Case Two, Chapter Seven: Stormfront
The flickers of lightning that crossed the dark sky were becoming more frequent, the accompanying crashes of thunder growing louder by the minute. The rain assaulted the four ponies as they walked down the sidewalk of South Steam Street.
Daring shivered and pulled her shirt collars up in a futile attempt to ward off the cold as she flew above the sidewalk. “Hey, Trace, isn’t there a spell or something you can use to find and follow the tracks?” she called to the unicorn below her.
“My tracking spell isn’t powerful enough,” Trace Evidence replied. “The tracks we’re looking for would be too faded. Not to mention I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart from all of the other tire tracks on this street. We’re gonna have to do it the old-fashioned way.”
Daring looked across the street. Phillip was walking down the sidewalk on the opposite side, while Red was slowly following in the Commander, the car’s headlights piercing through the rain and the dark. “Least one of us gets to stay dry,” she muttered.
The honking of an approaching car caused everypony to look up. A cruiser was trundling down the street towards them, its headlights and door-mounted searchlight momentarily blinding. A familiar earth pony leaned out of the passenger window.
“Hey!” Bumblebee called cheerfully. “What’re you guys doing out here?”
“Searching for a suspect car,” Trace replied. “You?”
“After we cleared up at the auto shop, we went back on random patrol,” Bumblebee replied. “Prowl, think we can help them out?”
“We could use a few extra pairs of eyes,” Trace nodded.
“No problem,” Prowl called from inside the cruiser. Flashing her hazard lights, she backed the cruiser into a driveway and turned around to follow the group up the street. She panned the searchlight over any parked cars on the sides of the road that they passed, allowing the ponies on hoof to examine them more closely.
As they walked down the street, Daring noticed that the ponies in the stores and houses surrounding them were quickly darting out of sight. Pedestrians averted their gazes, refusing to make eye contact; doors were shut in their wake and curtains pulled tightly shut. A burro sitting on the sidewalk glanced up at them, then scrambled to his hooves and ran around the corner.
She glanced down at Trace Evidence, who kept his eyes in front of him, his head on a swivel. Her skin suddenly began to crawl and her stomach twisted; she felt like she was covered in a stinking toxic ooze that she’d gotten from being near these officers, the stench driving other ponies away from her. Once again, she was an outcast; once again, other ponies were pushing her aside without even knowing her. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. It’s not fucking fair.
“Ow!” she yelped, clutching her hoof as the brand began to burn against her flesh. She looked down at the red mark, at the crude, skeletal lines that formed the image of a ring of keys. The mark of the Family, forever reminding her of her place. She felt her eyes burn with tears, whether from pain or anger she didn’t know or care.
“What is it?” Trace asked, looking up.
Daring turned away so he wouldn’t see her tears and bit her lip to contain the pain. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Phillip had paused and was looking across the street at her, his face creased in concern. She shook her head and forced herself to focus, thinking only of Steamed Carrot, alone and hurt and scared. It didn’t matter who her allies were; their goals were the same. Find and save her.
“I’m fine,” she grunted, turning around. “Let’s just find these assholes and get Carrot.”
There was a sharp whistle from across the street. Red had paused in the road and was pointing out the window at a lot in front of an abandoned strip mall. Some of the cars in the lot were covered by tarps to protect them from the rain. “Go check some of those over there,” he called to Phillip.
Phillip walked over to the tarp-covered cars and began to lift up the tarps, studying the license plates. When he reached the third one, he threw the tarp completely off, revealing a Special Seven covered in fresh blue paint, streaks of gold visible on the hood, and the license plate ER0023.
“Found it,” he called.
Red and Prowl both parked their vehicles and the others quickly gathered around it. The car was empty, with no sign of the occupants.
“They’ve got to be around here somewhere,” Bumblebee offered, looking around as if he might spot them through the walls of the surrounding buildings.
“They could be miles away by now,” Red pointed out. “They might’ve switched cars or something.”
“Trace, you can use that tracking spell,” Daring suggested. “Follow their hoofprints.”
