“750 each?” I sputtered. My head was still hazy from the sudden awakening, and a headache threatened to bloom as I tried to run the mental math. Under normal circumstances, or even a busy sales day, I could have the answer in half a heartbeat, but now I cursed under my breath as I stumbled through it. If it was a two-griffon-job, Kyra was demanding at least... 1500 caps? With a possibility of the price exceeding two thousand if three griffons were involved? My breath caught in my throat as the headache lanced into my brain. Over a week of work, combined with my savings from my shop, and all I had in cash was 1100.

“That’s what I said.” Kyra wasn’t even looking at me, instead scratching under her beak with one claw.

I swallowed, gathering my thoughts. I could do this. I could talk her down. “I won’t go higher than 500 each.”

Kyra lowered her head to stare at me, with deadpan eyes. “So you’re telling me you need to have this job done right now, and you can’t pay higher than 500.” She snorted. “750. Two griffons minimum. That’s the lowest price you’ll find anywhere in the Wasteland, even if we weren’t the only game in town.” She clicked her tongue, grumbling under her breath, “ ‘less you wanna hire raiders.”

“I’ll pay you a thousand to do the job alone.”

“Fucking hell no. There aren’t enough caps in the Wasteland to make me head off on a ponyhunt alone.” She paused for a moment, then turned to leave. “We’re done here.”

“Wait! We can work something out, I can-”

“You only have a thousand caps.” My blood ran cold at her interruption. “I can’t lower our prices for someone who can’t pay.”

Grit stepped forward, putting himself between the griffon and the door. “Look, we could really use your help on this. S’important t’ her, got a lot ridin’ on this. What if she paid you th’ caps and you came along with us. Extra pair o’ hooves could help. Er, claws.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “So instead of paying me to head off alone, you’d pay me to babysit?” She snapped her tail on the floor. “A solo job of guarding two ponies in the Bayou is worse than heading out alone. The answer is no.”

She started walking towards the door, and stopped halfway outside. “Sorry,” she threw over her shoulder. “But if you get the caps and can contact us again, we can work somethin’ out.”

Kyra stepped outside, and closed the door. My mind raced to still try to think of something I could bargain with, and I jumped to my hooves to follow. The sound of wings flapping stopped me in my hooves.

She was gone.

My ears fell and I dropped to the floor. This was the whole plan! I’d scraped and saved and sold and run a gauntlet through a prison, all to have enough money to buy a mercenary!

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes. I still had almost a week. I could make some more sales, get enough caps together, and call the Talons again. Kyra even said the same herself. Maybe Bourbon had some kind of facility where I could set up a makeshift forge, or do some repairs around town. I could-

The door crashed open with a BANG as it hit the wall. My train of thought halted immediately, head snapping up to see the two unicorns in weathered barding step in. I recognized one of them from the watch tower when we first arrived in Sugarland. They each held rifles in magical grips, which they levelled straight at us. Following them a few steps later was Bourbon.

“What the hell is this?” I demanded.

The white-coated earth pony ignored me, turning instead to one of his guards. “Search their bags.”

Grit stomped a hoof. “Hey, th’ hell d’ya think you’re-” He cut himself off when a rifle swung to aim straight at his forehead.

“Simple,” Bourbon answered. “It’s like I told Miss Shaper over there. Lookin’ out for me an’ mine.”

He kept talking, while one of the unicorns upturned Grit’s saddlebags, sifting through the contents. “Y’all refused t’ give us a straight answer ‘bout your business with th’ Talons, so I had Martini set us up in th’ next room over. I’m disappointed in what I heard.”

My mouth opened to say something, but my mind was still reeling from Kyra’s rejection, the shock, and the headache. I couldn’t come up with a convincing lie. The pony searching us set aside Grit’s saddlebags and moved to grab mine. “Wait!” I jumped to my hooves.

“I’m ‘fraid we’re well past that point.” The guard upended my saddlebags, spilling their contents onto the floor. And right in the center of the pile, with a jangling of metal, the most damning evidence against me fell into perfect view.

