Thursday, 25 October — Early Afternoon
A wail carried through the wooded hills of the Apple's orchard. Two ponies' ears pricked up and they froze and looked at each other. Another outcry reached them.
Mac's head snapped in the direction of the sound. “They better not be fightin' again.” He clenched his jaw.
“That don't sound like no fightin' noises,” Applejack said. A third cry drifted through the hills. “Let's go!”
They broke into a gallop, racing out of the trees, over the hilltops, towards the hollow where the three laborers were working. At the top of the hill, they stopped and looked for them below.
In the hollow, a dead apple tree lay across what was once a cart, its wooden frame reduced to kindling, snapped branches entangling the remains. Nearby, Shorty lay on the ground, rocking and moaning, his hooves clasped over his head. On the far side of the fallen tree, stood Doc, immobile.
Applejack glanced at her brother before they rushed down the hillside. As she approached, she glimpsed the third pony, still harnessed to the cart, beneath the shattered branches.
She ran to the cart. McIntosh ran to Shorty.
“What in the hay happened?” Mac yelled at the pony crouched on the ground.
Shorty unburied his head, and with bulging eyes, he raised a shaking foreleg toward McIntosh. Mac shrank back.
“This wasn't supposed to happen,” Shorty blubbered. “It wasn't supposed to be like this! I didn't mean it!” He grasped at Mac.
“Make sense!” Mac stomped his hoof. “Tell me what happened.”
“Mac…” Applejack called.
He did not hear her. His pounding heart drowned out her words.
Shorty leapt up as if possessed, grabbing hold of Mac's collar. “You have to believe me!” His lips trembled. “I didn't mean to do it—it was supposed to scare him. It wasn't supposed to hurt him!”
Mac stood, mouth agape.
“Doc, everypony… I didn't mean to… You have to believe me!”
“Mac…” Applejack repeated as she clawed her way through snarled branches and pieces of the cart, tossing them aside as they came loose.
“Take yur damn hooves off me ya fool!” Mac bellowed, throwing Shorty off him.
He stumbled backwards and collapsed, whimpering and moaning. Shorty buried his head under his hooves and kept his eyes clamped shut.
“McIntosh…” Applejack called again.
“What?”
“He don't look like he's breathin'.” Applejack's words sounded distant even to herself, as if spoken by somepony else. She pushed aside a tangle of small branches to see West, pinned to the ground, a large branch across his back and neck.
Mac swiveled around and faced her. “What!”
“It's West. He's trapped and it don't look good.” The snap of branches rebounded from the hills as Applejack hurried to free him.
“No! It's not my fault!” wailed Shorty. “You have to believe me!”
“Shut-up!” Mac snapped. “You”—he thrust his hoof towards Doc—“help her git those branches off yur friend—now!”
The order shattered Doc's trance and he stepped towards the remains of the cart.
Applejack reached through the branches to touch West's side. She stepped back and sat down.
“McIntosh, I—” Her voice trembled for a moment. “I don't think it's gonna do no good.”
Doc glared at Shorty. “You bastard!”
“No, Doc! It's not my fault! I didn't know—”
“You bastard! I'm gonna—”
“Everypony shut up!” McIntosh yelled.
Shorty jumped up and started trotting back and forth, babbling uncontrollably. “You can't— nopony could tell— how was I— it's not— you wouldn't—”
McIntosh strode up to him, his eyes aflame.
Paralyzed by Mac's determined look, Shorty stopped, his body trembling, but before Mac could reach him, he screamed and galloped away.
For a moment, Mac thought to chase after him, but halted when Doc began to move.
“No!” Mac yelled. “You stay here!”
Doc obeyed.
“Damn fools!” Mac spat. He turned to Applejack. “I'll go into town and get the doctor.”
“Mac—It's too late.”
“No, AJ,” he yelled, “I'm gonna go get the doctor!” Mac stared at her.
From the other side of the hollow, a small voice called down to them. “Sis? Big Mac?” Apple Bloom stood at the top of the hill with her friends beside her. “What's going on?”
“Bloom, honey, you wait right there.” Mac held up his foreleg, but the fillies continued down the slope.
“AJ,” he said, his voice low and steady, “it's gonna be all right. I'm gonna go get the doctor, okay? Everything's gonna be all right.”
“No, Mac.” Applejack bit her lip and slowly shook her head. “It ain't.”
He felt the need to argue surge within him. He needed to make her see she was wrong. He'd race into town, bring back the doctor, and things would be all right again. That's the way things worked. Mac stared at his sister, ready to tell her she was wrong, but her pained expression made it clear. This was something he couldn't make right again, something he could never fix. Mac swallowed and hung his head, the sudden weight of his collar pulling him down. He shuffled towards Doc.
“Doc,” he said in a low monotone, “those fillies don't need to see none of this. Take 'em back to the house. Tell Granny what's happened. Would ya do that—please?”
Doc's glazed eyes moved from West's body to McIntosh's serious face. He'd heard the words, but his thoughts were miles away.
“Doc,” Mac said, “I need you to—”
“Yes—yes, sir.” Doc blinked rapidly. “I—I will.” He straightened himself and donned a subtle smile. A glimmer returned to his eyes, and he seemed taller, perhaps younger, as he trotted briskly towards the three fillies, now at the bottom of the slope.
“Well now,” he said in a practiced voice, “why don't you pretty young ladies come along with me while McIntosh and Applejack get things sorted out here, okay?”
“What's goin' on, Doc?” Apple Bloom asked. “Where are Shorty and West?”
“What happened, mister?” Sweetie Belle squeaked. “Was there—”
“Yeah, tell us what happened,” Scootaloo blurted out. “We heard an awful lot of yelling.” The little pegasus peered around him at the fallen tree.
“Well…” He positioned himself sideways to block her view. “Never mind that. Let's all go see Granny, hmm? I'm sure she's got something delicious for us in that kitchen of her's. That sounds like an especially fine idea to me, what do you think?”
His eyes darted over their blank faces.
“We'll just leave everything here to Big Mac and Applejack.” He fought to hold his trembling smile. “I'm sure everything will be fine.”
Doubting eyes faced him, calling him a damned liar plainer than words ever could. But he hadn't needed them to tell him that. He knew what he was before those words crossed his lips.
Lies had always come with ease to him. Over the years, there'd been many lies to many ponies: lies for gain, lies to hide, sometimes lies just for the hell of it. But this lie had been for himself as much as for those three.
Everything will be fine. How desperate he was to believe that, but if those three didn't, how could he? Nothing could conceal the truth: Things wouldn't be all right.
They couldn't, for he'd made promises. He'd failed to keep his promise to West and nothing could fix that now. But he'd made a promise to Shorty, too. Doc had built a mountain of lies and broken promises, so what was one more? No—he wasn't going to let that one be added to the heap.
His fragile smile dissolved, for he realized nothing would be fine, or good, or right for him ever again.
Doc hung his head, and when he opened his mouth, for the first time in a very long time, he decided to speak only the truth.
“Please, darlin's,” he begged, “just—just come along with me.” Without waiting for a response, he walked away and the three fillies followed.
He led them back up the slope, away from the remains of the old apple tree laying in the hollow. As they followed, the young ones did not turn around to look and they did not ask questions, they only walked, listening to the cracks of branches echoing off the hillsides.