“I told you, my spell isn’t powerful enough,” Trace repeated. “The trail would be too faded for—”
Daring interrupted him by suddenly grabbing his shoulders like a vise and glaring right into his eyes. “There is a pony’s life at stake,” she growled. “And the more time we waste running around in the rain, the less likely she’s getting out of this alive. Now stop giving me this ‘I can’t do it’ shit and do something!”
Trace stared at her, his mouth opening and closing several times as he struggled to think of something to say.
“Do, quit acting so hysterical—” Red started to protest.
“Oh, shut up!” Daring snapped at him. Red reeled backward a half-step, his eyes glowing in shock and anger, but said nothing.
Trace looked at Phillip, as if expecting him to do something. Phillip just looked back at him and quietly said, “You can do it.”
Trace hovered in uncertainty for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, it’s worth a shot,” he muttered. “All of you step back.”
Everypony moved back several paces, forming a wide circle around Trace and the vehicle. Trace took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, focusing magic to his horn. The car became bathed in a golden glow as Trace’s magic coated it, searching for the faint traces of latent magic left behind by a pony’s hoofprints. Trace gritted his teeth and poured more of his energy into the spell, searching for some sliver of energy left behind. Sweat began to trickle down his brow and he grunted in pain beneath the physical exertion, but he still poured himself into the spell.
And then, his efforts were rewarded. Glowing golden hoofprints appeared on the ground around the car, revealing two separate trails. One trail branched from the driver’s seat and headed away from the car; the other exited the passenger side, walked around to the trunk, then followed the other pony.
Trace’s knees gave out and he collapsed into a puddle, huffing and panting. “Trace!” Red shouted, rushing over to help him up.
“I did it…” Trace panted with a weary smile.
“Knew you could,” Phillip said with a small smile, patting Trace on the back as he helped Red lift Trace to his hooves. “Let’s move.”
They began to follow the trail of glowing hoofprints across the lot, Phillip and Red holding Trace up between them. The unicorn’s horn continued to glow as he kept up the spell; fortunately, maintaining the trail took less effort than finding it. Daring flew above the group, while Prowl and Bumblebee followed behind. The thestral’s ears twitched from side to side as she listened for any suspicious sounds, one hoof on her holster. Bee hustled back to the cruiser and returned with a pouch carrying a walkie-talkie bouncing against his side.
“Just in case, right, boss?” he said to Prowl with a slightly nervous grin.
“Good thinking, Bee,” Prowl nodded.
They walked through an alleyway between two apartment buildings, circled around an empty church, briefly lost the trail in an empty lot overgrown with weeds before finding it again on the other side and continuing on. The trail began to lead away from the closely-packed streets and down a side road lined with oak trees and old houses with peeling paint on the walls and boarded-up windows. The leaves on the trees were starting to turn already, small slivers of red and brown peeking out through the green as the rain slicked off the leaves.
“We’ve got to be getting closer,” Daring muttered, shivering in the rain.
“How do we know if we’re close?” Bumblebee asked.
Suddenly, a loud, rapid, high-pitched chattering sound came from a two-story cottage with pale yellow paint to their right, the noise like a jackhammer banging against the sky. Bullets sang past the ponies, streaks of heat carving through the air. Everypony dived for cover, rolling behind a pair of parked cars as the gunfire continued to rain down on them.
“I think that’s how we’ll know!” Red declared, getting out his pistol. He peeked over the hood of the dark green Beetle that he was hiding behind. The distinctive chattering of the .45 caliber Trotson “Chicoltgo Typewriter” submachine gun immediately began again, sparks dancing off the metal as Red ducked back behind cover.
“Shooter in the second-floor window!” he declared. “Trace, you okay?”
Trace tried to channel magic into his horn and grunted in pain. “I’m out of magic for a bit,” he said.
Prowl looked around the back of the station wagon that she and Bumblebee were hiding behind and fired a couple rounds at the window. The dark figure holding the Trotson ducked out of cover, but another figure appeared in a first-floor window and fired back with a pump-action shotgun, every blast as loud as the thunder above them and as bright as the lightning. Prowl ducked, flinching. “Bee, call for backup!”
