Chapter 45: Wild Ride to Oblivion
Chapter 45
Wild Ride to Oblivion
At the construction site of the mega rail, the camels and zahaks all toiled without end. During that particular moment, there was a sight among the workers that none of them had ever thought they would see.
Grunting and groaning, and clutching a rope in his withered hands was Alshuhum Qard. His breath was strained and his greasy robes were soaked with his own sweat. On his back, his one wing flapped hard as he trudged his way through the sands.
<”Well. Look who has finally come to his senses and joined the soon-to-be-wealthy working class,”> said one of the workers.
Qard didn’t pay any mind to what was said. He simply continued trudging his way along.
<”Don’t bother helping an old zahak--!”> Qard puffed, as he pulled his payload. <”By the sound of it, you’re all--still too busy--selling out!”>
<”Selling out? What you call selling out, I call the promise of a brighter future,”> said one of the camels from his scaffold.
<”What future is that--For ten siglos an hour--You shun the very values--Mithra and Maha have taught us all!? Humbleness--Altruism--Cooperation--The golden word of peace--All tossed to the sands!!!?”> Qard said.
<”We never forgot the lessons taught! But, humbleness and altruism won’t put food in my wife and calves’ mouths!”> a camel indignantly replied.
<”But, ten siglos? Yes--That should get your family--A few apples for dinner! How do you plan to divide them?”> Qard responded.
<”More will come!”> another zahak said. <”DiMosco promised us compounding interest on our salary for overtime work!”>
<”And just how much is this compounding interest--”> Qard asked, as he pulled harder on his rope, inching further across the sands.
There was no answer. From the silence, Qard smirked complacently beneath his turban. But, at the same time, he was filled with disdain for everyone else for not wondering the same.
<”Did none of you think to ask how much extra you would receive--”> he asked. <”Were you all so blinded by DiMosco’s promises--That not one of you thought about how little he may have been planning to pay you--Or even when--If at all?”>
Once again, there was no answer from the crowd. Each of them had known the promises that DiMosco made sounded lofty, and that the probability they would be kept on his payroll was next to nil. But one by one, they all allowed themselves to be drawn in by his slick appearance and even slicker tongue.
What values that their rulers had taught them had been put at the backs of their minds in favor of financial gratification. And in time, some had nearly forgotten what made their kingdom so harmonious.
Some of the workers continued watching Qard in silence, while others slowly turned their backs to him and half-heartedly continued their work.
As for Qard, the elderly zahak simply continued dragging his massive haul.
<”The rest of you can do what you want--I am going to return to us--what has always mattered most in Kamelut--”> he said.
The strain on Qard’s body soon took its toll. He began coughing loudly, and had to lean on the side of his haul to keep from keeling over.
His fit ended. And as he breathed deep, ragged breaths, he felt the rope he was holding go taut.
Looking up, he saw that one of the younger zahaks had taken hold of the rope and was pulling it along. Soon, he was joined by a camel. At the other end of the haul, more workers had started pushing the massive payload forward.
A tiny spark was felt in Qard’s mind. The very same he felt that day when he truly thought Khabuubhi would one day fly.
Clutching the rope, he helped to drag along the massive railroad support through the sands.
<”Just where are we taking this thing?”> one of the camels asked.
<”We’re going to my shop--I’ll explain the rest of the project there,”> Qard answered.
A cylinder turned, and a bullet was chambered.
With a click, the brass case was struck, and a burst of flame and a sound of thunder rocketed the lead projectile through its barrel.
Through the air, the bullet flew. The meters through the air toward its target were barely covered, when it was joined by another shot, then another.
Less than a second passed, and the first bullet fired contacted one of the wings that Donald was using to fly after the massive train that Bosco DiMosco was escaping on.
“WAAAK!!” the duck shouted, as he bobbed turbulently in the air, dodging the next two bullets.
To his great surprise, the wings were only scratched and dented by the bullets’ impacts.
Recalling his battle against DiMosco’s minions back in the scrapyard, an idea entered Donald’s mind. He was no stranger to tricky flying maneuvers, and it was that experience that would save his life.
Before he even heard the next shot fired, Donald started to roll in midair.
Bullets pelted the wings, and were bounced back to where they came from.
DiMosco jumped into the air, as one of his own bullets hit the ground between his legs and ricocheted harmlessly away.
“Why you--” the magnate growled, as he reloaded his revolver.
In the corner of his compound eyes, he saw the improvised train rolling after his own.
At the lead, Applejack was leaning forward earnestly, ready to jump aboard DiMosco’s enormous locomotive and take him on.
“Need more speed up here!” she called to Uncle Scrooge.
Uncle Scrooge turned around to talk to Fluttershy.
“Give it some more welly, lass!” he shouted.
Fluttershy, whose trolley had the brake built into it, pushed forward on the lever at the very rear of her seat.
The beetle in her mane trotted down her front leg, and offered its help by pushing on the lever.
Beneath the rearmost trolley, tension was eased on the axle.
The more Fluttershy pushed, the more she could feel speed picking up. Soon, the trolley train was bumping along the tracks. One particularly large bump made the pegasus ease up slightly on the acceleration.
“Don’t ye stop now! We got a train to catch!” Uncle Scrooge admonished her.
Fluttershy didn’t know what scared her more. Flying off of the tracks, or the temper of Scrooge McDuck. But, as she pushed the lever on her trolley forward again, a new fear was added to her growing mound of terror.
There was a loud ding, as something small and metal bounced too near her legs, sending up small sparks as it shot away.
“EEP!!” Fluttershy shouted, as she ducked in cover.
The beetle spun in the air a moment, when another loud bang sounded. With a frightened squeak, the little bug arched its body in midair, allowing the second bullet to pass safely beneath it, before falling back into Fluttershy’s mane.
“That buzzin’ house pest’s got us pinned!!” Uncle Scrooge shouted.
More bullets pelted the trolleys as the passengers ducked in cover.
For a moment the shots stopped, and Applejack dared to peek over the side of her trolley.
DiMosco exhaled long and slow as he aimed his revolver at the orange target, and fired.
It was too fast for Applejack to see, but the bullet was flying on a course that would go straight between her eyes.
Applejack barely had time to shout when she heard the shot. When all of a sudden something swooped in front of her and deflected the bullet.
Looking to her savior, she saw Donald swoop into the air and turn back around.
With a fast exhale she dropped back into cover.
For the first time in years, she had never felt her nerves so shaken. Had Donald not reached her in time, her life would have ended in an instant.
Applejack had been on dozens of quests with her friends. But, never before was the danger of death so very apparent. Never was there an evil like the Big Bad Wolf, the sheriff or DiMosco, who would so readily resort to violence and murder. And the stake of it all was not only Equestria, but the world itself.
As the sound of the shot echoed in her ears, Applejack thought back to the papers she and Donald found in DiMosco’s office. The name ‘Sweet Apple Acres’ printed on the pages stuck in her mind, as if it had been brilliantly lit up and placed before her eyes.
Her home was in danger. Without Sweet Apple Acres, her family had nothing. Their very livelihood was forfeit with the loss of their land.
Applejack knew she had to do it. As scared as she was to face DiMosco, she knew that all was lost if she did nothing.
Another shot was fired, and Donald blocked again with his metal wings.
“That’s the stuff, lad! Keep it up!!” Uncle Scrooge cheered from his trolley, as Donald’s wings deflected another shot. He turned to talk to Fluttershy. “Donald’s coverin’ us! Ye can get crackin’ on that lever again!”
