“Yes, yes. This is definitely the right direction...”

“I'll gut your filthy little cunt to make me a purse!” the mare cackled, machete swinging at my face.

A squeal of fright escaped me as I jerked awake, trembling in a sweaty stain. Darkness engulfed me, the only light coming from the half-dead bonfire that smoldered away in the center of the camp.

“A dream...a bad dream,” I whispered, holding a hoof to my throttling chest, eyes cast to the shrouded heavens above.

I had no idea how much time had passed since I’d fallen asleep, the lack of a moon and stars not helping in my assessment. A more detailed scan of my surroundings told me that Mist had yet to return from his watch. How long would it be? Two hours? Four? Gauge didn’t like him—or me—but I doubted he was cruel enough to force Mist to stay up the whole night.

With my night vision already ruined by the fire, I looked about the inner areas camp for him, eventually giving up with a sigh when his black armor eluded me.

A sudden urge to answer the call of nature drew me from my sleeping bag and away from the encampment. I made sure to stay downwind, swooping down to a secluded spot a good ways away from the sleeping caravan.

My stool was hard and pellet like, implying constipation. It was no surprise with all the stress I was going through; at least I wasn’t crapping up blood.

I skimmed back to the camp on sore wings, the constant flight throughout the day showing. It wasn’t as if I was out of shape or anything. I ate healthy and got in a good flight every now and again, just never anything as long as—

A black shape pounced from the darkness, slamming me into the ground and blasting the breath from my lungs. I drew in air quickly, trying to scramble away from my assailant and cry for help. But he—and I could definitely feel it was a he—pinned me down on my belly, pressing his weight down atop me and wrapping a burly hoof around my throat.

I’d just got enough air in my lungs for a shout when the hoof constricted, choking my words from me. I thrashed, kicking and flapping my wings, gasping in what little air I could past his hoof. What was he doing!? Were more raiders attacking!? Was he going to...going to—my tail tucked protectively against my backside, a whinny of fright escaping me.

“Quit it, buzzard nag!” a female voice hissed in my face, a feeling of cold metal pressing into my cheek making me grow very still. I was suddenly glad I’d already relieved myself tonight, “try anything and I’ll blow your goddess-damned jaw off, y’hear!?” she snarled. The barrel of the weapon dropped to my chin, lifting my head towards her. The remains of the bonfire, visible between two wagons, made the mare nothing but a black silhouette as my gaze was forced upon her.

“P-please,” I whimpered as the buck let up on his chokehold, letting me cough and gasp for air, “wh-what do you want!?”

“Nothing much, buzzard,” the mare spat the word with venom, “just need to send you and your fucking husband a message.”

Under most circumstances, I would’ve corrected her on Mist’s relation to me, but the gun in my face kept my tongue in check. No point arguing specifics when one wrong word might cost me my life.

“Y’see, we don’t really like your kind around here, in case you didn’t notice. You and your fucking cloud curtain screwing it up for everypony else,” she growled, the sneer in her voice audible, “despicable.

“But you need to understand. Maybe you fooled old Dual Gauge with all that medical shit, but you didn’t fool everypony,” she continued her tirade. I kept quiet, taking it all, hoping she wouldn’t pull the trigger as warm tears rode down my face, “we know you’ve got some other reason for being down here, whether you’re spying or trying to...to…” she paused, “I dunno, poison us or something! We know!

“So just know this: we’ll be watching you. And you don’t know our voices, you don’t know our faces, you don’t even know our names, buzzard,” she hissed leaning close, “But know that we know you—”

An orange glow grabbed her weapon, twisting it as she let out a startled curse. There was a click and two shells flew out the back, hitting her in her featureless face. She loosed a surprised whinny, twisting away and breaking the levitation magic as she fumbled with her weapon blindly in the dark.

“The shit!? Who—” the buck pinning me down exclaimed.

The same orange glow lit up a familiar pump-action shotgun as well as its owner’s horn as he approached. The mare stopped what she was doing, standing stiffly as she faced the newcomer.

“Break Action!” High Brass exclaimed, making the mare curse again and throw me a featureless look. The voice suddenly clicked: she was the vanilla mare that’d told Gauge about the raider bodies behind the chapel, “Aren’t you supposed to be on roving watch?”

“Shut the hell up, Brass! What are you doing!?” the buck hissed.

I saw the unicorn’s eyes shift in his magic’s glow as he turned them to my other assailant, “Rusty Ratchet…” he paused, eyes glancing down to me for a moment, “are you cheating on Breaky here or something? Or are you trying to violate our ‘no rape’ rule with that skimpy little thing you call a dick?”