Bee fumbled with the hoofset, extracting it from the casing and extending the antenna with a series of clicks. “Break, break, this is Pawn Three-Nine! Officers under fire!” he shouted into the mouthpiece. “We’re on...where are we?”
“Tricycle Boulevard!” Prowl shouted, popping out of cover to return fire.
“Tricycle Boulevard!” Bumblebee repeated into the radio. “Multiple armed perps! Need backup now!”
“Finder!” Red barked as he reloaded and opened fire again. “You and Daring stay down! Don’t try to—” He turned around and his jaw dropped as he watched a gray streak taking off into the air.
“Be heroes,” he growled to himself, rolling his eyes.
Daring alighted in a tree behind the hideout, dropping Phillip onto a branch beside her. “You could’ve warned me before you grabbed me like that,” Phillip huffed, dusting off the front of his vest.
“While the cops are distracting them, we can sneak in through the back and try to take them out,” Daring stated, squinting at the back of the house. There was a rot-eaten back porch attached to the back door, which was secured with a deadbolt, and the back windows were all dark, coated in dust and spider web-like cracks; there was no sign of anypony back there. “C’mon,” Daring hissed, flapping down from the tree and silently flying to the door. Phillip easily swung down from the tree to land in the overgrown, yellowing grass beneath. By the time he crossed over to the door, Daring had defeated the deadbolt and was pushing the door open a crack to peek inside. Finding it clear, she opened it all the way and she and Phillip slipped inside.
They found themselves in a narrow hallway, the walls streaked with dust and the rafters above lined with cobwebs. A small hallway to the left led to what looked like a kitchen, with an old-fashioned wood stove and several cabinets with the doors just barely hanging onto their hinges; another door to the right led to a bathroom. The gunfire had momentarily ceased; they could hear Prowl’s muffled shouting, demanding that the perpetrators surrender and come out with their hooves in plain view. The floorboards creaked faintly beneath their hooves.
Phillip reached out and touched Daring’s shoulder, holding her back slightly. “Wait a bit,” he whispered. They both stepped into the kitchen to hide. Phillip took in a deep breath and let it out through his mouth, closing his eyes and stilling his mind to focus. His ears, nostrils, and tongue—fine-tuned instruments, a gift from his earth pony ancestors who lived in a time when survival depended upon detecting danger before it could present itself and fending it off with their bare hooves—began to probe the house.
He heard the male voices first, hissing and whispering from the front of the house and the second floor. Two were above them—one muttering at a frantic tone, the other hissing sharply in reply. The third male muttered barely intelligible curses to himself from the front window, daring the officers outside to come closer so he could fill them with buckshot. Then he heard another voice, a female, muffled, whimpering in fear.
More sounds and smells came to him. The dust of years tickled his nostrils, followed by the scent of fresh cordite, hot brass, and gun oil. Cheap cologne, ashes from the stove, faint traces of convenience store sandwiches and sweat brushed over his tongue. The floorboards above his head creaked as the nervous pony above them paced back and forth; the cartridges in his pocket jingled as he walked. The pony at the front of the house was half-cocking his shotgun, tapping at the trigger at a regular rhythm with barely contained restraint.
“At least three of them,” he whispered. “All armed. One at the front window, two on the second floor. Steamed is up there with them.”
“Let’s take out the guy at the window first,” Daring whispered. Phillip nodded in agreement, pulling out his baton and opening it slowly.
They proceeded through the kitchen, walking slowly and stepping with care to make the minimum amount of noise. They walked through an open doorway to enter a sitting room. A black earth pony stallion with dark green hair to include a bushy beard and the cutie mark of a sprinting hound was standing next to the window, clutching a polished Whinnychester 1912 to his chest. Phillip and Daring both paused for a moment, then nodded at each other and silently rushed at him.
