Scootaloo Finds a Truck in the Everfree Forest

Admiral Biscuit

She saw it as she came around a vine-covered tree. It was lurking in the bushes a hundred feet away, bright silver-white eyes staring at her. She hastily backpedaled to safety, crouching with her cheek tightly pressed against the gnarled bark of the oak. Heart thudding in her chest, she waited for crunching brush to announce that it had spotted her.

She squinted her eyes shut and waited. She’d been crusading alone in the Everfree—Sweetie and Apple Bloom had been doing things with their sisters, leaving her to fend for herself. She was certain that doing something risky was more likely to gain her a cool cutie-mark than the safe ideas Sweetie always had, although she was beginning to second-guess her decision. She had no illusions about being able to outrun it, but maybe she could outmaneuver it. Large creatures couldn’t turn quickly, after all.

When an attack didn’t come, she cautiously peeked around the tree, body still tensed for flight. Whatever it was, it was staying in the brush. Emboldened by its lack of activity, Scootaloo nervously moved forward to get a closer look. She knew that most predators in the Everfree would chase on sight; she was unfortunately unaware that there are some types of predators who prefer to watch and wait for their prey to come close.

This, however, was not that type of predator at all. As she stepped forward on trembling knees and took a closer look, she discovered that it was not a creature at all, but rather a strange construct. Its body was a dark blue, with a silvery strip of metal across the front, between what she’d initially believed were eyes. In short, she had discovered a 1969 Chevrolet C/10 pickup, although she was unaware of what such a thing was, as they were not native to Equestria.

Now intrigued, she jammed herself into the brush to get a better look, ignoring the branches that plucked at her coat. It was only natural that her eyes would investigate from bottom to top, so it happened that the first thing she discovered was the wheels. She liked wheels—things with wheels were things that could be taken on crusades.

She sniffed carefully at its sides, wondering at the strange smell it seemed to be emitting. It was kind of like lamp oil, but sharper. Deciding that was a mystery to be solved later, she wormed her way to the back, looking up in wonder at the strange red eyes it had and the giant white markings across the backside. There was a silver step that ran across the back; with a furious flapping of her wings she managed to leap onto it and perch with her hind legs on the step while her forelegs draped over the back so she could see inside.

Here, it looked like pretty much every wagon she’d ever seen, although the wheels were tucked up underneath, and there were metal strips separating the floor planks. With a lot of grunting and flapping, she finally managed to get a hindleg hooked across the tailboard and gracelessly flopped down into the back. Her nose quickly found that the floor was littered with fairly fresh alfalfa, and she was never one to let an opportunity slip through her hooves: she began contentedly munching on it while she pondered her next move.

It was pretty obviously some kind of wagon. She’d never seen a wagon like this before, but everypony knew that the Everfree operated under its own Discordian rules. It would have taken a whole team of ponies to pull, and she couldn’t imagine how it could have even gotten here in the first place, or why it would have been abandoned. Maybe one of the legion of Everfree monsters had dragged it here and forgotten it.

With a fuller belly, she began pacing around the cargo area. She finally stopped with her muzzle pressed up against a glass window—quite a strange thing to have in a wagon that appeared to be for work. Some of the fancy Canterlot carriages had glass panes in their windows, but such a thing was far too decadent for a hard-working town like Ponyville. Still, it didn’t require a genius to know that windows were designed to be looked out of, so there clearly was a way to get in.

Scootaloo studied the cabin intently. It had a large black wheel on one side, and reminded her of the parade float they’d built—they’d used a wheel to steer it. Why, it might even have hoof pedals to make it go! It was a lot bigger than her scooter, and therefore a lot cooler.

She sighed. If she couldn’t get in, it would hardly matter. If everything else failed, she could always buck out the window, but that would get broken glass everywhere, and broken glass was very sharp. She’d cut her hoof on some once and had to go to the hospital and get fixed up, and it hurt a lot for a few days—she wasn’t allowed to walk on it at all, which was even worse. It was not an experience she really wanted to repeat.

A close examination of the panes of the window gave her the solution she was looking for. There was a slight seam in the center, which meant it could probably be opened. She managed to carefully work her hoof into the gap, and the window panes slid open with little persuasion, leaving a gap in the center easily big enough for an adventurous filly.

She gently squeezed herself through the opening, cautiously sliding down the cushioned couch and began inspecting the cabin thoroughly.