Slowly, Fluttershy’s hoof raised up, and pushed gently forward on the lever.
“What’s that supposed to be!!? I can barely feel my hat wobblin’ on my head! Push it like ye mean it!!” Uncle Scrooge said.
Donald had just blocked a bullet intended for Fluttershy, as the pegasus shot up and pushed the lever with both hooves.
The trolley train ran faster down the tracks, rapidly closing in on DiMosco’s titanic locomotive.
“That’s it! Keep it comin’!” DiMosco said, as he reloaded his revolver.
Never once taking his eyes from his opponents, he saw Donald come swooping toward him.
The magnate quickly loaded his firearm, and took aim.
Donald was already gliding over the train. Before DiMosco fired the first shot, he held his wings up in front of himself and blocked every bullet fired at him.
DiMosco hopped backwards, as Donald rolled to standing before him, and swung his wings wildly.
Another shot was fired.
Donald charged with his wing shielding himself, and swung the other at DiMosco.
DiMsoco ducked and kicked Donald backward.
Donald spun around the next shot and swung his wings again.
DiMosco leaned far back, aimed and shot.
“WAK!” Donald squawked, as the bullet passed over his shoulder. He lost his balance and nearly fell over.
It was the perfect setup. DiMosco aimed and squeezed his trigger.
With a flap of his wings, Donald was back in the air, and the bullet meant for him sailed harmlessly beneath.
DiMosco aimed as Donald was gliding further behind, and fired his remaining ammo.
Donald pitched, rolled and dipped around each shot, until the magnate was out of bullets.
DiMosco decided to try his luck instead with picking off the others tailing him. He reloaded his revolver, and aimed to the tracks behind him. Only, the improvised train chasing him was nowhere in sight.
The magnate huffed when he realized what had happened. Donald was only distracting him, until the others were close enough to be covered by the train itself.
He knew what they were trying to do. And with one last look to Donald, who was gliding higher, DiMosco retreated back through the hatch in the top of the bus, ready to take on anyone foolish enough to encounter him again.
Donald saw DiMosco retreat, and swooped low as he let the train pass him. Soon, he was at the rear, where his friends were nearly upon the train.
Applejack was reaching her hoof out, so very near to grasping the rail on the platform at the rear of the train.
“He just went inside!” Donald shouted to Applejack.
“He what!?” Applejack replied, not having heard properly over the wind.
“DiMosco! He’s in the train now! Probably waiting for you to board!”
Applejack hesitated a moment, but the feeling of apprehension soon passed.
“Alright! Thanks fer the heads up!” she answered.
With a nod, Donald glided back toward the next trolley, where Uncle Scrooge was ready to climb over to join Applejack.
“Ya better stay back, Unc! No tellin’ how bad your condition really is!” Donald said.
“Balderdash an’ hooey! I know my own blasted condition better than ye! Someone has to cover Applejack! An’ I’m the duck to do it!” Uncle Scrooge said.
“Push yourself, and you’re a dead duck!!” Donald rebutted.
Uncle Scrooge hooked his cane around Donald’s neck, and pressed his forehead against his nephew’s.
“We all have our jobs to do here! Ye have to stay back an’ cover Fluttershy, in case that trigger-happy fly comes back while she’s keepin’ pace! Now, shove off!”
With a jerk, Uncle Scrooge unhooked his cane and shoved Donald away.
Donald swung his fists and cursed loudly and indistinctly, while he glided backwards without spreading his wings.
“Donald…?” Fluttershy timidly said, as she half hid in her trolley.
Donald quickly recomposed himself and spread his wings, before gliding to the very back of the trolley train.
“Uncle Scrooge says you have to stay here and keep up with the train!” Donald said.
Fluttershy’s only answer was a shaky nod, while the beetle stood on the tip of her ear and offered a tiny salute.
“When this is done, ya better take a bath! Ya got bugs livin’ in your mane!” Donald said, before he flapped his wings and gained a surge of altitude.
Fluttershy watched as Donald shot up and ahead of her. With one last look ahead, she saw Applejack climb aboard the platform at the train’s caboose, followed shortly by Uncle Scrooge.
Applejack bucked the door open, and together they both disappeared into the monstrous train. Once they had gone, Fluttershy returned to her duty of minding the acceleration.
The inside of the train was like most any other, except that it was enormous. And it seemed even more vast with the complete lack of any of the normal accoutrements typically seen inside of a caboose.
However they would stop the train and DiMosco, it would not be in that bus. So, they hurried onward.
Halfway along, they noticed a staircase that went straight up to a second level. The train was so large, it would not have surprised them if there were a third level above it.
“I’ll go high. Ye’ll go low,” Uncle Scrooge said.
He was only a few steps, before Applejack stopped him.
“I’ll go high. You take it easy,” the farmpony said.
Uncle Scrooge nearly protested, but a slight jab in his chest reminded him of how frail his health had become.
“Aye, alright. But, ye be careful up there,” he said, as he walked toward the door below.
Applejack quickly climbed the stairs, hoping she was ready to take on what came her way.
On the second level, everything looked quite different. There, everything looked like some grand suite, complete with a gigantic bed, a kitchenette with all the normal kitchen furnishings, and another door that led to a silvery bathroom.
Cautiously as ever, Applejack walked to the door at the end of the room and stepped into the next bus.
There, everything was just as different as the previous room. Judging from the number of pantries, refrigerators, tables and cooking utensils, she guessed that it was some kind of food storage.
As she walked, Applejack saw that some of the cans of food were put out, and glanced at their labels. Many of them were in foreign languages that she didn’t understand. But, one can in particular had a label that was unmistakably for chili. And the picture showed a cow sitting in a cauldron, slurping a ladle.
With a shiver, she hurried past that one to find her opponent. But, it soon became apparent that she was not alone in that bus.
Somewhere ahead, a voice was heard.
“Bacon from the back and stomach of the pig!!? Yes please!!” the voice said.
Applejack had no time to hide herself, just as the Big Bad Wolf appeared from around a wall that blocked him from view before. However, he had not noticed her as he opened a refrigerator and started rummaging through its contents, and stacked them onto a silver platter he was carrying.
“Let’s see... Chicken thighs? Don’t mind if I do. Mutton chops? Always a tasty dish. Venison? Yes sir. Fish filets? I’ll have that with the white. Pork ribs! Now we’re talkin’!”
Applejack turned a slight shade of green from the gruesome dishes.
Finally, Big Bad leaned back into view, holding a small tin in his clawed hand.
“Sea pony caviar!!? Ya can’t even get this through the direct market!” the glutton said, as he opened the tin with his thumb. Before he ate anything, he noticed Applejack in the corner of his eye. “Ain’t this lucky? I was just thinkin’ about apple pie fer dessert!”
Big Bad literally inhaled the heaping platter of food, swallowed it in one gulp, and threw the empty platter at Applejack.
Far easier than a bullet, Applejack reacted in time to buck the platter back to Big Bad.
The glutton caught the platter in his mouth, and recoiled heavily backward.
Applejack charged and bucked hard.
Big Bad shielded himself with the platter he held, and was blown back onto a table that was loaded end to end with food.
He crashed into a platter of lamb, which flew into the air and fell on his head piece by piece.
Applejack jumped up to the table and readied to attack again.
To one side, there was a large turkey, baked to golden-brown perfection. Before her, there was a large bowl of apples set out. Perfect for her.
She stomped the edge of the bowl, launching it and all of the fruit into the air. Turning around and raising her legs, Applejack bucked rapidly over and over, shooting each apple to Big Bad.