“Screw you, Brass!” Rusty growled back.

“Yeah, how about you freaking get off her?” Bass replied, levelling his shotgun at Rusty.

I felt as my final assailant backed off with an angered snort, springing to my hooves and bolting for safety behind my young savior. With the fire now at my back, I could make out my assailant’s eyes as they glared hatred at me.

“You know she and that buck are full of shit, Brass!” Break Action snarled, stomping an angry hoof, “The Enclave means trouble wherever they go! They’re the enemy!”

“Get back on watch, Breaky,” Brass replied with tone dismissive and weapon levelled, “get back to sleep, Rusty.”

“Don’t forget what we said, buzzard!” Rusty growled as he and Break Action trotted off back towards camp. Venom reflected in their eyes with the dying light of the distant bonfire.

I kept Brass between me and them until they were gone, letting loose a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. He relaxed, shotgun lowering as the two ponies disappeared.

“Oh thank the winds you came when you did!” I cried, “I thought th-they were about to...to shoot me...or worse!” I didn’t realize my legs were shaking until I reached forwards to throw my hooves around his neck, tears spilling down my face.

After a moment’s hesitation he patted at my forehooves with one of his own, “I...uh...you’re welcome.” His forehoof rested atop on of my own for a moment as he turned to face me in full, “Though I doubt they’d have shot you. More than likely they just wanted to spook you.”

I set my shaking hooves back on the ground, heart racing too fast for me to care about the gritty feel. My stomach wanted to rebel against me, but I fought it back, trying to compose myself as I found more words.

“Wh-why, though!?” In hindsight it was a stupid question. The answer was the same one I’d been getting since I touched down: I was a pegasus. But still, not everything Break Action had said made sense, “They said they thought I was here to...to do something to them! Spy on them or-or poison them or something! Wh-what the hay is their problem!?”

“Breaky and Rusty…” he trailed off, searching for words, “well, they’re a troubled couple. Been with the caravan damn near since dad started it back when I was still just a colt. Struck out as traders and hired guns one too many times before they joined us. Things got better for them then,” he let out a breath, “Then Breaky wanted a foal, even got pregnant twice,” his eyes found my belly as he spoke, “but the first one slipped...second was a stillborn.”

A pain from my readying womb made me wince, dark thoughts settling in my mind. What would happen if all the stress of my new environment made me slip and lose the foal? As uncommon as it was, it was known to happen. I grimaced as I put a hoof to the spot, emotion rising in my chest.

“Them down on their luck and you being a pegasus,” he looked the way they’d gone, something like pity in his eyes, “well...you probably make an easy scapegoat.”

I blinked a few times, staring at him with a hint of bewilderment. Was he…

“Are...are you defending them?” I gave voice to my thoughts, outrage seeping into my tone.

“Them harassing you like that is wrong...them thinking of you as a scapegoat is wrong,” he replied, “I...I just,” he paused, choosing his words for a moment, “look, I’ll talk to my dad about them. They’re good ponies, they really are...just troubled is all.”

‘Troubled!?’ I thought, “Troubled!?” I exclaimed, seeing Brass flinch back at my voice, “They...she put a loaded gun...to my head!”

“I doubt she would’ve shot you,” he replied defensively, asserting: “and I said that I’ll talk to my dad about it. He’ll have a chat with them, probably give them a couple extra shifts as punishment. They won’t do it again.”

“And what if they do!?” I snapped back, glaring the way they’d gone. My wings wrung themselves at my sides, breaths coming out in noisy huffs. They wouldn’t have done that if Mist was around! He would’ve...would’ve…

My trail of thought sputtered to a halt as I realized just who I was yelling at. The only pony in the chapel who’d seemed halfway decent. The pony who’d helped pick up the things his fellows had tossed on the ground. The pony who’d just run off a couple of colleagues for the sake of a pegasus who he barely even knew...

“L-look,” I backtracked, uncertain for a moment how to proceed, “I’m sorry I yelled at you. It’s...I just...ugh!” I groaned, shutting up and trying to blot out the anger in my system, ‘calm down...relax.’

“It’s okay,” Brass replied, accepting the apology with a forgiving smile. He chuckled, “I’ve had worse things sent my way than harsh words,” he gave a quick snort, looking back towards the camp for a moment, “and plenty of that from my father...anyways I’ll walk you back if it makes you feel any better,” he offered, gesturing for me to follow.

“Thanks,” I said, giving a flap and hovering up over the dirt as I followed him. He gave me an odd look at the sight of me hovering just over the earth, but made no comment.