Malice’s “gift” to me. The chains, collar, and hoofcuffs I was ordered to attach to Copper.

My blood ran cold and my neck and forelegs itched at the sight of them as Bourbon nudged at them with a forehoof. When he looked back at me, his scowl made my ears fall back against my head. I hit the wall behind me. I hadn’t even realized I was backing away from him. “It’s… It’s not what you think, I-”

“Save it,” Bourbon spat. “Get outta my town.”

“But-”

“Get. Out.” His voice was a threatening growl now. “You’re lucky I’m not putting a bullet in both o’ y’all. Your kind ain’t welcome here.” He scooped the cuffs into my saddlebag with the rest of my things, and just as I was stepping forward to heft it onto my back, he spun and bucked the bag at me. I tried to jump, but the bag hammered into my side. Suddenly, I was on the floor, curled up and gasping for breath. I screamed at my lungs to inhale, but all I could do was rasp in small sips of air. My gut ached and tears welled in my eyes as I struggled to my hooves, and finally managed to get my saddlebags on.

I let Grit help me tie the strap down, and we walked out of Marty’s at gunpoint.

* * * * * * *

We stopped to rest at the first spot that gave us a little bit of shelter, though it was just a concrete wall in the middle of the swamp. The floor was uneven, cracked with patches of mud slowly swallowing it up. My side was still sore, and if I tried to take a deep breath, a sharp pain in my chest made me wince. I sat down on my haunches and stared at the ground, my ears falling flat against my head. My gut was locked in a vice, tightening up and strangling me from within as I tried to wriggle my way out of this.

“Hey,” Grit started, approaching me, “Don’t pay no mind t’ that asshole. We’ll figure somethin’ out, yea?”

I shuddered, feeling a lump in my throat that I couldn’t swallow. I closed my eyes as tears threatened to form in them again, images of Malice grinning wickedly at me filling my mind. I wondered if she was tracking me now, watching through that rifle of hers and waiting to blow my head off, just wanting to get one last laugh out of me before she did. Her or her gang were probably watching me. I curled up on the ground, trying to hide from my own thoughts. My memory flickered back to that first night in my home, after Malice had left. After Gumbo had kicked me out.

I just wanted to go home.

Something poked me in the side, and I looked up to realize Grit was standing over me. There was something strange in his eyes, for just a moment. Was that pity? Goddesses… “We should find someplace t’ bunk down.” He glanced up at the sky, and as if on cue I saw a flicker of light above. A low grumbling of thunder. I nodded, and he started walking into the Bayou. I stood up and slowly walked after him.

My chest still ached.

* * * * * * *

The torrent of rain hit us fast, drenching us both to the bone and plastering our manes to our heads, even through the thick canopy overhead. Grit’s tail dragged in the mud, and mine glued itself to my hind legs as we trudged in the mud. Grit picked up his pace to a trot, and kept calling for me to move faster. I tried, but my hooves felt like they were shod in stone. I kept a slow trot, spraying mud and rainwater up around me. I thought I heard Grit call something about radiation, but I couldn’t make it out between the rainfall and cracks of thunder.

I picked up my pace as I felt nausea start to seep into me, and chills wracked my body. I felt my saddlebags get a little heavier, and so I pushed myself to follow Grit as he searched for any sort of shelter. Eventually, we found a field of skywagons and carriages, though most were rusted to nearly nothing. Grit ushered me towards one of the that were partially-intact; this one looked like it had been cut in half, leaving part of a cylinder lying in the mud. But it was dry inside, and the windows too small to let much rainwater in, so we hurried inside.

Inside, the smell of rust and mildew almost made me gag. Grit stripped off his sopping wet Stable barding and pulled out a bright orange packet of Rad-Away, sucking down half its contents before floating it over to me. I followed suit, pulling my own barding off and finishing the Rad-Away. As I tossed my armor to the floor, my eyes fell on the engravings that I’d carved on each shoulder. It was only a few weeks ago. The Ministry of Morale office. Chainlink. The zebras. My jaw tightened. How could I have been so stupid?! I snarled and reared a foreleg into the air, where it wavered. My tail flicked at the air. My teeth ground at each other. I thought I heard Grit’s voice. But I just stared at those two little shoulder plates. An anvil, like the one in my cutie mark. An apple, like the mare in that propaganda poster.