Big Bad opened his mouth and caught every one of the apples in his gaping maw. Without even inhaling, he blew every one of the apples back to his opponent.
Applejack was pelted with each fruit, until she shielded herself with the bowl that held them.
The apples rolled up the inside of the bowl and flung themselves back at Big Bad.
Before the first apples struck back, the glutton growled fiercely and leapt forward with his cleavers drawn, slicing madly through anything in his path.
Applejack backpedaled from danger, and felt her hoof tangle on something. Looking down, she saw a long link of sausages.
Trying not to think what or who they were made from, she picked them up in her teeth and twirled them into an improvised lasso. She tossed it and ensnared Big Bad’s left arm.
The glutton stopped swinging and tried to pull his arm free.
Applejack took the opportunity to buck more food at him, sending a platter of entrees into his face.
The platter fell from Big Bad’s face, leaving olives over his eyes, artichoke hearts in his ears and ripe cheese up his nose.
Big Bad’s tongue slurped up all of the entrees, before he bit the sausage lasso in two. With the links still in his mouth, he started munching his way closer to Applejack.
He was growing closer. And when he was close enough, the farmpony yanked hard and rolled Big Bad over her shoulders like he was a sack of chicken feed.
The glutton landed hard on the table, and crossed his cleavers to block Applejack’s stomp. In a burst, he pushed her away and rolled to his feet.
The moment he stood, Big Bad grabbed a handful of hot peppers and squeezed the juices at Applejack.
Applejack quickly raised a hoof to shield her eyes, but could not stop a few drops from getting her.
The blinding, stinging sensation forced her to shut her eyes, as she tried to smudge them clean with her dry hoof.
It was only the sounds of claws on wood that alerted her to Big Bad’s rapid approach.
Purely on instinct, the farmpony ducked out of the way of a swinging cleaver, and felt the blade of the next nick her side as she stepped away.
She felt her hoof bump something, and picked it up in the hopes that it would help fight off her opponent. To her dismay, it was simply a large, unsliced loaf of bread.
Feeling it was better than nothing, she swung it at Big Bad’s head.
Big Bad opened his mouth, caught the loaf and bit off so much that Applejack only held the heel in her teeth.
Applejack ducked, leaving only the heel of bread in the air, as Big Bad’s cleaver’s sliced the bread apart.
Down low, Applejack bucked again, aiming below the belt.
Too high, as Big Bad felt the wind knocked out of him, and was thrown backward.
Applejack was blown away by a sudden gust from the glutton’s mouth. As she was blown back, she was pelted with more of the foods that adorned the table that were caught in the gust.
She yelped when she felt a fork jab her front leg, and shielded herself with a leg of ham from the rest of the oncoming silverware.
Big Bad was already charging her with his cleavers at the ready. Once he was upon her, he swung at her neck.
Applejack blocked with her ham, stopping the blade. She blocked an attack on the other side, then stuffed the ham in her opponent’s mouth when he tried to take a bite out of her.
With his mouth corked, Big Bad hobbled back and started chewing the meat. Bone and all.
“Dang! This guy’ll eat anything!!” Applejack thought.
If only she could get her hooves on something he would regret ingesting. Something rotten, or poisonous.
The sting of the pepper’s juices still lingered around her eyes.
“Peppers!” she thought.
The bowl of peppers Big Bad had used to blind her was set between them.
A look to a large, golden-brown turkey nearer to her, and she knew how to defeat Big Bad once and for all.
Big Bad swallowed the last of the ham, then spat out the bones. But, he was still not satisfied. He bared his fangs and eyed Applejack hungrily.
Everything had to be done with split second timing, if Applejack was going to beat the glutton. Putting her eyes to the turkey, then to the plate of peppers down the way, she knew she was going to have to pull off a gold medal performance to survive the plan. Luckily, she had been preparing for such a thing her whole life.
Both opponents charged one another.
When she was close enough, Applejack kicked the turkey up into the air over Big Bad’s head.
Big Bad crossed his arms and swung his blades like a pair of shears.
When they were near one another, Applejack ducked and rolled between her opponent’s legs, just as the turkey landed in the bowl of peppers.
Without losing any momentum, the farmpony grabbed the newly stuffed turkey and jumped over another swing of Big Bad’s cleavers.
Midair, she slammed the open end of the turkey over the glutton’s head.
Mission accomplished. She jumped back as Big Bad started blindly swinging his cleavers.
“This ain’t over, dirt pusher!! Ya can’t stop the Big Bad Wolf with poultry!!” Big Bad’s muffled voice came.
Applejack smiled when she heard a munching noise. Big Bad was doing just as she expected him to do, and was eating his way out.
“Ow-Woo!!” Big Bad yelped, as smoke started seeping out of the open ends of the turkey. “OW-WOO-HOO-HOO-HOO!!!!”
Applejack nearly laughed at the sight as Big Bad stopped, dropped and rolled across the table. She came particularly close when he rolled over the forks and jumped into the air.
Before he even dropped back down, Applejack readied to buck again.
The moment he was at the optimal level with her, she aimed her hooves at the nearby window and bucked the glutton straight through the glass.
There was a horrible scraping sound that followed, but Applejack didn’t linger to wonder what it may have been. She still had to stop the train and defeat DiMosco. Not necessarily in that order.
Big Bad’s cleavers dug deep into the sides of the train, trailing long gashes as he tried to shake his head free of the turkey.
Just as his blades hooked onto a window frame, his whole body jerked and flung the turkey from his cranium.
The hot peppers were still blazing in his mouth and all over his face.
Big Bad clenched his teeth, and his face turned as red as the peppers he was forced to swallow. Indignant and infuriated at the idea of being beaten by nothing more than a side dish, he pocketed his cleavers and started clawing open the window.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the smaller train behind the massive one he was clinging to. Riding in the very furthest trolley was the same timid pegasus who had eluded him as much as a practical pig. And she was alone now. Completely cornered and isolated, without anywhere to go and nobody to help her.
It was perfect for him. Finally, Big Bad would fill his belly with pony meat, and eliminate a thorn in Yen Sid’s side once and for all.
Firmly gripping his claws onto the side of the train, the glutton started quickly climbing his way to his next meal.
Uncle Scrooge was quickly, yet cautiously making his way through the lower part of the train’s bus.
His objective was simple: to find where DiMosco was keeping his treasure, and recover the stolen engine.
Looking around the bus he was in, he could only imagine one possible place that so much money could be stored on such a massive train.
Beneath his webbed feet, he searched warily for any hatch that would lead into the lower parts of the train. Unless it was hidden in some storage in the upper level. And if it was so, he knew he should have insisted on investigating upstairs.
Applejack was a smart mare, he could tell. But, she didn’t think like a skinflint. She wouldn’t be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary, which would lead to a hidden king’s ransom.
Carefully, he scoured every square inch of the bus for anything that would have seemed unusual. A seam or a crease in the floor or walls. An oddly placed piece of furniture. Anything.
Uncle Scrooge started tapping his cane on the floor, listening for anything that sounded hollow. Or at least less solid than any other part of the ground.
The more he tapped, he found less of any evidence that the engine may have been hidden beneath his feet.
“Ach. I knew I shoulda took the stairs,” the tycoon muttered to himself.
From the stairs, a polished black dress shoe stepped noiselessly onto the topmost step, and stealthily descended.