The walk back was short and uneventful. My eyes darted back and forth across the darkened ground about me, but I spotted no sign of Break Action or Rusty Ratchet. Mist still hadn’t returned when I finally set down on my sleeping bag, the sweat stains cold and wet beneath my hooves.

“What’s it like up there?” High Brass asked out of the blue, settling down a respectful distance from me.

“What do you mean?” I replied, caught off guard by the question, “I mean, it’s probably safer up there. Fewer ponies hating you or trying to—” the machete thunked into the wooden wall behind me...the mare cackled...I reached for my taser...I gave my head a shake, wincing as the vision flashed across my gaze.

“You okay?” Brass gave me another odd look.

“Yes. No. I don’t…” I fumbled over my words, searching the dark ground with my eyes in an effort to find them, “I...I...killed one of those raiders you guys found...out...out behind the chapel...”

“Oh...” his voice was uncertain.

“It’s just...I-I keep seeing it!” I exclaimed, “Over and over! Every time I so much as think—” her body thrashed as she lost control of her bodily functions, “Grr!” I growled, banishing the thought from my head, “I killed a pony! Why’d they have to attack us!?”

For a moment Brass had nothing to say, staring into my eyes for a few short seconds. “They didn’t,” was his final reply, “but they’re raiders. Ponies who’ve devolved into savages who rape, pillage, murder, and burn whatever they so please. Trust me, she’s better off dead. They all are, all three. A few less psychos in this world.”

In spite of his words it still stung me to think about it, “How...how do you cope with it?” I asked, then shook my head, backtracking: “I mean, you...have you…” I looked up at him, “ever…”

“Killed a raider?” he asked, bluntly, “Sure, plenty of times.” He looked back towards his hindquarters, lighting up his horn to reveal a shotgun shell depicted on his flank, “Got my cutie mark for it.”

His words were hardly reassuring, my gut churning and a hint of nauseous bile on my tongue. First Mist uncaring and now a pony even younger than I was? Was there something wrong with me? They killed a pony and didn’t even care, then I went and did it and woke in a fright!

“You gonna hit the hay?” he asked, bringing me back from my train of thought.

“I...wh-what about hay?” I asked, pulled away from my internal debate.

“You gonna go back to sleep?” he asked again.

“Maybe,” I sighed, “I’m not all that tired, really.” ‘Probably something to do with that vanilla nag and her stupid gun!’ I resisted the urge to add.

“Well, if you want, I could keep you company till your husband gets back,” he offered.

‘My husband? What…’ I was confused for a moment, before it clicked: Red Mist. “Why’s everypony think…” I trailed off, grumbling, “Mist is a friend, not my husband. If he had been my husband I would’ve had a birth card and I wouldn’t be down here!” I considered a moment, “and, well...I guess if you don’t have anything better to do I could use somepony to talk to.”

“No problem, I got a few minutes before I need to be on watch,” Brass replied, refolding his legs under him, settling into a more comfortable position, “So...who is the father?” he asked, hastily adding: “If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

Did I really mind? I had to consider that for a moment, before deciding a little conversation might take my mind off...other things I didn’t want to think about.

“I...he worked at the hospital with me,” I said, rolling over slightly to give my stomach a quick rub as I got another cramp, “This...it was an accident, really, that I got pregnant at all.”

His eyes followed my hoof for a moment before he spoke again, sounding hesitant as he asked: “And you really are pregnant, right?” his tone harboring just the slightest hint of doubt.

“You think I came down here just for fun?” I countered, tone just a bit salty. I sighed, mentally rinsing the salt away and restarting, “Sorry, yes. I’m only in the early stages, it’s been a couple weeks since Cloud Poker and I…” I trailed off suddenly, feeling heat rush to my face when I realized where I’d been going. That was a little too personal for pleasant conversation.

“Oh,” Brass replied.

I changed the subject before it could get any more awkward, “Why are you so nice to me?” I asked, “Everypony else I’ve met down here has either hated my guts or—” the electrode darts took her in the neck, “—worse…”

Brass frowned for a moment, the question catching him off guard, “Uh, well, why should I hate you? I mean, you’re nice, you’re a doctor. You saw our medical supplies; what you gave us really helped, it could save ponies’ lives, I reckon. Besides you’re...well,” he scratched at his mane, “pregnant...I dunno, it just feels wrong to be mean to a pregnant mare.”

“Yet everypony else hates pegasi,” I countered, “Not that I’m saying I don’t appreciate it, it’s just...well...” I trailed off, uncertain how to continue.