I smashed my forehoof down next to them, on the grimy floor, denting it with a resounding clang!

They were still my creations. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t. I glanced up to see Grit staring at me again. Heat flushed my face in a rush; I’d forgotten he was in here with me. “C’mon, Alloy, we’ll figure somethin’ out. Let’s talk out a new plan, yea?”

I flopped to the floor, facing the wall and curling up, tail wrapping around my hind legs. Couldn’t even get a moment of privacy, and now I was wearing my emotions on my hoof like a filly. And I couldn’t kick him out of the wagon; there was nowhere else to go. “Just let me rest a moment,” I lied. “I’ll think of something.” Like last time I was backed into a corner. I thought of something. Safe at home, with my forge. I squeezed my eyes shut.

“No need t’ do this all yourself. C’mon, let’s brainstorm together”

“Grit.”

“Oh hey, what if we-”

“Grit!”

He fell silent, and I could feel his eyes boring into me. He wanted to help, I know. I couldn’t. I just wanted some peace to myself.

I convulsed and contorted with a hacking cough, rattling my lungs as my rapid breathing caught in my chest, choking me on the thick, humid air. The cold rainwater had seeped into my coat and hide, sending a shiver through me. If only it hadn’t been fucking raining. I tried to close my eyes and picture my home, imagining the rain was the crackling of my lit forge. The clatter of rainfall on the skywagon was a pale imitation, and when I opened my eyes, there was nothing but the rusty wall.

I curled up tighter on myself, my wet tail swishing on the floor. What the hell do I do…?

“This is the Wasteland!” The memory flashed into my mind.

My father. My last night in New Appleloosa.

“You do whatever you have to, or you die! The Wasteland’ll kill anypony who doesn’t, or worse!”

My ear flicked, and I flinched a little, even at the memory. He’d been furious. I was too. My throat raw from screaming. Eyes wet with tears. The whole town had probably heard us, but I hadn’t cared. I had called him a liar, a monster. “You won’t last a year out there!” I’d spat on the ground. Or maybe I’d kicked him. Or maybe I’d wanted to do those and instead just kept screaming. I couldn’t remember. He’d gotten the last word in: “YOU WON’T LAST A YEAR!”

No! My eyes shot open and I jumped back to my hooves, defiantly ignoring the aching from my chest and slamming both forehooves down on the metal floor. I will make it back home, and I will survive, no matter what he thinks! I screamed in my mind, trying to drown out the doubt that whispered failure in my ears. I took a deep breath and snorted it back out, standing to my hooves and flicking my tail.

I looked over to Grit, realizing he had recoiled away from me at my sudden show of vitality. “Are we near the gator nests?”

He nodded at me, checking his Pipbuck for a few seconds. “ ‘Bout a day’s walk north.” He cocked his head, “Plenty of distance ‘tween them an’ us.” He paused for a minute, looking out the bisected half of the skywagon before snapping his head back to stare at me, shock in his voice. “Are you thinkin’ what I think you are?”

“Grit…” I had to make him understand. This was the only way. “The only thing left for us is to head for where Copper’s airboat went missing ourselves. We don’t have any other choice.”

“The hell we don’t! We could…” his voice trailed off, leaving him scowling at the floor. “What if we go back t’ 15 an’ ask Studio t’ find Copper with th’ spritebots?”

“First, even if they agreed, the spritebots can’t pick up anything they find!” I’d raised my voice, but I didn’t care. “If they find his body, we’d still have to come back out here, and then make it back to where we need to meet Malice!” I stomped a forehoof on the floor with another clang! “Unless that PipBuck has a radio transmitter, this is all we can do! And this is how I get home safe!”