The gunpony turned too late. Phillip’s baton went into the back of his knee, causing his leg to buckle; simultaneously, he seized the still-hot barrel of the shotgun and forced it down and drove his knee into his ribs. At the same time, Daring struck him across the back of his head with her elbow. Stunned, the pony dropped to a crouch and relinquished his grip on the gun, which Phillip quickly snatched away. Daring wrapped her foreleg around the pony’s neck and squeezed like a vise, crushing down on both his windpipe and his carotid arteries. The stallion choked and spluttered, flailing in a futile attempt to escape. After a few seconds, he slowly went limp in Daring’s arms. Daring lowered him to the floor and quickly checked his pulse.
“Let’s get the others,” she told Phillip, turning towards a set of stairs. She ascended up to the second floor with a flap of her wings, pausing at the top to give Phillip time to climb up after her. He walked along the edge of the stairs to minimize the creaking.
“It’s too quiet. What’s going on in there?” Red muttered, peering over the hood of the car.
“I repeat, reinforcements are on the way!” Prowl shouted again. “Surrender and come out with your hooves in the air!”
“Sarge, I don’t think they’re listening,” Bumblebee pointed out. “And Phil and Daring are probably in there now!”
“We need to wait for backup,” Trace said tersely. He gripped his pistol and gritted his teeth.
“Holy Mother damn it all, Finder, you’d better not be getting yourself killed in there,” he muttered to himself.
The second floor was a large square with a hole in the center for the stairs, with several closed doors along the other edge. Phillip paused to listen for a moment, then started sneaking along towards the right. Daring followed behind.
They came to a shut door at the end of the hallway. Phillip paused and took out his hoof mirror, slipping it underneath the door. He tilted the mirror around, trying to see inside what had once been a bedroom, though the bed had been replaced by a trio of sleeping bags. “There he is,” he muttered as the reflection revealed Soap Sud standing next to the window, armed with the Trotson.
Daring carefully jiggled the doorknob and found that it was unlocked. “All right, let’s get him,” she whispered with a grin, starting to push the door open carefully.
Phillip started to follow, but an itch at his nostrils gave him pause. He could still smell the cheap cologne from before: sage, the falseness of the odor burning his nose. It was stronger now, but it was coming from behind them.
That and a crackle of magical energy was all the warning they got before a wave of concussive energy blasted them from behind, sending them crashing through the door, tumbling across the room in a heap. Dazed, Daring looked up to see a unicorn with a green coat and a white blonde mane emerging from the room that he had been hiding in, his horn sparking with a pale green aura as he extracted a serrated knife from his vest.
Soap Sud turned, his shocked expression quickly turning into a vindictive sneer. He brought the Trotson around to bear.
Move! Daring screamed at herself. Spreading her wings, Daring launched herself forward and tackled the gunpony, sending the weapon tumbling from his hooves. Soap Sud’s’ horn lit up and his body glowed with hot energy. "Yeow!" Daring yelped, jumping off of him as the pain pervaded her hooves.
Motion in the corner of her eye attracted her attention. Phillip had engaged with the knife-wielding unicorn and the two were dueling fiercely, every strike met with a parry. The stamping of their hooves provided a rapid tempo to their deadly dance as they weaved around one another, each barely dodging the other's attacks.
He's fine! Focus on Soap! She turned back to Soap just in time to duck beneath a crackling arc of castfire. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as the spell flew over her. With a flap of her wings, she darted right at Soap, her eyes stinging as she accelerated. Soap's eyes widened and he dodged aside with a startled yelp; Daring's momentum carried her past him and she had to pull up short to avoid smashing into the wall. Kicking off the wall, she started to bank around for another pass but had to hit the floor to avoid another spell.
Daring quickly rolled to the side as another arc of white lightning carved through the air at her and seized one of the sleeping bags that was on the floor. She tossed it at Soap, enveloping and blinding him. While he was struggling with the sleeping bag, Daring flew forward and struck him with a dropkick. He flew backward and crashed through a door, tumbling into a cramped, dirty bathroom.
Snarling, Soap Sud used the heat spell again to burn through the sleeping bag, violently tearing the shredded cloth of him. Giving him no chance to recover, Daring dashed in. He caught her punch and their limbs became entangled in a mutual grapple, both of them fighting for dominance, neither giving a single opening.
