Mare-Do-Well: Everfree

by PaddedCell

Chapter Five: Enemies of the State

Scootaloo slept peacefully in a corner of the apartment for the night, guarded by the stallion. She had discovered his name to be Ironwork, a name which betrayed his family's hereditary involvement with mechanics. Not that this mattered much, but talking to somepony else at length without being tortured for answers was a refreshing change. Sometime in the night, the gunner from the other apartment had crossed the street to offer some help, and when Scootaloo awoke, the Unicorn mare she had caught a glimpse of the day before was cooking breakfast on a stove. It smelled divine.
"She's back with us, Heather." Ironwork's voice called from somewhere across the room. The mare turned away from the stove and gave a friendly smile. Her pale pink eyes shimmered in the early-morning sunlight. It seemed as though the bad weather outside had cleared, and now all that remained was an odd, ever-present mist and a biting, cold wind. Still, the weather had improved, and so had Scootaloo's mood. Her body was healing, if slowly.
"Here.. Eat." The mare that Ironwork had called Heather stooped down to Scootaloo's level, speaking softly as she floated a bowl of soup into view. Scootaloo smiled warmly, thanking her and taking the bowl in her hooves. She sipped at it, then began to gulp it down ravenously. Heather giggled, trotting over to the stove and serving up a bowl for Ironwork.
"Thanks, Heather.. You're an angel." He murmured, a smile on his grizzled old face as he began drinking up his soup.
"So, Miss ah.. Scootaloo. Ironwork has told me all about you. Is it true?" Heather asked, sipping at her own bowl. Scootaloo nodded. Ironwork broke in at this point, wiping his muzzle with a hoof.
"How did they manage to get you, anyway? It's not like you could be outmatched by Street Mares, surely.. Not with all your little gadgets and fancy tricks." He grinned, beginning again on his soup.
"I wasn't outmatched by them, no." Scootaloo replied, stretching out and giving a yawn. "It was some pony in a suit. All metal, with a visor and this crackled, machine-like voice. He, or she.. Whatever it was, it froze me solid, in a big block of ice. I blacked out, and when I came to, the Street Mares must have had me moved into.. Well, you know where." She grew quieter when she spoke the last sentence, and visibly distressed.
"It's all right, you needn't go into the details." Ironwork assured her, smiling. "Well, I'm gonna take a guess here and say that you're no big fan of the Street Mares and their regime. And if that's the case, me and Heather here have some good news for you." Scootaloo, finishing her soup already, looked up at the old stallion with interest.
"As you might have guessed, we're part of a resistance movement." Heather spoke softly. Scootaloo's eyes lit up.
"A resistance movement, huh? How many of you are there?" She asked, placing her bowl down on the floor.
"About thirty members at the moment. We're just trying to find a way to get the rest of the population of the city to help out with the cause. The only thing standing in our way is fear." Ironwork's eyes grew dark as he explained. "The damned Street Mare patrols every few hours, the helicopters that circle around sometimes, the propaganda posters.. They all scare the people into behaving. Some still have the guts to go outside and carry on working and living normal lives. Others have gone recluse, staying in apartments and houses and never seeing the light of day. And all because they know that, if they do one thing wrong, or even walk down a street at the wrong time, they'll be arrested.. Or worse." He sighed. Heather, who had been quiet for the explanation, now broke in.
"Have you searched the dumpsters and tiny alleys in this city? If not, then please.. Don't. The Mares have a habit of disposing of pesky citizens in those places." Her voice was shaky, and her eyes showed a certain sorrow that was unmistakable. Scootaloo could hazard a few guesses at the things she had been through.
"Well, in a couple of hours, the Mares are off patrol. We're moving back to our HQ then." Ironwork stated. "Your company would be most appreciated, Miss Scootaloo." He gave a smile.

When the appointed time came, the trio snuck out onto the street. The bodies of the Street Mares, which Ironwork had hidden away under some junk in one of the nearby yards, had thankfully not drawn attention yet. The group dashed along the all-but-empty streets, passing a few citizens who appeared to be in various states of mind. While some seemed quite sane but constantly alert and stressed, others were not so lucky. One or two sat huddled behind dumpsters and around the corners of buildings, shuddering silently. One mare, who seemed to have broken a foreleg, stumbled back and forth in an alleyway, calling for somepony who was presumably her foal. She was distraught, and Scootaloo had to tear her eyes away as the group moved further and further into the decaying Royal City.
"Here we are." Heather whispered, as the three came to a stop in a dead-end alley. Covered on both sides by high walls and ending abruptly at the exterior wall of the city itself, the only feature at the end of this particular alleyway was just another mud-caked, stinking dumpster.
"What.. This alley?" Scootaloo asked, looking around in confusion. Ironwork chuckled.
"If you were thinking this was it, you've got another thing coming." He murmured as he and Heather moved up to the dumpster. They stood to its side, and pushed. With a low rattling and rumbling, the dumpster moved slowly aside to reveal a roughly-hewn opening into the wall behind it. Scootaloo watched in awe, and followed the two as they dropped low to the ground and crawled inside. Once they had crawled in through the short entry chute, the group stood up as the tunnel opened out into a small, hollowed-out room in the interior of the city wall. The chamber was small, the floor littered with concrete and other debris. A single lamp hung from the ceiling, illuminating a square hole of some kind dug into the floor. After Ironwork doubled back to pull the dumpster over the entrance again, the three proceeded downward. The square opening in the floor dropped down into a steeply-sloping tunnel which burrowed down and backward, away from the edge of the city and toward its centre.
"How much further?" Scootaloo asked, as the group trudged onward down the dimly-lit passage.
"We're here, actually." Heather stated, as they neared the end. Out of the darkness before them came a heavy doorway, constructed of corrugated iron and bolted sheets of metal. Stepping forward, Heather used her horn to turn one of the bolts to the side of the doorframe. In an instant, the metal door slid to the side and allowed them access. Inside, the resistance movement awaited.