DiMosco carefully timed his steps with every tap of Uncle Scrooge’s cane, hiding any trace of a sound he made on his way down. Once he was on the steps’ landing, the magnate carefully peered into the room before him. His compound eyes barely passed around the corner when he saw Uncle Scrooge tapping around.
It was too easy. The old duck had his back turned, and was much too preoccupied to notice anything behind himself.
DiMosco smirked as he aimed his revolver, slowly, carefully at the back of Uncle Scrooge’s head. And with a silent exhale, his hand steadied to deliver the fatal shot.
As far as Uncle Scrooge could tell, there was nothing of note in that bus. Now at the far end, he was ready to leave and investigate the next area.
He opened the door, and just beneath the sounds of the metal door in its runner, he heard the familiar sound of a hammer clicking.
There was no thought as the tycoon dove forward through the open doorway, hoping he would land behind some cover.
Before he ever landed, there was the sound of a gunshot, and an incredible pain struck the tycoon’s arm.
More shots sounded as Uncle Scrooge hit the floor and crawled behind what seemed like a large shelf. Taking a moment, he looked at his arm and saw that it was not as bad as it felt. The bullet had only nicked his arm. Barely a scrape, if even that.
Between the sudden startle he had, and the intense physical maneuver, Uncle Scrooge felt the familiar terrible pain in his chest.
“Blast ye! Don’t fail me now!” he muttered to himself as he clutched his chest, not wanting to give DiMosco the satisfaction of defeating him.
The sounds of hurried steps approached the bus, and stopped suddenly in the doorway.
“Say somethin’, duck! I wanna how many times I hit ya!” DiMosco’s voice called.
Uncle Scrooge was no fool. He knew that DiMosco was trying to find where he was hiding. Looking up to the shelf, the tycoon decided that he was going to do exactly that, and give himself away. To start, he hooked his cane onto the back of the massive piece of furniture.
“An’ why do ye care!? So ye can charge me for six wasted bullets!?” he shouted as he pulled downward.
“Durn tootin’, ya old coot! At a buck-fifty a pop, I’m gettin’ my money’s worth!” DiMosco replied, as he jumped over an armchair and landed before the shelf, just as it was crashing down on top of him. “Holy--”
The elderly magnate hopped backwards into a chair, one foot on the seat, the other on the back. As the chair toppled back, DiMosco stayed perfectly upright as he aimed and shot at the fleeing Uncle Scrooge.
“YA-HOO!! Time fer a duck hunt!!” the old fly shouted, as he shot wildly after his opponent.
Uncle Scrooge dove behind a counter, finding it to be the front of a grand tea station.
More shots were fired as the tycoon took a steamer and turned up the pressure beyond its limit. When the thing seemed liable to burst, he tossed it over the counter.
DiMosco had just finished reloading his pistol when he was forced to dive over a table, overturning it as cover when the steamer exploded in a burst of metal and foam.
“Yer killin’ the atmosphere in my lounge, duck!” the magnate shouted, as he shot blindy at the counter.
Uncle Scrooge popped up a few feet from where DiMosco was shooting, throwing mugs and teacups.
“Ye call this a lounge!? I wouldn’t have my shoes shined in this dump!” he shouted.
“You can bet it’s better than yer lounge!” DiMosco shouted, as he shot the flying cups out of the air, and dodged what ones he couldn’t shoot.
Uncle Scrooge took several tiny cups of honey and tossed them ahead of where DiMosco was dodging.
“Bah! Ye haven’t even got a decent culinary station in here!” Uncle Scrooge said, as he placed several loose tea leaves into a bag. He winced when more bullets were shot blindly through the counter, dangerously close to where he was.
The moment the magnate stepped in the sticky puddle his opponent had thrown, he found that he had difficulty pulling his foot free. But, he wasn’t stopped from firing his weapon.
“Ya ain’t seen upstairs! I got me a ten star kitchen chock full o’ eleven star vittles!!” DiMosco shouted, as he finished reloading and aimed again.
Uncle Scrooge twirled the stuffed bag around as if it were a miniature hammer toss, and lobbed it at his opponent.
DiMosco shot it out of the air, and was engulfed in a pungent, stifling cloud of dried leaves. He coughed and waved his hand to clear the air, shooting blindly as Uncle Scrooge charged him.
Both elders met in the middle, as Uncle Scrooge unleashed a tackle that pulled DiMosco free of the honey trap and slammed him against a wall.
“Eleven stars!? Pish-tosh!! I’ve twenty star eateries on my yachts! All fifty of them!” the tycoon shouted, as he unleashed a mean shoeshine punch on DiMosco’s stomach.
DiMosco kneed Uncle Scrooge away and swung his cane, smacking vases and tabletops every time he missed.
“Quantity over quality!!? Hah!! Yer givin’ a bad name to real business moguls!!” DiMosco shouted, as he jabbed Uncle Scrooge in the chest, sending him backwards.
Uncle Scrooge fell backwards as a bullet sailed over his head. Quick as he could, he scrambled out of the way of another shot.
“I got yacht to carry my other yachts!!” DiMosco shouted, as he trailed bullets behind Uncle Scrooge. He ran to head off the tycoon as he reloaded his firearm. “Top o’ the line! All the modern accoutrements! A staff what works dirt cheap!! An’ they got twenty star eateries too!! All you got’s a fleet o’ overgrown bath toys!!”
“Here’s yer bath toy, brigand!!” Uncle Scrooge shouted as he picked up a chair to throw at DiMosco.
In all the strenuous activity, the pains in his chest flared up again. He nearly dropped the chair as it was over his head and only just managed to throw it at DiMosco.
The magnate easily spun out of the way of the large projectile and aimed his pistol just as Uncle Scrooge dove for cover behind the bar.
More shots fired over the bar, shattering many bottles and spilling their contents to the floor.
The pains in Uncle Scrooge’s chest were becoming worse. He gasped painfully, and thought that at any moment DiMosco would not have to shoot him to get him out of the picture.
“Ya ain’t soundin’ so good, old timer! Might be time to give up the ghost!” DiMosco loudly guffawed, as he shot blindly at the bar.
Nearby, a CO2 canister by the taps was shot, and it burst in a cloud of cold, which chilled Uncle Scrooge and sent more pains through his chest.
It was time for a Scottish home remedy. Taking his hat from his head, Uncle Scrooge held it beneath the deluge of spilling liquids. As his breath grew more shallow, he added some honey and herbs from the tea station earlier. He put his palm over the top and quickly swished it all together. Once adequately mixed, he guzzled it all down.
His breaths grew deeper as DiMosco’s bullets penetrated the bar gradually closer to him. A burning sensation grew in his throat, which slowly trickled down to his stomach. For a quick moment the pain in his chest sharpened, then gradually lessened.
The bullets were growing closer as Uncle Scrooge’s mind both clouded and focused at the same time. The sweetness of the honey and the savory of the herbs made his eyes water.
“Ahhhhhh...! Just like mother’s!” he exhaled.
He suddenly became aware that a bullet was shot through the bar only inches from his head.
Spinning in the direction of the prior shot, another bullet penetrated exactly where he would have been before. In the same motion, he grabbed an armful of bottles and shot up above his cover.
DiMosco had no time to react as he was reloading his revolver, when he was struck by a flying bottle.
“Have a drink, fly!!” Uncle Scrooge shouted, as he rapidly lobbed more bottles.
DiMosco tried to dodge out of the way, but every projectile led him by exactly the steps he took. One well-aimed hit knocked the revolver from his hand. Before he could retrieve it, he was struck in the head by a flying metal can, which made him fall to the floor clutching his cane.