“Well I didn’t say I don’t hate pegasi,” he replied, elaborating when he caught my confused look, “Or...what I mean is: I hate the Pegasus Enclave just as much as the next pony. You pegasi could really help us down here, and that cloud cover’s nothing but trouble for us.

“But are those things you’re responsible for?” he finished.

“No,” I answered.

“Well, then, why should I be the one to blame you for them?” he inquired.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. The thought process struck me as surprisingly mature for a pony of Brass’ age. He was, by far, the youngest ground-bound pony I’d met. I’d have expected him to share the ideals of his hateful elders, yet here he was, defying my expectations. I opened my mouth again, but somepony else beat me to a reply.

“What’re you doing!?” Mist snarled, landing with a crunch between us and making Brass flinch.

The younger pony darted to his hooves, hopping back with a startled whinny, “I-I was just talking, j-just talking,” he stuttered, collecting himself. Mist’s tight jawline, just barely visible in the near darkness, told me he was unconvinced.

“Mist, we were just talking,” I put in, his bug-eyed goggles turning to me, “A couple of the others tried to...” I paused a moment to consider my choice of words, “...scare me,” I decided, gesturing to Brass with a hoof, “he ran them off, he was just being pleasant company.” ‘Kinda unlike you as of late…’ I thought, but tactfully chose to exclude.

“What!? Who!?” Mist latched onto the middle of my statement, visibly vexed, “What do you mean ‘tried to scare you’?”

“Couple of the others jumped her, tried to intimidate her, is all,” Brass explained, speaking before I could and earning Mist’s glare, “I scared ‘em off, and I’ll have a chat with my father in the morning. They won’t be doing it again, I assure you.”

“What? And I’m supposed to take that at face value?” he snorted, tail giving an agitated snap, blade gleaming darkly in the distant fire’s light, “I thought your father assured us safe passage!? Now I hear Skies here is being harassed? What makes your word any better than your fucking father’s? The hell should I trust you!?”

“Well, maybe because I didn’t blow your freaking ass off in the chapel!” Brass growled back, giving an irritated snort, a forehoof stomping the ground, “I coulda...but I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt!”

A mirthless chuckle escaped Mist’s lips, “Yeah, well look where that got you,” his tail swished behind him, showing off the curve of blade attached to the end.

Brass eyed the display with a huff, his own magic playing lightly against the weapon slung across his withers. Yet he turned to me when he spoke: “I will talk to my father about them,” he asserted, giving Mist a quick glance and trotting off, “good night.”

Mist watched him go, teeth bared in a half-snarl until he disappeared into the black of the night. Scowling, I turned on him with just a taste of venom in my voice.

“What the hay was that, Mist!?” I neighed indignantly, standing up to better glare into Mist’s emotionless goggles.

His snarl faded as he turned to me, regarding me a moment before replying coolly, “What’d it look like?”

“You being an ass!” I growled back, “High Brass is practically the only nice pony we’ve come across down here! He’s the only one who’s ever shown me any form of kindness! Hay! He stood up to the two who ambushed me, in spite of the fact that they’re apparently ‘good ponies’!” I air quoted the words with my wings, “He’s a good pony, Mist, why do you have to be such an ass towards him?!”

“Because I don’t like him!” Mist snapped back, “Him, his father, or anypony else in this fucking caravan,” an armored wing jerked out towards the center of the camp, “in spite of all the circumstances, I still think joining them’s going to take a turn for the worst! The second it does, we need to be in the air, and out of here.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to go around being a dick to everypony!” I retorted, “Sure, a lot of them are shitty to us, but maybe we can change their perceptions of us! Brass was ready to kill me with the rest of them when we first met in the chapel, but...but just look at him now!”

Mist remained unconvinced, snorting out a quick breath before dropping down to the earth, “Yeah, sure. Keep believing that. If two of them wanted to try and spook you for whatever fucking reason, imagine what the rest might wanna do,” he adjusted himself, finding a more comfortable position, “I’m telling you: we’re not safe here. One in five of the ponies here is red on my E.F.S. sooner or later there’s gonna be an incident.”

There was no convincing him, it seemed. “What’s gotten into you lately!?” I snapped, “This is the most you’ve said since we left and it’s all a bunch of...of...stinking, rotten, horseapples!”

“What, you’re actually asking that!?” another dark chuckle escaped him, cold and deprived of all mirth, maybe even a little mocking, “Look around you Skies, do you really not know!?”