She began by sitting in what she presumed was the operator’s position. As she had guessed, a pair of pedals were positioned underneath the tiller wheel . They were obviously not sized for a filly—she could hardly get her hooves to the edge of the wheel, and she certainly coudn’t grip it—and her hind hooves only reached the pedals if she scooted her rump dangerously close to the edge of the couch. It made sense—such a wagon was clearly meant for a big pony, like Big Mac.

To her left, a flat panel held a few chrome levers, which were within reach of an adult operator. She had to scooch over to reach them, but some experimentation revealed that the lever opened the door, while the crank made the window go up and down. The other door was similarly equipped.

In front of her, a dashboard reached across the cabin, filled with strange knobs and gauges. Being an inquisitive filly, she naturally had to try to use each one.

Some of them had no apparent effect, although one to her left could be pulled out, which made lights come on across the dashboard. The greenish glow actually looked quite pretty, she thought, then winced at having such a thought. It would have been cooler if it had made flames come out, or something like that.

On the opposite side of the column which supported the tiller wheel, a flat blade with a dangling ring of keys stuck into the dashboard. Keys were wonderful things—each one might open a secret door or a chest or something. Daring Do was always looking for the key to something.

Scootaloo grasped it with her teeth and gently turned it clockwise, wondering what strange mystery it would unlock. She leapt back as a loud sound roared out of the dashboard, but then began slowly nodding her head to the beat. It was music—a strange kind of music, unknown to her—but it was clearly coming from some sort of hidden record player. A little more experimentation revealed the knob that controlled the volume of the music, and she set it to a more reasonable level. There was no reason to draw predators to her, after all. While music might have charms to soothe a savage beast, she worried it might be soothed only after a belly-full of filly.

With the volume sorted out, she turned her attention back to the ring of keys. She’d had the presence of mind to remember which way she turned it to unlock the music; and sure enough, when she turned it counterclockwise, the music stopped.

Music. No music. Music. No music. She’d mostly figured out how this thing worked, but she’d pushed the pedals and turned the tiller wheel, and nothing had happened. It might need to be recharged by a unicorn.

Scootaloo wasn’t ready to give up quite yet, though. She imagined that discovering a heretofore unknown type of wagon might be a way to get her cutie mark. It hadn’t appeared yet, but that didn’t totally rule out the possibility. Surely, it would be even more likely if she could get it back to Ponyville herself. It was obviously too large for her to pull, so the only option was to get it there under its own power, were such a thing possible. The device which had shown the most promise thus far was the key in the dashboard. Without any hesitation, Scootaloo turned it further clockwise with her mouth.

She nearly wet herself as the wagon made a very predatory rur rur rur rur and began trembling. With a sudden roar it came to life. Across the dashboard, red and amber lights illuminated. As soon as her breathing slowed to normal, Scootaloo slumped back into the couch and gave her a few moments to recover. She apparently had figured out how to turn it on, although it was really bucking noisy. No wonder the record player had been so loud.

Sure enough, when she turned it up, it mostly drowned out the loud purring noise the wagon was making. Scootaloo wasn’t sure if the strange wailing shriek coming from the dash was an improvement, although whoever had left the thing here had clearly meant for it to be.

She slid over to the driving position, getting herself into the best position to see through the windscreen and reach the pedals and tiller wheel. It was quite awkward, and she wished that there were some way to move the couch forward, but a quick glance underneath had revealed that it was securely bolted down.

Neither pedal caused the wagon to move, to her frustration. The one on the right, however, caused the wagon to go from a loud purr to a screaming roar. She yanked her hoof off that one as fast as she could, coughing as a blue cloud of smoke billowed into the operator’s cabin through the open back window.

There were a couple of levers she hadn’t tried. One to the right of the tiller wheel, and one to the left. Carefully considering her options, she decided that since the pedal which made it louder was on the right, that must be the side that also made it go forward. She shoved the lever towards the dashboard since she wanted to go forward. It didn’t budge.

Not one to give up easily, she wiggled it a little, and it dropped down into a detent. The purring from the wagon changed, and she was suddenly tossed off the seat unto the floor as the wagon lurched backwards ten feet and crashed into a tree hard enough to rain acorns across its metal roof.

She hastily moved the lever back up, noting as she did that a pointer just forward of the wheel also moved.

Hmm. Everything on this wagon seems to respond favorably when I move knobs and dials clockwise, and turn off when I rotate them counterclockwise. Without a moment’s further hesitation, she braced herself and dragged the lever toward the floor. The wagon eagerly surged forward, branches crackling under its rubber wheels as it crawled out of the underbrush.

With a grin fit to split her face, Scootaloo aimed for Ponyville. She couldn’t wait to show this off to everypony.

Author's Notes:

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