Uncle Scrooge had placed the CO2 cans on top of the bar and was knocking their tops loose with his own cane, sending them flying about the room like a swarm of metal flies.
“Ye won’t get the best o’ Scrooge McDuck! I’ve tamed wild beasts! I’ve discovered lost civilizations! I rewrote history in my lifetime! An’ I won’t be done in by a trash-dwellin’, carcass-munchin’, flypaper model!!” the tycoon declared, as he shot one last canister.
Perhaps it was the drink he had, but something in his mind clicked in that moment. The sheer number of taps behind the bar was far beyond normal. And the space it took up was more than most others. It would be the perfect way to hide something one never wanted others to find. That was where he needed to look. Taking his cane, he started his search.
DiMosco dropped to avoid the flying canisters and scurried about the floor to search for his revolver.
While DiMosco was busy, Uncle Scrooge set to smashing the many taps with his cane, knowing that one of them was going to open the secret compartment to DiMosco’s ill-gotten gains. And to the marvelous engine he had stolen.
DiMosco was still searching for his weapon, when a flying canister knocked a table into his path. He rolled around the falling furniture and noticed the ruckus Uncle Scrooge was making. Stopping a moment, he wondered what he was doing.
“Blast it all! It must be here!” he heard Uncle Scrooge shout.
DiMosco knew that there was only one thing his opponent could have been looking for. A complacent smile crossed his face, before he rolled to the side to dodge another falling table.
There was a mess of spraying foam as Uncle Scrooge had broken off all but one of the taps. Looking at the final tap, he knew that was the one. One good swing, and he would open the door to retrieve what was stolen. Raising his cane, he smashed it down hard on the tap, knowing it would swing like a lever.
His cane contacted the tap, and a loud crack sounded as the metal head under the bar broke free and sprayed its foamy beverage.
He was wrong. There was no secret lever to open the hidden compartment with the stolen treasures. Not about to give up, Uncle Scrooge swung his cane at the large mirror behind the bar. To his dismay, all he found there was a metal back where the glass had been set.
With no warning, Uncle Scrooge was kicked in the face by DiMosco jumping over the bar. When he landed, he brandished his cane and swung to attack.
“I told ya I was better at bein’ everything you are, duck!” the magnate shouted, as he swung his cane at the dodging duck. “I’m smart enough to hide my cash where even you won’t find it!”
Uncle Scrooge parried an attack, but was still struck as he felt his heart racing again.
“An’ I’m tough enough to keep the spring in my step! Even at my age!” DiMosco said, as he kicked Uncle Scrooge over the bar.
When he hit the floor, the tycoon looked frantically around for DiMosco’s dropped revolver, but was unable to find it as his opponent leapt over the bar with his cane over his head.
Uncle Scrooge rolled away, just as DiMosco slammed his cane to the ground. Getting to his feet, he engaged the magnate in another one on one duel.
“Ya ain’t been on top o’ the world long enough, duck!! Yer soft! Ya ain’t got what it takes to conquer a whole continent! Or even a guy like me!!” DiMosco berated, as he struck and was parried over and over.
Though he feared it, Uncle Scrooge thought what DiMosco said may have been true. For the long life he lived, he was now nearing his own end. But, if he could only hold on just long enough to stall DiMosco, he knew he would not be lost in vain.
He would keep DiMosco busy, and his younger companions would stop the train, defeat the evil magnate, take back the marvelous engine, and continue their magical quest. Then, Scrooge McDuck would join the glorious ranks of his ancestors.
Glaring intensely and clenching his teeth, Uncle Scrooge parried with gusto and staggered DiMosco, ready to go out on the highest note in McDuck history
The door to the control room burst open as Applejack bucked her way inside.
After what felt like galloping a marathon she finally arrived at her destination, ready to stop the massive train. Only, there was one rather large problem.
The engine of the train looked like none she had ever seen. Buttons, lights, levers, switches and monitors were all over the front of the room. There was no furnace to douse, and there was no definite brake to pull. Clearly, a far cry from the Friendship Express.
But, that wouldn’t stop her.
Quickly as she could, Applejack started pressing, turning and flipping everything she could get her hooves on, knowing that one of them was bound to be the one that stopped the train.
For as much as she tried, none of them was what she was looking for.
A button was pressed and lights on the back of the train started blinking. A switch was thrown and a series of intercom speakers opened up on the train’s outside. More buttons were pressed, and the monitors in the room started turning on. Another lever was pulled, and nearly the entire wall of the bus Uncle Scrooge and DiMosco were battling in opened up to reveal a bay view of the desert, and of the outpost town in the distance.
Applejack was running out of functions to use on the console. Finally, she knew she found what she was looking for.
A red switch was at the far left of the console. And there was only one way to turn it. A brake if she ever saw one.
Turning around, she raised her rear hooves and bucked the switch so far forward that it broke off.
Big mistake.
A feeling of accomplishment rushed over Applejack, but it gradually passed. She did not feel the steady lurch of braking, but the rising whoosh of acceleration.
The scenery outside the window started passing more quickly. The only thing that seemed constant was the outpost town in the distance, though that too was very slowly going by with the rest of the view.
“AW…! Horse apples in a hat!!!” Applejack shuddered, before she started rapidly pressing and pulling the rest of the functions on the console
Nothing worked. Whatever she tried, nothing slowed the train down. And she kept trying, until she noticed one of the monitors.
There was Uncle Scrooge crossing canes with DiMosco. And from the look of it, the old tycoon was losing.
One look at Uncle Scrooge clutching his chest as he fought, and Applejack knew she couldn’t stay in the control room.
Without a second look to the monitors, she rushed off to aid the ailing duck, and hopefully defeat DiMosco with him.
Big Bad clung tightly to the side of the train as the acceleration grew. He was very nearly at the back, when he suddenly found he had to cling tightly to keep from being blown off.
So great was the speed increasing that his suspenders started coming undone, and his pants started blowing off.
Quicker than he could blink, Big Bad pulled his trousers back up, but only realized as he floated in the air that he had let go of the train. Before he even had a chance to reach back for the train, he went rocketing backward.
On the tracks behind him, Fluttershy’s tiny beetle friend was urging her to push harder on the accelerator.
“I’m trying! But, I don’t think this train goes that fast!” Fluttershy said, as she pushed further on the lever more than it was meant to go.
The beetle leaned its back against the lever, only adding micrometers to its push.
With its back to the lever, the beetle was the only one of the two to notice something black, furry and with lots of teeth plummeting toward them from the train ahead.
It jumped and pointed, trying to alert Fluttershy to the danger behind her.
“Is something wrong?” the pegasus asked.
She was answered by a thump that shook the entire trolley train.
Taken completely by surprise, she quickly turned around, but saw nothing there. Then, a single clawed hand reached up and grasped the edge of the frontmost trolley. Frozen by terror, Fluttershy watched as the Big Bad Wolf appeared over the edge and pulled himself into the tiny train with her.
The two locked eyes, and Big Bad licked his chops, which seemed to grow bigger once his tongue had passed over them.
When she was a filly, Fluttershy had heard stories about pony-eating monsters. Every camping trip and every Nightmare Night was made more terrifying with tales of terrible beasts with claws and fangs, who would never let up until they caught and ate a frightened pony. Now, she was facing a monster she had once relegated to make-believe. And there was nowhere for her to run away to, short of leaping over the side and falling hundreds of hooves to the sands below.
“Nowhere to run now! It’s just you an’ me!” Big Bad said, as started toward the next trolley.