The sandy-coated buck looked away, and I wondered if I’d gone too far. He stepped towards the gaping entrance of the skywagon and stared out into the rain. I stared at the back of his head, wrestling with what else I could say to convince him. Did he have a better idea? Should I interrupt his train of thought? Was there another way that we-

“Fine,” he said, tossing his answer over his shoulder. “Let’s just wait until th’ rain clears up then, okay?” I nodded, not wanting to go out in the downpour myself, either.

The storm lasted until dark. In all that time, he didn’t say a word. It was peaceful, but somehow… unnerving. Whenever I stole a glance at him, looking up from the comforting pages of my comic book, I saw him curled up, looking away from me and staring at the glowing green light of his PipBuck.

It was for the best, he had to see it. This was the fastest way we could both get home to Four Shoes. Once we got home, I could pay him. Or work out some kind of deal. Life could go on, just as it had. We just had to get through the next few days, and it’d all be over. Just a few more days. Maybe when this was all over, he could spend some time back at Stable 15. Hell, with all the money I’d made, I could restock my store with all sorts of things. Take a few days off to just sit with my forge all day, like a vacation.

It was for the best.

* * * * * * *

At first light the next morning, I was jerked awake by my now-only-damp barding flopping onto my muzzle. I sprang to my hooves, violently shaking the armor off while barely registering the sound of a stallion’s laughter. “Rise an’ shine, sleepyhead. We got a trek ‘head of us.” I looked up to see Grit, dressed again in his armored Stable barding, ready for the journey. I was a little surprised to see him so chipper after last night, but I supposed someone like Grit would bounce back quickly.

I put my barding back on and hefted my saddlebags up with my magic, but something made me hesitate. I suppose it made sense after all the jewelry I’d sold in Sugarland, but my bags felt lighter. I didn’t have to strain my magic to lift them up anymore, though my back still ached when I strapped them on. Just one more reason to get back home, one more thing to look forward to.

Grit pointed the direction, and I trotted off, ignoring his protests to slow down. We could take it slower once we got closer to the nests. We could take it slower when we found Copper.

We could take it easy when we got home.

* * * * * * *

I did eventually slow my pace after we’d been walking and sloshing our way through the Bayou most of the day. I’d been so focused on moving forward that I hadn’t seen a slick patch of mud, toppling me onto my muzzle. I expected Grit to laugh, but instead he just winced and grimaced, waiting for me to get to my hooves again while floating one of his pistols next to him. “Luna’s sake!” he hissed under his breath, “Are ya even watchin’ where you’re goin’ anymore?” I glared at him as I tried to wipe mud off my mouth with a grimy fetlock, to no avail. “Look, we’re gettin’ close now, so just try t’ be more careful, alright? We’re in this t’gether, an’ if somethin’ hears you, we’re both snack food.”

At my nod, he took the lead, creeping along a steady walk instead of my determined trot. I followed suit, and looked around my surroundings, something I hadn’t taken the chance to do since we set out from the skywagon. The trees had gotten thicker, with cages of roots blooming out from their trunks, and the waterways were deeper and wider here. I suddenly realized how little I could see, and my ears fell back against my head. A small splash in the distance made me jump and close the gap between Grit and I a little. He was sweeping his head left and right, keeping his gun at the ready.

The silence echoed in my head and eventually I couldn’t stop myself from whispering, “How far are we anyway?”

Grit pulled his PipBuck up and examined the screen, his ears twitching, then dropping as he lowered his forehoof to the ground. “We’re… right in th’ heart of it. An’ it’s gettin’ late too…” He looked around, craning his neck nervously.

“How much longer?”

“Few hours til dark, prob’ly.” He nodded at one of the many cage-root trees that surrounded us. “Ain’t seen proper shelter in ages, so that’ll have t’ do.”

“Let’s…” I licked my lips, pausing as I thought I heard something in the distance again. “Then let’s look around a little. We’ll poke our heads in and leave for the night. We’ll search a few of the nearby waterways.” I was hoping we’d get lucky and find what we needed to, so that we wouldn’t have to come back tomorrow.