Soap's horn began to light up as he prepared his heat spell again. Thinking quickly, Daring dropped back to pull him off balance, then snap-kicked him in the groin. A grin spread across her face as she felt his family jewels crushed beneath her hoof.
Soap wheezed and shoved her back, stumbling. “You fucking little bi—”
“Language!” Daring snapped, seizing a bar of soap off the rusty soap dish and stuffing it into Soap’s mouth. He choked and spluttered, bubbles blooming from his mouth. Daring seized his head and slammed it against the toilet bowl hard enough to crack it. Soap Sud slumped to the ground and laid still, a small trickle of blood running down the side of his head; every time he exhaled, more bubbles bloomed from his mouth.
“Little runt,” Daring snarled, clutching her stomach where she’d been hit. She could feel the bruises forming, both inside and out.
There was a sudden cracking sound and a howl of agony from outside. Daring looked up to see Phillip standing over the green unicorn, pinning him down with a hoof to the throat. The unicorn’s right foreleg was twisted at an unnatural angle, a shard of bone tearing through the skin. Phillip was holding the serrated knife, which was trembling in his grip as he breathed through his clenched teeth, glaring down at his defeated foe. A cut was torn across his cheek, a layer of blood running down his face. Phillip’s eyes seemed to shine in the dark shadows of the room; the constant tattoo of the rain against the roof and the window seemed like a constant, frantic heartbeat.
The unicorn’s face quickly melted from an expression of pain to terror. He raised a shaking hoof in a gesture of pleading, attempting to choke out a cry for mercy. Phillip slowly raised the knife with a sharp inhalation. A flash of lightning from outside suddenly illuminated the moment of death in harsh light, a roar of thunder ripping through the room.
“No!” Daring shouted, starting forward.
But as she said it, Phillip flipped the knife around into a reverse grip and brought the blunt end of the knife down onto the unicorn’s temple, knocking him out. He got off the body and threw the knife down onto the floor, letting out a noise that was partly a growl, partly a sigh as he shook his head, recovering his senses.
At that moment, there was a muffled scream from across the way. Both ponies looked up, then hurried out of the room towards the sound. Exiting into the hallway, they paused in front of a locked door. Instinctively, they both took position on either side of the door. Phillip nodded to Daring, who took in a breath as she shifted her weight onto her front legs. With a grunt, she bucked backward, kicking in the door and allowing Phillip and herself entry.
The room inside was mostly bare, with only a couple old chairs and tables inside. Silver Polish was inside, backed up against the wall. He was holding Steamed Carrot in front of him like a shield, one foreleg around her neck. The mare was tightly bound with several coils of rough rope and her mouth was gagged with layers of cloth. She trembled in her captor’s grip, tears leaking from her eyes as she whimpered. Daring could see a faint line of dried blood on the inside of her thighs.
Polish’s other hoof was holding a pistol to Steamed Carrot’s head. “Get back!” he screamed. “Get back or I’ll fucking kill her!”
Phillip and Daring paused at the threshold, their eyes on the hostage-taker. Over the pattering of rain and the roars of thunder, there came the sound of approaching sirens.
“This place is surrounded, asshole,” Daring told Polish. “You’re not getting out of this.”
“I’ve got the hostage, that means I’ve got the leverage,” Silver Polish snarled. He pressed the gun tighter against Steamed Carrot’s head, causing her to let out a muffled wail of terror and begin sobbing. “You get me out of here, or I blow her fucking head off!”
“You can’t get out,” Phillip said coldly.
“You’re gonna let me!” Polish snapped. “Or I will kill her!”
Phillip noticed a glimmer out of the corner of his eye. A revolver was sitting on the table next to him, the pearl grip tantalizingly turned towards him.
“I will!” Polish shouted. “Believe me, I will!”
His face was so twisted in rage that it was nearly unrecognizable as belonging to a pony. The hoof holding the gun did not shake.
Phillip glanced at Daring. She gave him an almost imperceptible glance and a brief nod.
“Believe me—”
As one, Phillip and Daring moved.
Two gunshots resounded from inside the house. “Shit!” Trace shouted and leaped out from behind cover, sprinting for the front door.