In a few short moments Fluttershy knew she would be eaten. And there was no way she could defend herself from a wolf with cutlery.
Not knowing what else she could possibly do, Fluttershy pulled hard on the lever she was operating.
There was a sudden squeal as the wheels beneath the trolley ground to a halt for a brief instance, making Big Bad fall forward and hit his face on the floor of the trolley.
Fluttershy knew that would not stop the glutton. Thinking quickly she pushed the lever forward more than she ever had before.
The small train picked up speed. Far faster than it had gone since it was cobbled together, the contraption started trembling with pure inertia. Fluttershy trembled too, adding to the tremors.
Big Bad held tightly to the floor, feeling like at any moment the entire trolley train may fall apart.
Fluttershy kept her eyes on the lever, listening for movement from Big Bad, hoping that he wouldn’t move as long as they were going so fast. And their speed only picked up when the tracks started gently sloping downward.
The beetle kept its post on Fluttershy’s hoof with its back to the lever. Warily it watched for Big Bad to reappear. But, then it saw another terrible sight.
The trolley train was going so fast that it was nearly on the tail of DiMosco’s enormous locomotive.
Before the beetle could warn her, there was a sudden impact.
Fluttershy lurched forward and nearly fell out of the trolley, breaking the lever as she did. Worse still, her tiny insect friend had fallen off her hoof.
“No! Mr. Bug!!” she called after the beetle. But, it was too late.
The tiny bug had fallen out of sight, left far behind as she sped down the tracks.
Another thump sounded behind herself, and she turned to see a frightful sight.
The impact of the collision had knocked Big Bad out of his own trolley, and into the one Fluttershy occupied. Menacingly, the glutton stood up and bared his fangs. After hunting the mares for so long, eating one of them now was going to make her taste all the better.
Before anything else, Fluttershy watched Big Bad reach into his pocket. Fearing it was one of his cleavers, she was mortified even more to see that it was a napkin with a picture of a pony on it, which the glutton tied around his neck.
There was nothing more Fluttershy could do, than to shrink into the corner of the trolley. In an act of panicked desperation, she thought to stall Big Bad, if only for a moment.
“I’m...not afraid of you…” she whispered.
“What’s that? Speak up! I wanna hear yer last words!” Big Bad said.
“I’m not afraid of you…” Fluttershy repeated, slightly louder.
“Gah-ha-ha-ha-ha!! Lady, if you keep up that kind o’ hog manure, you’d have a promisin’ future as a politician!” Big Bad guffawed. “Not that yer future’s lookin’ too bright, anyway!”
Fluttershy clenched her eyes shut, not wanting to face the maw of the beast. With her eyes shut, she found that she didn’tt feel the breath of the glutton, before his teeth chomped down on her. Instead, she felt the trolley thump again, as if something else landed in it with her.
“What the--!” Big Bad shouted.
“Pick on someone yer own size, Zeke!!” said a familiar squawking voice.
The sounds of blows exchanging reached Fluttershy’s ears, who dared to crack an eye open and peek at what was happening.
The first thing she saw was the sudden glint of steel, which made her gasp as Big Bad slammed his cleaver down onto what looked like a tiny wall of metal.
When the blow was deflected, the wall opened up, revealing Donald with his metal wings on his arms.
The duck countered the blow with his larger weapon, which was found to be unwieldy in such small quarters.
Big Bad easily caught the swinging wing, and slashed at Donald’s ribs.
Donald lifted his elbow and barely managed to block the cut.
Another swing of the cleaver, and Donald blocked.
Swing after swing, and Donald blocked with his one free arm.
Their battle inched them backward in the trolley, closer to Fluttershy.
Big Bad tried taking a swing at the pegasus, only to be intercepted by an uppercut from Donald.
The glutton growled fiercely and grabbed Donald’s other arm with his free hand.
Donald thrashed and cursed, trying his best to attack. But, with both his arms clinched, he was powerless to attack.
Big Bad, however, was not. Though his hands were tied up restraining Donald, his fanged mouth was more than enough to finish the duck off. Opening his maw, that was exactly what he intended to do.
Fluttershy didn’t know what else to do, other than grab Donald by his waist and pull him back from Big Bad’s snapping teeth.
“Hey!” Big Bad indignantly shouted.
He chomped again.
Fluttershy twisted Donald to the side and inadvertently moved his arm to hit Big Bad in the face.
The glutton chomped again, and was hit again by Donald being turned out of the way.
Big Bad had enough. He was hungry. He was agitated. He was going to solve both problems in one go.
With a fierce growl, Big Bad pushed Donald into Fluttershy and raised both of his cleavers over his head. The final blow was about to be delivered.
Instead of swinging them down, he suddenly started wildly swinging his blades at a cloud of dhaka seeds that blew past him.
On one of the seeds, Big Bad saw a small, black beetle. And it was blowing right toward him with an armful of dhaka pollen.
The beetle jumped off its seed and landed directly on Big Bad’s nose, where it dropped its tiny payload.
Big Bad knocked himself in the face with the flat of his own cleaver, missing the beetle as it jumped back onto one of the floating seeds.
Fluttershy’s eyes lit up at the sight of the tiny savior, who floated before her on its seed.
“Well, what do you know about that?” Donald said, as he watched the little bug.
Not one of them noticed how Big Bad was snuffling violently, until he let out another one of his gale force sneezes, which blew the seeds away from them all.
Fluttershy tried in vain to catch her tiny friend before it went, but it was no use. The beetle blew away on the winds, never to return to her.
Big Bad was about to sneeze again, when Donald shot to his feet and clapped both his metal wings on the glutton’s head like a pair of cymbals.
Before his opponent could stop rattling, Donald slapped Big Bad left and right, then finally slammed him down.
Big Bad sneezed one last time toward the floor and blew himself out of the trolley like a rocket, and fell from the air like a boulder over the side of the tracks.
Howling madly, he only just barely managed to drive one of his cleavers into the wooden rail supports.
Hanging only by the handle of his blade, he watched his opponents get further from him, with no hope of catching them up.
“This ain’t over!!” Big Bad shouted, shaking his fist with his free hand. “Next time I see ya, I’m gonna have apples in both yer mouths!! I’m gonna glaze ya an’ baste ya in--”
He was cut off by another sneeze, which sent him spinning around the handle of his blade.
First thing was first, he took his other cleaver and started slowly climbing hundreds of feet to the dunes below.
“You alright, toots?” Donald asked the trembling Fluttershy. But, she didn’t hear him.
Fluttershy was looking skyward to the cloud of dhaka seeds, her eyes fixed solely on the one just on the edge of the setting sun. The one with the tiny passenger aboard it, who was slowly floating out of her life.
The beetle clung proudly to its seed, watching Fluttershy as it drifted away beyond her. It didn’t know where it would go, but it hoped the path it landed on would one day cross with the pegasus who became his very first friend.
The breeze changed direction, and the beetle was blown further away, until Fluttershy was only a speck.
Turning toward the new direction its life was taking, the beetle found that it was now joined by another cloud of dhaka seeds. Within that new cloud, another passenger was seen.
A female of its own species was clinging to her own floating seed. And she was inviting the beetle to join her.
Taking the invitation with gusto, the beetle hopped from seed to seed, until it joined the female, who blew away together into the distance.
“Hey!” Donald said, snapping Fluttershy back to alertness.
“Huh? Uh...I’m alright…” Fluttershy answered, only then registering what Donald asked her.
“Aces. What’s better is that’s the last we’ll be seeing of that hairy garbage disposal for a while,” Donald replied.