With a quiet sigh and a nod, Grit led the way again, as we slowly pressed into the swamp. We waded in the mud up to our fetlocks, trying to make as little sound as possible as Grit led us along the bank of one waterway. He’d said that this was the biggest waterway connecting to the Bridle river a few miles away, so it seemed like a good place to start. I could believe it, too; the creek was wide enough for some of the boats I’ve seen.

We crept through the muck as quietly as we could, following the waterways past a few branching paths for longer than I was comfortable. But, what if it was just around the next bend? What if we turned around and missed it? We’d have to stop soon, and I was resigned to turning around before we started losing the light, when something caught my eye.

It was a jagged, tangled mess perched on a bank. Its edges were hard, and the greys, oranges, and stained yellows stuck out underneath a veneer of mud. No doubt about it, it was something distinctly pony-made amid the flora of the swamp. I moved closer, nudging Grit to get his attention. His eyes went wide and he nodded. We crawled along the mud, and I didn’t pay attention to the cold wetness seeping into my barding. My focus was on the wreckage--and it was undeniably wreckage.

We rounded another thick tree, and a shape became clear. A pair of giant fans inside metal cage, both rusted and covered with muck.

It was a wrecked airboat.

I was barely able to stop myself from jumping to my hooves and galloping over to it. My ears flicked and my eyes were wide with excitement. Who needed a fucking mercenary? We had found it!

When we finally reached the boat, I climbed into it. It looked like the wreckage had been beached more than crashed, though I noticed that one of the engines had a few holes in it, and one pontoon was slashed open. “Let’s just find something we can show Malice and get the hell out of here,” I whispered. Now we just needed to find some kind of evidence that Copper was dead. Something to take back to that bitch so I could finally go home. There were a few lockboxes that looked like somepony had tried to rip them open. I opened up my bags and pulled out a piece of scrap, a metal bar, and wedged it under the lid. After a few minutes of heaving, and then with Grit’s help, we cracked open the lid, breaking the lock in the process. We both tumbled back, and I jumped back. Inside was a small sack made out of tarp, and a few books.

I stuffed them into my bags and stood up, just in time to feel a titanic weight slam me out of the boat and into the mud. It pinned me down, and something scaled and sharp tightened around my neck. I tasted blood in my mouth, and heard Grit cry out. When my vision recovered, my eyes went wide at the sight of a massive reptilian figure overhead. A wide, elongated mouth filled with teeth. It snarled and leaned over me.

A radigator.

I screamed and my horn flared to life, trying to draw my sword or pistol, anything. My head was slammed against the ground as a claw grabbed my horn and held my head down with it. “No magic,” it growled in a wet voice.

Wait… what? My head swam and throbbed, but the fact that it had spoken wasn’t lost on me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the gator holding me down turn his head over his shoulder and speak again. “Moi j'ai la p'tite bleue. Quoi du tien?” Only then did I realize that there were more of them. Two more were climbing out of the water. Where was Grit?

A different, raspier voice answered. “Ce connard m'a passé une calotte!”

The one pinning me down made some kind of guttural noise that I realized was laughter. “Si ti peux pas t'battre contre un poney ti devrais pas bien chasser avec nous, hein?”

“Prenez leurs armes.”

Frozen in the clawed grip of the gator on top of me, I felt my sword and pistol holster ripped away from my barding, tearing the straps holding them on. Another of the monstrous beasts opened up my saddlebags, picking through them.

“Celle-ci a des bouquins. Peut-être elle est pas le couyon qu'é paraît.”

“On verra bien.” The beast loomed over me, turning my head forcefully to meet my gaze. Something hit my forehooves as he leaned close, and I realized the gator was wearing some kind of necklace with a crescent moon on it. My attention snapped back to the gator when he started speaking again, in a strange accent I’d never heard before, “You resist, you die. You run, you die. You will answer to our elder. If we do not like your answers, you die.” He forcefully pulled me to my hooves, hauling me up by the horn. I gasped and cried out in pain, tears welling in my eyes. “Move!” it snarled.

I obeyed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Quest Tracker - 4 days remaining

Author's Notes:

Huh.