“Trace, come ba—oh, for fuck’s sake!” Red snarled, sprinting after him with Prowl and Bumblebee right alongside him just as three other cruisers pulled up, their lights spinning and sirens wailing.
Trace shouldered open the door and tumbled into the house, barely pausing to examine the unconscious earth pony by the window. “Finder!” Trace called, crashing up the stairs to the second floor. Spotting an open door, he rushed to it and barged in with his gun raised.
Daring was crouched on the floor, gently hugging an untied and shivering Steamed Carrot, allowing the other mare to sob on her shoulder. Phillip was standing over the body of Silver Polish. The stallion was sprawled against the wall, a bullet hole in the left side of his torso and another in his temple. His eyes remained open, staring at nothing.
“I believe you,” Phillip muttered, tossing the pearl-handled pistol to the floor with a clatter. He turned to face Trace, his face drawn and exhausted. Trace holstered his weapon with a sigh.
“Nice to see you’re not dead,” Trace muttered. All Phillip could do was nod numbly as he walked over to Daring, who was still crouched on the ground, whispering to Steamed. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly placed his hoof on Daring’s back. She glanced up and gave him a small nod.
Daring refused to leave Carrot’s side until the responding paramedics came, wrapped her up in a blanket, and guided her downstairs to a waiting ambulance. Daring and Phillip slowly walked back downstairs into the pouring rain and walked over to the relative cover of a nearby oak tree, leaning up against the trunk for support. They watched in silence as the shackled and bandaged gunponies were loaded into a paddy wagon for transport.
Daring extracted a fresh pack of Blue Camel from her shirt and inserted a cigarette into her mouth. “You okay?” she asked Phillip as she pulled out her lighter.
Phillip didn’t answer for a moment. “You?” he asked.
Daring lit her cigarette instead of answering. The flame shuddered and shivered slightly as she held it up to the end of her cigarette. She took a long, slow drag; the taste of nicotine and false mint flavoring stung at her tongue, and she sucked it down like medicine, allowing the smoke to fill her lungs and settle her heart.
“You really had to shoot him, didn't you?" she hissed at Phillip. "You couldn't have just grabbed him or something? Used your boomerang or some other shit? No, you just had to go and fucking shoot him."
Phillip was silent for a long moment, then held out his hoof. Daring obligingly placed a cigarette into his hoof, still glaring at him.
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I don’t know if I needed to kill him.” He inserted the cigarette into his mouth and turned to allow Daring to light it for him. “And I’ll be asking myself that over and over again tonight, and for the next night, and for many nights after,” he said, smoke puffing from his mouth and nostrils as he spoke, staring at the ground.
Daring let him think in silence for a couple of seconds, then pulled out her cigarette. “We saved Steamed, caught the bad guys, and plugged up a drug pipeline. We won, right?” she asked.
Phillip let out a quiet, noncommittal grunt. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess we won,” he muttered, staring at the wisps of smoke rising from the fag. Another thunderclap, quieter and more distant than before, rumbled across the sky and the rain slackened slightly, though it still hammered down upon the earth.
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Sometimes Phil, you have to do what is necessary, even if involves taking another pony's life. And Steamed Carrot's alive, so that's something right?
Yes!! Awesome!
8493641
So glad to have another reader! I hope you enjoy future chapters!
So, I've had this question since you introduced them, but are Prowl and Bumblebee a nod to Transformers Gen 1 and Animated? In Generation 1, Prowl was a police car, and in Animated, Bumblebee was the Police Chief's personal vehicle, complete with mini siren light. Add that they are partners, and were introduced at the same time, and it seems like a reference. Maybe it was unintentional, maybe it wasn't. Doesn't change that my first thought when they were introduced was "Is this a Transformers reference?"
8564825
Well, I've never actually seen any version of Transformers, but yes, I did take their names from Transformers. I felt it was fitting, since it's another Hasbro franchise.
Sure is a small town.
Why not wait for the backup?
He might wake up at any time. In addition to guns, our heroes should also carry cuffs.
In this case I think Daring is too careful with not killing.