It was both relieving and distressing for Fluttershy to hear. Partly, it was that she would not see Big Bad for a long time. More so, what Donald said made it sound as if they would definitely see him again.
“Keep this train chuggin’, toots. I’m gonna go try and help the others!” Donald said, as he spread his wings and took to the air.
“But, the lever’s--broken…” Fluttershy said, just as Donald flew out of earshot.
And the trolley train started slowly losing speed as the tracks leveled out.
Donald was already on his way toward DiMosco’s train. From his high vantage point, he could see the tracks starting to curve, and up ahead, he saw the tracks diverging into two directions. Whichever way they went was irrelevant, so long as they stopped the train in time from wherever it was going.
“What’s this?” Donald thought, as he noticed a large opening in the side of the train.
Though he was very high up, he thought he could see two figures battling back and forth in the room within the bus.
Focusing his mind, Donald spread his wings as wide as they could go and dipped for a nosedive.
The closer the train came, the more he could see his uncle dueling fiercely with DiMosco. And like Applejack before him, he could tell that Uncle Scrooge was not holding himself so well.
Donald clasped his wings to his body, increasing the velocity of his dive. Before he even knew where precisely he was landing, he was inside the train.
DiMosco jumped off the table he was dueling from, when Donald crashed right into it and rolled across the floor.
“Donald!!?” Uncle Scrooge shouted.
“My aviator suit!!” DiMosco added.
“Reportin’ for duty! OW!!” Donald said, as he saluted and hit himself in the forehead with his own wing.
“This yer big idea, tough guy?” DiMosco asked, with a sadistic smile on his face. “Can’t fight yer own battle, so ya get yer junior cavalry to finish it for ya? Well, news flash, pillow stuffin’: two ducks ain’t better than one!”
Donald was taken by surprise by how fast DiMosco lunged at him. He barely had time to block the attack when Uncle Scrooge intercepted with his own cane.
“Let the lad alone, fly! Scrooge McDuck always finishes what he starts!” the tycoon said, as his cane was parried aside and he shouted in pain when he was struck on the wound on his arm.
“Hey! No fair makin’ cheap shots!!” Donald fumed as he shot to his feet.
He swung his wings at DiMosco, finding the extra space of the lounge accommodating. He was able to duck, dodge, counter, and block effectively. But, he was barely able to keep up with his elderly opponent.
Every time Donald blocked, DiMosco wove around him with the agility of a matador and struck again. Soon, Donald found himself circling around, just to defend himself.
His feet began to tangle, and he nearly lost balance when Uncle Scrooge came to his rescue. DiMosco turned and parried the attack from behind him, while Donald took advantage of the magnate turning his back to him.
He was forced to block, and was pushed back when DiMosco jabbed his cane at him. Next, DiMosco jabbed the other end of his cane at Uncle Scrooge, who weakly parried.
Under one of the barstools, DiMosco saw his revolver. Knocking Uncle Scrooge aside, he leapt over one of the fallen tables, rolled to his feet, collected his gun, and aimed at Uncle Scrooge. All in one fluid movement.
A shot was fired, and Donald shielded his uncle with an outstretched wing. He shielded himself next when the firearm was aimed at him.
Holding both wings up before himself, Donald stood before Uncle Scrooge, shielding them both.
“Charge him, lad!!” Uncle Scrooge said.
“Charge him!!? We gotta get outta here!!” Donald protested.
“Do as I say, nephew!!” Uncle Scrooge shouted, as he jabbed Donald’s back with his cane and rushed forward.
Donald kept his wings up as they closed in on DiMosco, who deftly stepped to the side.
“Spread ‘em!!” Uncle Scrooge commanded.
Donald spread his arms wide, and slammed the edge of his wing into DiMosco’s chest.
The magnate was knocked off his feet, and discharged his revolver into the air when he landed on his back.
Donald pivoted around and fell down toward DiMosco with his wings held up to block.
DiMosco rolled aside before he was crushed, and before he could aim he was struck by a table Uncle Scrooge swung toward him.
The home remedy Uncle Scrooge drank was wearing off. He could feel the pains in his chest coming back. And they seemed more violent than ever.
He raised his cane like a golf club to swing another fallen bottle at DiMosco, but found the pain too great to do so. With a groan, he dropped his cane and leaned heavily on the nearest table. Another pain shot through his arm, making him fall onto his face as he clutched his chest.
DiMosco continued to fire his revolver at the blocking Donald, only alternating attacks with his cane when he needed to reload.
“Wait! Stop! You’ll ruin your aviator suit!” Donald shouted, as he narrowly blocked another bullet.
“I know! But, I can just buy me another one!!” DiMosco rebutted, as he swung his cane at Donald, who blocked again.
Donald swung his wings at DiMosco, who jumped back as he finished reloading his firearm and aimed at Uncle Scrooge.
Quicker than he could think, Donald dove into the path of the shot with his wings raised, deflecting the bullet. He quickly got to his feet and shielded himself again, as more shots were fired, and backpedaled to his ailing uncle.
“Uncle Scrooge!!” he said.
Uncle Scrooge had sprawled himself over the table, and was groaning weakly.
There was no other choice now. Donald had to get his uncle to safety.
“Stay behind me! I’m gettin’ us outta here!!” Donald said.
“Like blazes ye are…” Uncle Scrooge gasped.
But, he was in no fit state to protest. Donald grabbed his arm and guided him to the door, shielding himself as best he could with only one arm. All the while, he carefully counted the bullets DiMosco had fired. The moment he ran out of ammo, he was going to make a break for the open bay window. Once he knew his uncle was safe, he was going to go back for Applejack. Then, the two of them would take on the magnate together.
DiMosco fired another shot.
“Four…” Donald thought.
He shifted the position of his wing, anticipating the placement of DiMosco’s next shot, and successfully blocked it.
“Five…”
Donald held both wings before himself, ensuring that the last shot was blocked.
“Ha! Six shots!! You’re outta ammo, bug!!” Donald gloated. Before he could run, he quickly shielded himself when DiMosco charged him. “Wak!”
There was a sudden weight on top of Donald, when DiMosco jumped on top of the inclined shields. Pulling himself over the top, he pointed his revolver between Donald’s eyes.
“This here’s a seven shooter, duck!” DiMosco said.
Sweat poured down Donald’s face as he stared down the barrel of the revolver. He didn’t even have time to start saying his favorite prayer when the hammer started to move.
With no prior warning or action, an orange blur suddenly leapt over Donald and landed on the wing with DiMosco.
Applejack had found her way to the lounge and bucked DiMosco away with a buck she reserved for the sturdiest apple trees. But, at a price.
Just as he was hit, DiMosco fired his weapon, but had no time to see who or what he had hit when he was embedded into the wall at the far end of the room.
“BUCKIN’ HAYSEEDS!!!!” Applejack shouted.
At the sound of the gunshot, she felt a pain in her bucking leg like no other. It was like stepping on a nail and being bucked by her brother both at once. She could feel her leg stiffen and didn’t dare look at the wound inflicted on her.
She felt herself placed onto Donald’s outstretched wing, and looked over to see Uncle Scrooge had been placed onto the other.
“Hang on!!” Donald shouted, as he started running toward the open bay view.
Applejack and Uncle Scrooge limped along as best as they could, and held onto their hats as Donald jumped out and started gliding back to their trolley train.
DiMosco pulled himself out of the dent in the wall and rushed to the open view. He leaned far out and saw his opponents gliding away to the trolley train, which already seemed miles behind his own train. More still, he noticed that they had not yet reached the diverging track.
