absorbed most of it, and only a few pellets had made it through.
“The shot must’ve grazed an artery,” she said, stepping out from behind the rock. She left her own gun hanging limply over her shoulder, untouched. This creature would not be a threat to her for much longer. “You’ll bleed to death unless we can close it.”
The horse spun on her, trying to rise to his hooves. But he no longer had the strength, and landed with a muddy splash on the riverbed. A dagger stuck hilt first into the dirt beside him, reflecting the pale moonlight back onto his face. “K-kill me then… monster. Like you killed… Guardsmare Gale. Murder us for protecting our home.”
Blood dribbled from his mouth, and his words started to slur. If I get close, he could still strike.
“Easy.” She levitated her gun up into the air, then set it down in the grass out of reach. It still moved when she commanded—maybe when she wasn’t fighting for survival she could figure out how that worked. “Easy. I don’t want to kill anyone.” She glanced sidelong into the river, at the two slain thugs. Their bodies were already starting to drift downstream, soaking the water with blue blood. Stella Lacus would probably never know exactly how they had died.
“They would’ve killed me—you saved my life. How about you let me return the favor?” She turned her bag towards him, removed the first-aid kit from inside, and held it up. “See? I’m prepared. I had three whole months of EMT experience before this season of camp started!” She smiled feebly at the pronouncement—the alien did not echo her feeling.
Instead, she felt a terrible sense of resignation come over him. His aggression and fear took too much effort at this point. “Don’t pretend, changeling. There’s no reason to lie. Just kill me.”
She reached for the dagger as she got close, lifting it away from him, and settling it on the riverbank.
She dropped to his eye-level, and froze. He might be an alien—but those eyes were far more human than anyone in Stella Lacus looked. Bright green, with pupils wide with pain and fear. Any attempt to show her sincerity wouldn’t work, not while she was a carnival sideshow.
“Stella Lacus shouldn’t be able to find us out here. No jeep could make it out this far… we should be safe for the night. I need to get you onto dry ground. Once I do, we can… stabilize you. I’m going to help you up. If you attack me, just know you’re attacking the girl trying to save your life. There’s a special place in hell for people who do that.”
His mouth fell open, dumbfounded. His fear remained dominant, but something else rose to join it. She had confused him. “I do not trust you,” he said. “But… not much choice. Feel so… weak.”
“I know.” She set the bag down a few feet up from the river, where the ground flattened onto a wide black rock. Then she approached him from the same side as his injured foreleg. “I had a camper break a leg last week. I carried him like this. Lean up against me… like that.”
He obeyed. For one terrible second, his anger flooded to the surface. He was so much taller than she was, so much stronger. Maybe he would just crush her to death in all that armor, let them die together.
The thought vanished. She trudged up the riverbank with him, barely making it onto the stone before he collapsed. He was still bleeding badly.
“Now hold out that leg,” she commanded. Amie banished her nausea and fear, focusing intently on the creature before her. His body was so colorful, bright green speckled with yellow under all that armor. And of course, stained with blood.
She replaced the headlamp, turning it up all the way, then unrolled the trauma kit. There were so few of these in camp—they might be more upset with her for taking it than a shotgun.
“What… kind of… changeling wants to save a pony’s life?” he whispered. But he wasn’t trying to move anymore. He didn’t have the strength to attack her even if he wanted to.
“Morphine,” she muttered, removing the little plastic cap from the needle. Doing all this alone would’ve been next to impossible for her only an hour ago—but thanks to Wes, it was like she had her hands back again. She braced it against his other leg, then injected. It was only her best guess—but it seemed to work. His features relaxed immediately. That was good, because this next part would be painful.
Amie worked for nearly two hours. She extracted bits of metal buckshot, and fragments of his armor. Under the searing white LED and a waning moon, she stitched the pony back together, one spray of glue and length of catgut at a time.
Some part of her wondered when she would start to weaken with tiredness. She had been running most of the night, now she was performing the most intensive first-aid of her entire life?
But the weakness never came. Her movements remained totally focused, her mind alert. She listened for any sign of motion from the other side, or God-forbid the roaring rotors of the helicopter. Stella Lacus had about a thousand gallons of QAV-1 for that thing, would tonight be the night they finally broke it out and dared flying without their fingers?
Apparently not, because she never heard the engine. Maybe she should’ve stopped to retrieve a radio from the dead before they floated away. But Amie didn’t stop. She could feel the life slipping away beneath her hooves. The pony could not afford to wait.
He slipped into merciful unconsciousness after about an hour. She didn’t have to stop her work to feel for a pulse—so long as she could feel the life beneath her, she kept struggling.
Eventually, she finished. She washed the site of the wound with a little hydrogen peroxide, and settled back against the riverbank.
“Well, sky-horse. If I ever make it home, I’ll be off probation and on a proper crew in no time. Either that, or I’ll become a veterinarian. Not… sure which.”
To her surprise, the horse opened his eyes. She had removed his armor while she worked—it only got in the way, potentially concealing more wounds. His eyes were weak, not focusing on her so much as looking over her.
“Guardsmare Gale,” he whispered, tongue lolling out. “I had… the strangest dream. Dreamed that you were dead, and a changeling doctor was taking care of… It’s so cold. Why do I feel so cold?”
“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” she whispered. “You need fluids, You need something to eat, and you need sleep. A fire would be great, but I—I packed in such a rush. I think my brother has our matches.”
The horse closed his eyes again. “Can’t have. You… always keep that flint. Never go bushwhacking without it. Compass, flint, water spell. What kind of… soldier are you.”
Flint. She rose, leaving him there on the rock. He might not freeze. But if she could get something to warm him up, maybe boil water for drinking, it would sure as hell improve his odds.
She crossed back to the riverbank, where his winged companion had fallen. She hadn’t moved since the other one moved her there.
Amie reached over, carefully removing the satchel from her armor. She turned to go, but stopped in place, frowning to herself. This horse might be a stranger, and maybe she would’ve tried to kill Amie if they’d met. But her intervention had helped save her life. She deserved better than being eaten by wolves.
“Your armor should… hopefully make you sink to the bottom,” she said, turning back to the corpse. “I’m sorry. We don’t have time for a burial. Gale, he said your name was? I don’t know you, but I’m sorry you died here.”