A Hero's 'Tail'

by Garamond

Chapter 4

As per my expectations, I was led into a new room today with a giant treadmill in the center. The room itself had bleachers and crow’s nests lining the perimeter of the same drab slate gray metal sheets for wall. All around were masked ponies toting rifles.

“Today, you will learn by trial and error. How long can you run the gauntlet before getting shot?” the Voice squawked through the intercom, making little attempt to hide her joy.

I knew she was trying something, but unwilling to resist, I nervously stepped onto the treadmill as it began to work. I started off at a brisk jog, followed by a trot, then a canter, then a full gallop as it reached full speed. The soldiers on either side of me primed their weapons and began firing into the middle distance at me from their perches above. Bullets were whizzing at me like a rain of arrows, but my instincts told me what to do.
Deftly, I ducked, rolled, and snaked between the torrents of projectiles. Feeling confident, I surged forward, outpacing the treadmill and launching myself off the front end. I landed on the floor some 10 meters past the treadmill. The gunners stopped shooting and began applauding my skill; the Voice, however, was infuriated at my success. I was led out, haltered and muzzled yet again. My exit was followed by continued fanfare from the gunners and the Voice’s hysterical screams of rage at how I’d defied death.

Tonight when I got back to my metal bed, I saw a pillow and calendar on my floor. There was a note attached by the same griffon, judging by the untidy penmanship. It read:

Brutus,
I left you a pillow and calendar to keep you sane at night. I’ve already marked off the passed days for you so you can know just how long it’s been since your incarceration. I’d suggest stowing the calendar and pillow every morning before inspection.

Whoever this benevolent bird was, I had a feeling he would be my ticket out. I slept well that night, clutching the griffon’s gift between my hooves.

***

Absolutely nothing of interest happened for the next month. Every day passed with the same routine: wake up, eat, flame training, obstacle course, gauntlet, torture, bed, repeat.
But one day, on December the 9th, (according to the griffon’s gift) a soft rapping came at my door around what I’d assumed was midnight.

“Wha- daytime already?” I asked, groggily getting off my palette.

“Shh… Keep it down. I’ll be right in. Be quiet, kid,” an unfamiliar voice whispered, echoing almost inaudibly down the halls.
With a jangle of keys and the turning of a knob, the door opened.

There, standing before me, was the rusty brown pony from my first (and currently only) escape attempt. He wore a Stetson hat, bandana, and a bandolier with a sniper rifle, which apparently was loaded with some wicked looking rounds. He walked in slowly. He closed the door behind him, attempting to make as little noise as possible as the lock clicked shut. I warily backpedaled into a corner out of fear, flinching slightly under his hard, steely gaze. Then, something amazing happened. He smiled at me, and his expression softened.
It was the first time in a long time I’d seen another pony, let alone a SMILING pony. And a glorious smile it was! I’d almost forgotten what the expression of joy looked like. He sat down on my palette, motioning for me to take a seat next to him.
I quickly obeyed out of fear that I might be hurt in some way.

He sighed a tired sigh, and then he began. “My name is Grit. I’m the leader of a bandit group outside of a town named Appleloosa.”

He opened a saddlebag and unfurled a map, pointing to it. “My dream has always been to make my fortune. I could retire with my bandit buddies and move back to Ponyville, my home town.”
He pointed to another spot on the map, by the border of Equestria, east of a dot named Canterlot. “Well, this little ‘side-job’ sniping down escapee’s for a lab pays well, especially for my continued silence. But after that fillyfooler dastard ripped those wings of yours off… Well…”

He paused a moment, seeming to struggle with something internally.
“I can’t stand for it. I’d hate to have MY wings ripped off. So, I’ve hatched a plan to get you and me outta here. You in?” Grit asked, grinning with a mixture of determination and nervousness.

Something told me he was going to attempt to bust out whether I came or not. Unsure as what to say, since I hadn’t spoken in a long time, I just nodded my assent.

“Good, now here’s what we’ll do…” Grit began, launching into his elaborate plan…