With a complacent smile, DiMosco knew he had won. Casually as ever, he walked over and collected his cane, which he had dropped when Applejack bucked him.
He looked at his cane with satisfaction. If the duck were smarter than the smarties, he would have guessed that DiMosco would never let the key to controlling all parts of the train leave his person. And with a simple sigh, the magnate holstered his revolver in the top, turned his cane around and withdrew a miniature remote control from within it.
With the simple press of a button, the tracks behind him rerouted, assuring his escape.
One last time, he looked out the bay window and saw that they had not quite reached the divergence. He also saw that the exterior speakers were activated, and smiled more maliciously. He walked over to the intercom in the bus, ready to deliver one last blow to his enemies.
Fluttershy watched tensely as Donald glided back to her with the others on his wings. Applejack was the first he dropped off, who yelped slightly when she landed.
“Augh!!” Applejack said.
“Applejack!” Fluttershy said, as she climbed over to the next trolley. “Are you hurt?”
“Yeah. Nothin’ I can’t handle, though,” Applejack said.
Fluttershy nearly turned green when she saw the wound her friend sustained.
“Your leg!” she gasped.
“It ain’t as bad as it looks. I don’t think. But, Mr. McDuck…”
Before Fluttershy could ask what was wrong, Donald landed in the trolley with them, cradling his uncle.
For the first time in her life, Fluttershy wasn’t sure she could help an ailing creature. She wished more than anything that her first aid skills were up to par, but for as bad as Uncle Scrooge looked, she thought all she could do was make him comfortable.
She removed one of Donald’s wings and wedged it against the wall and the floor of the trolley. Next, she cushioned it with Donald’s folded aviator jacket. Once that was done, they all gently laid Uncle Scrooge onto it.
“Don’t worry, Uncle Scrooge. We’ll get you some help at the next stop. And we’ll swat that fly together!” Donald declared.
“But...We’re going the wrong way…” Fluttershy pointed out.
It was true. They were so busy helping Uncle Scrooge that none of them noticed that they were going right as DiMosco’s train was going left.
“That lowdown rustler! He planned this!” Applejack fumed.
If he had both of his wings, Donald would have flown after DiMosco and torn him limb from limb himself. But, not wanting to disturb his uncle, he could only seethe with rage.
“That no good-- That piece of-- That son of a--” Donald said.
“Let it go, Don. Ain’t nothin’ we can do now,” Applejack told him.
There was no placating Donald’s rage and frustration. He was unwilling to accept defeat, but he knew that they had indeed lost.
And it was made all the worse when they heard DiMosco’s gloating laughter cackling loudly from speakers on the sides of the train.
“What’s that noise?” Fluttershy gasped.
Uncle Scrooge said nothing, but he glared at the sound of the laughter.
“Ya see that!?” DiMosco’s voice rang loudly across the desert. “This is why ya don’t mess with Bosco DiMosco!!”
Donald clenched his teeth and breathed heavily as his face reddened. It was bad enough to lose. Now, DiMosco had the gall to rub it in.
“Y’all might o’ faced folks what got fancy magic an’ don’t give a flyin’ fish about friendship! But, there ain’t a thing you can do about me!! I’m the fly you can’t swat!! An’ you better believe I’ll be seein’ y’all again! Once I got my battalion all souped up with the engine y’all were courteous enough to give me, it’s curtains for ya!!”
Fluttershy tried not to tremble, for fear of agitating Uncle Scrooge’s condition.
Everyone gathered around the ailing elder, not knowing what they could do to help. And the sounds of DiMosco’s laughter were not helping them to think.
For one last time, Donald looked at DiMosco’s departing train, which was quickly getting smaller in the distance. He knew they would see DiMosco again. And when they did, he knew they may well not survive the encounter. Deep down, the others knew as well.
“Oh! An’ to the ol’ coot who’s clingin’ to life by a thumbnail,” DiMosco continued. “I told ya I was better than you! I done everything you did, an’ more!! Folks’re gonna think o’ me who conquered ancient civilizations, discovered lost cities an’ rewrote the history books! When you pass on, nobody’s gonna remember who you were!! Or even if you ever existed!! You jelly-spined, yellow-bellied, corn-fed, bow-legged, cross-eyed, pin-headed, poodle-walkin’, perfume-stinkin’, skirt-wearin’, haggis-brained--MOTHER--!!!!!!!”
And that was all DiMosco had time to say, when he saw through his bay view something almost as large as his train’s bus come rocketing directly toward him.
There was a sickening crunch and the incredible creak of warping metal.
Applejack, Fluttershy and Donald all took cover at the sound of the impact. Cautiously, Donald peered over the side, followed by Applejack and Fluttershy, and saw DiMosco’s train had been knocked off of its tracks by an enormous wooden support. And with an impact that shook the rails, it landed on the ground, spilling its contents of treasure across the desert sands.
Somewhere among that treasure, Fluttershy knew the marvelous engine was to be found. Wherever it was, she hoped that Qard would find it and put it to better use than what DiMosco had intended.
Far away, set on the dunes, a gigantic ballista cobbled together from disparate parts of other machines stood.
Around it, many camels and zahaks looked in awe and wonder at what they had accomplished. Alone, they were stuck under the employ of DiMosco. By working together, the simplest of things destroyed the evil that had conquered their kingdom. And with it, the treasures that had been withheld from them were now lying in the sands.
Alshuhum Qard stood by the firing mechanism, and with finality cranked the lever back to its ready position, never once taking his eyes from the beast of a train.
“La salam laka,” the elderly zahak grimly muttered.
Before anyone else knew what to do next, Qard stepped forth across the sands toward the broken train. The sun was setting, and it would be cool enough to make the trip over the desert.
After him, the others slowly started to follow. One camel allowed Qard to ride on his back. And onward they all steadily walked toward the trainwreck, ready to claim their fair share of the treasures they had been promised by their former employer.
The trolley train clacked along the tracks, and picked up speed when the track started to gently slope downward.
Nobody would take their eyes from Uncle Scrooge, who laid rigidly against his improvised stretcher, breathing rapidly. Until the magical light appeared before them all.
Somehow, the sight of the gently twinkling light made them all feel slightly less worried about their situation. Perhaps somehow, it could find help for them.
“Well, go on…See where that light’s pointin’ us...” Uncle Scrooge weakly said.
Without a word, the others stood up and the light rose above them. Quick as a wink, it shot down the track in the direction they were heading.
Applejack laid down, easing some of the pain in her leg.
Fluttershy sat down next to Uncle Scrooge to comfort the elderly duck, before tending to Applejack’s wounded leg
Looking ahead, Donald hoped that wherever they were going, they would find help to save Uncle Scrooge, and end the magical quest once and for all.
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9591360
Ah, Master Splinter. You always know how to drive home a point.
My ventured guess for the "wretched hive of scum and villainy" is Klugetown where everything, even the hair on your head can be bought or bartered for with the right price. To paraphrase Terry Pratchett, the barter price could be "If I give you my hair do you promise not to break my other leg please?"
9596296
Not a bad guess. But, you'll have to wait and see if you're right.
Uncle Srooge! Uncle Scrooge NOOOOO! I don't know if I can read the next Donald arch!
Dirt pusher? Is that a reference to my Dirt Pushed, or is it just a coincidence?
9774051
It's no coincidence. To me, dirt pusher sounds like a derogatory term used against rural laborers. Sounded to me like a good insult to use against Applejack.