“Hey, well I’m not stopping you from returning if that’s what you really want!” I let out a ‘Hmph’ and lay down, turning my back to him.

Mist gave a single grunt as way of reply, back to his new, bone-headed self!

The quiet was my only companion, heart rate elevated with the rage flowing through my system. I slammed my eyes shut, trying my best to ignore the occasional scratch of dirt on armor as Mist shifted where he lay. Yet my sleeping bag had grown cold and the fire was far away, and as much as I wanted to hold in the rage, I felt it slowly seeping away. Soon, a cold sadness was all that remained.

I peeked back over my withers, spying Mist still lying where he’d dropped. His sides rose and fell rhythmically, though at a pace that told me he’d yet to fall asleep. My eyes fell back to the dirt in front of me, a sharp pinch making me rub my belly. My mouth opened a closed a few times as I chose what to say, tasting the words before I spit them out.

“Mist?” I finally asked, voice quiet, almost meek. Would he even hear me?

Dirt scratched on armor as he shifted slightly behind me.

“Mist?” I tried again, a little louder.

“What!?” he snapped, anger hot on his breath.

Again I took a moment to formulate my reply, “I’m sorry things haven’t worked out lately. I’m sorry I decided to drag you into this, I’ve got no right to be yelling at you,” I paused, hoping for something, but Mist gave no reply. I continued, “but, please. Could you try to be a little nicer to High Brass? He’s the only pony down here who’s shown me any kindness...any at all. I think he’s a good colt, just...give him a chance...please?”

For a time Mist made no reply, silence and the soft whispers of a faint breeze the only thing that filled the night. Yet a soft sigh heralded his reply, “I...I was a little...it’s all just…” his tone was softer, if still rough around the edges, “I-I’ll try...Good night, Skies.”

“Good night,” I replied, yawning. My forgotten fatigue had returned to me, and, soon enough, I could no longer keep my eyelids open. My sleeping bag wasn’t quite so cold anymore, and I soon drifted off to sleep.

A mare with a machete chased me through my dreams...

My dreams fled from me, falling away like a feather on the wind, as the sounds of ponies packing roused me from my sleep. I blinked blearily, confused for a moment as my brain processed the sights, sounds, and scents about me. Grumbling, I settled my head back down as it clicked: the wasteland.

“C’mon! Up and at em, you lot!” I heard Gauge’s grouchy voice somewhere inside the camp, “Let’s get a move on!”

The deathly landscape was lit by the dim light of the dawn, shining through the thick, grey cloud cover above. Ponies rushed to and fro, the pullers hooking up to carts and the defenders slipping into armor and checking their weapons; a thin line of smoke was dribbling up and out of the food wagon.

“Skies,” Mist said as he donned his saddlebags, ever grim and hard to read in his armor, “time to get up.”

‘I figured,’ I didn’t grump back at him, stretching my wings briefly and hopping to a hover as I gathered and rolled up my sleeping bag, “Sleep well?” I asked.

“I slept,” was Mist’s only reply.

By the time I had my sleeping bag tucked away Gauge had the caravan nearly in position. With another whistle, he had it off again and so we continued onwards as light began to flood back into the wastes.

As good as the food was, Mist and I stuck to only a single bowl this time, opting to split a can of cold beans as well. Ideally, the combination of foods would be nicer on our stomachs. The muscles of my wings remained sore as I swooped in small arcs, trying to conserve my energy. A few of my feathers felt out of place, annoying me as I flapped my wings. I didn’t dare stop to preen, though. The ground would feel worse under my hooves and I couldn’t preen as I flew, so I grit my teeth and dealt with it.

“I’ve gotta muster with the other defenders,” Mist said once he’d finished his food.

“Oh,” I said, hovering a moment, letting him catch up after a lengthy swoop, “I...what does that entail?”

“Defenders just meet with that prick Dynamite and he hooves out the watchbill,” Red Mist snorted, he veered off towards the armory wagon without another word.

Watching him go, I considered following. Too many of the caravaners nearby were giving me harsh looks, and after what happened last night, I didn’t exactly feel comfortable alone. Before I could make up my mind, the decision was made for me as a mare called out from behind me.

“Hey, you! Pegasus! Whatever the hell your name is!” I turned towards the sound of the voice, spotting the caravan’s doctor—Leather Strap, as I recalled—glowering her way towards me. A dirty, white lab coat covered her purple frame, a set of goggles that would’ve been at home in a hardware store bouncing around her neck.

“It’s Healthy Skies,” I replied with a slight scowl, tone leaning towards harsh.

“Sure, whatever,” she grumbled, dismissive, she jerked her head back the way she’d come, pale pink eyes leaving mine, “c’mere and follow me.” With that, she turned back around as if we hadn’t ever spoken. Giving a snort, I followed.

“Where are we going?” I asked, flapping in behind her.

“Medical wagon,” she threw a glare back over her withers at me, “you say you’re a doctor? Well I plan on putting you to the test.”

I faltered only a second in my flapping, worried a moment. She was going to test me? What if she found out I was only a nurse? Anxiety began to gnaw at my belly, womb giving a fluttering cramp. I tried to cast away my unease with a soft snort; I was being silly, I reasoned, I’d been training to be a doctor for a good few years now! I had hooves-on experience from my work at the hospital! Yet still a tingle of anxiety remained.

The medical wagon was a little larger than average, at least by a good few hooves, with much taller sidewalls. Like some of the others it had a patchworked mess of tarp hiding its contents and was pulled by a pair of large stallions. Two more ponies sat at the reins, the current pullers’ relief when they needed it; both spared me a lingering glance as I approached with Strap.

“Two coming aboard,” she called up as we reached the flap at the back. The wagon stopped for a moment, long enough for Strap to hop in. Hesitantly, I followed and the wagon continued.

“I thought the wagons were only for ponies who couldn’t walk,” I commented as I settled on the hardwood floorboards, looking around. The canvas above darkened the interior a bit, and the place smelled slightly of blood and pony waste. A large chest and set of cabinets had been fastened to the far side, Strap was digging through them.

Strap, shutting the chest, turned about with a surgical mask—one of the one’s I’d brought, I noticed—set around her snout. I quickly took one from my own supplies and followed suit.

“They are,” she replied with a glare, “we’re just here for a quick check-up on my current patients, so don’t get too comfy.”

Looking to either side I noticed a set of wooden planks, supported by hinges and cordage, emplaced upon either sidewall. Three of the impromptu beds were occupied, the others folded up against the walls.

“Or, rather, I should say that you’ll be doing a check up on them. I’ll want your diagnosis on each, as a start,” her harsh tone remained, “You may begin.”

Scowling from Strap to the first of the three ponies, I gave her a quick examination. Putting on a pair of disposable medical shoes and pinion covers, I checked her temperature with the side of my hoof. She was warmer than normal to the touch, and when I checked her pulse it felt faint.

“Do you have something to check her blood pressure with?” I asked. The mare, previously asleep, stirred and her eyes fluttered open. They lacked focus as they landed on me, “Um...hi,” I said awkwardly before turning to Strap.

“Where would you get it from?” Strap grumbled back from where she sat, watching me.

“The...middle coccygeal artery,” I answered curtly, giving my tail a quick flick, “at the base of the tail.”

“Hm,” Strap’s scowl didn’t budge but she answered all the same, “it’s a little low.”

I turned back to my patient, thinking as I looked her over. Slightly low blood pressure and what felt like a mild fever. The mare looked out of it as she stared at me through bleary eyes, eventually closing them again. That made fatigue or weakness, maybe even disorientation or confusion possible. None of this gave me a solid answer yet, so I lifted her blanket with a covered pinion for further examination. Her ribs were a little too prominent through her coat for my liking; sure, many of the ponies I’d seen looked a little underfed, but this was more severe. I let the blanket fall back down as I turned to Strap again.

“How is she handling food?”

“Not well,” Strap replied simply.

‘No kidding, you nag,’ I held back, “Okay, is she unable to keep it down or is she having bad diarrhea?”

“Both,” Strap answered.

“Okay, is it bloody?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

I turned back to my patient. The symptoms pointed strongly towards something like food poisoning...rather extreme if she was bringing up blood. An inability to get nutrition due to vomiting and diarrhea would lead to fatigue, fever, and a lowered blood pressure. It would additionally explain her somewhat starved look.

Yet before I turned to give my diagnosis, one final feature caught my eye. At first I’d thought it was scarring or something, overlooking it: spots of missing coat and mane. They were few and far between, but if I was right, they could be a side effect of a far nastier form of poisoning. I took a careful step back.

“Radiation sickness,” I said, turning and spotting a surprised blink from Strap. That put a brief smirk on my face...even if it was short lived, “Is...is that sorta thing contagious? There...there isn’t much information on this sorta thing above the clouds,” I commented. I’d never seen cases of radiation sickness before, and I’d only ever read about them in the library’s older tomes.

“No,” Strap replied, pausing briefly before adding a grudging: “and she’s actually clean, now...thanks to your supplies.” I turned to her, surprised, “We ran out of RadAway,” she explained, continuing with a mocking lack of inflection, “Anyways, good job, whoop-de-doo! Next patient.”

The bed above the mare was occupied by a stallion; his problem was much easier to detect. My nose wrinkled at the smell of blood. He didn’t seem feverish, and wasn’t as withered as the mare, but around a forehoof was a set of bandages with a startlingly large spot of crimson staining them. The color told me the bleeding was fresh, the amount of it making me nibble at my lip.

“A large wound on his left foreleg,” I commented as I let the sheet fall back across him and turned to Strap, “Probably need to change the bandages soon.”

“What? Why soon?” She grumbled, hooves clopping over wood as she approached me, “I just changed his…” she trailed off as she lifted his sheet and spotted the bloody bandages, “aw, damnit,” she snapped, horn glowing as she waved it over him in quick sweeps.

“What!?” I asked, startled by Strap’s tone. She turned and cantered the few steps to the cabinets again, rifling through them, “What’s wrong?”

“Dumb loaf’s got a bullet in that leg,” Strap replied, not turning as she gathered her things, “I just got the bleeding down yesterday, was looking good when I changed it,” the cabinets slammed shut and she turned, a roll of surgical tools held in her magic, “Now it looks like I’m gonna have to remove the thing here and fucking now. Hold still.”

“What...er, okay,” I said, watching as her horn lit up as she glared at me, wondering what—I flinched back as a bubble of magical energy flashed up around me, condensing quickly and fading away. Confused, I stared down at myself, body feeling tingly all over, “What did you—”

“Sanitization spell,” Strap replied curtly, while repeating the process on herself, our patient, and her tools, “you’re helping me.”

“Wha...helping?” I asked, surprised as she wrapped the stallion gently in her magic, moving him to another shelf nearer the floor.

“What are you, deaf as well as dumb?” Strap snapped back, draping the roll of surgical tools across my back and gesturing for me to stand to her right, “Hold these, stand here. You ever performed a surgery before?”

Miffed at her tone, I trotted forwards and replied nonetheless, “Nothing as small as a bullet. Unless that’s just a puncture wound?”

“Nope. Bullet fragments in the lower left foreleg,” she set her goggles over her eyes. A scratched-up syringe with an elongated needle came up, followed by twin bowls of sharp-smelling liquid and what looked like water. She filled the syringe with the water and squirted out the air.

“Strap?” the stallion asked, coming around and wincing, “What’s—”

“Quiet, Autoloader,” Strap cut in. She lit her horn and pressed it to his skull. A look of surprise crossed his features before he slumped back, asleep. She spoke to me: “figures, it’s probably all love and tolerance up in that cloudy utopia in the sky. Whatever, you’ll assist me, then.”

She flung the blanket back, eyeballing the stallion beneath. Her horn ignited, purple magic wrapping around his neck and tail base as I assumed she got his heart rate and blood pressure. I shifted my footing as the wagon bumped, trundling along.

“Heart rate normal, blood pressure slightly lower than normal,” her magic faded as she turned to his bandaged foreleg, unraveling it and tossing the rags into a bin. A good amount of blood surrounded the darker spot where the actual wound was, which was surprisingly small.

With the syringe and gauze she cleaned away the crimson, using the gauze to wipe as the syringe washed out the actual wound with water; probably saline, I realized. She switched bowls and the strong smell of iodine filled my nostrils as she sanitized the area around the wound with a more mundane method, coating a goodly area around the bullet hole.

“You want a tourniquet?” I asked as she elevated the limb.

“Give me pressure points along the limb,” she replied, horn lighting up as she selected different tools with her magic: forceps, tweezers, scissors, and a scalpel. Somepony, probably her, had already shaved away most of the coat around Autoloader’s wound, “Don’t know how long this’ll take.”

“Tourniquet might make him lose the limb,” I commented, nodding. Reaching up with my right wing, I felt up Autoloader’s limb as I recalled where the major pressure points in the limb would be. Using my pinions, I pressed down in the spots I remembered, holding and wondering if this had anything to do with Strap testing me.

“No shit,” Strap grumbled, glancing briefly at the use of my wing, but making no further comments.

She began.

The forceps went in first as she eyeballed the wound. Even after seeing numerous operations, the sight of it made my skin squirm. I suppressed a shudder as she probed deeper into the wound.

Strap scowled over her bloody work, manipulating the wound, poking and prodding as she searched for the elusive fragments. The scalpel and scissors went in a few times, cutting deeper, making Autoloader’s face shift in his unconscious bliss.

“Any damage to the bones?” I asked. The hole looked a little off-center from the middle of his foreleg, and there didn’t appear to be an exit wound. Even I knew a bullet that passed clean through was better than one that stuck around.

“Barely missed,” Strap muttered, “I imagine it was something like a forty-five, slower, heavier, shooter probably nicked the tip to make it fragment—” her eyes lit up suddenly and she leaned in closer, forceps wiggling about in a slow circle. She’d found one.

After a bit of manipulation and cutting, the tweezers came free and Strap let out a breath, “Got one,” she mumbled, a sliver of bloodied-black metal clinking down into a waste tray. Blood had pooled up from the wound and Strap had to clean it away before the tools went back in.

“How many more?” I asked, worried. My wing was getting sore from pressing down so hard, but I didn’t dare remove it.

“Quiet,” Strap grumbled back, not looking away and missing the scowl I gave her.

A soft click of hooves on hardwood drew my gaze back towards the opening of the wagon. My surgical mask crinkled softly as I frowned at the sight of a filly. She was a small, scrawny little thing with a bright red coat and a fiery yellow mane. After Brass, she was the youngest pony I’d seen this side of the clouds.

She stared back at me with wide, pink eyes as I looked her over, not spotting any wounds on her tiny frame. What was she doing here, then? Was she here to visit one of the sick ponies?

After a moment she scrambled beneath one of the empty bunks, peeking out from beneath it like a spooked, little bird. I considered asking her her business or notifying Strap, but figured the surgery was more important. I turned back in time to spot Strap remove another sliver of metal.

“That’s two. Get his heart rate real quick,” she said, not looking up.

It took me a second to find his pulse with my forehoof, calculating it was another matter. Glancing about, I didn’t find a clock so I scowled and tried to estimate as best I could. It felt a little fast, which made sense.

“Heart rate elevated,” I reported, pausing, “Definitely below a hundred, though...I think.”

“You think?” Strap didn’t look away.

“I don’t have a watch,” I retorted, “or a magical horn poking out of my head.”

“Sucks to be you, then.”

Letting out a quiet snort, I otherwise held my tongue. I didn’t imagine it demonstrated good work ethics to argue during surgery. When I checked, the Filly was still keeping her distance and was curled up in a cute little pile below one of the bunks.

Strap pulled out another sliver of metal, cleaning out more blood with gauze and syringe.

“Do you have saline...for a drip?” I asked. While I doubted he’d be bleeding out any time soon, I felt it was always better to err on the side of caution...especially when a pony's life was at risk.

“Not enough,” Strap replied grumpily, “Now be quiet, will you?”

I let out a quiet huff, but said nothing.

As much as I wanted to speak up and actually help with the procedure, I didn’t have any hooves-on experience removing bullets. I’d seen larger objects surgically removed more than a few times—I even helped with one procedure—but something like this wasn’t something I was comfortable doing.

My wing was cramping up by the time a seventh fragment of metal was removed. At that point the tools came out for the last time and Strap bandaged it with a sigh.

Thankfully, I took my wing off Autoloader’s hoof, flexing it and rubbing away the cramps.

“Give him a shot of med-X, we’re done. If he’s got any more, they’ll have to be removed later,” Strap said, setting Autoloader's blanket back atop him. She looked part surprised and part annoyed when she noticed the filly, “Hey!” she snapped, “Kiddo! C’mon, get out of here!” quick and quiet, the filly scampered out, slipping through the tarp at the back, “Darned, little…” she trailed off, turning back to her tools and addressing me: “She here the whole time?”

“About,” I admitted, glancing towards the back of the wagon, “that was a little harsh, don’t you think?”

“She’s mine, I can say whatever the hell I want to her,” Strap replied, catching my surprised look and continuing, “Yeah, she’s my whelp. But not by choice,” Strap grumbled. The medical wagon rumbled and bumped along for a few short seconds in silence, “...a raider,” she added as if that explained everything. The haunted look I saw, however brief, was all the explanation I needed. I remembered how the raider with the hammer had eyeballed me back at the chapel, causing me to wince as I saw the mare’s machete fly at me in my mind’s eye.

“I’m…” I began, uncertain what to say, ‘sorry?’ was I? A slight cramp ran through my undercarriage, making me wince and derailing my train of thought.

“Stupid is what you are,” she answered for me, back to being a bitch, “you traded your nice little life up there in the clouds to hoof it with the lot of us down here,” she gave a snort, eyeing my belly, “and for what? What were they gonna do? Sterilize you? That how it works up there?”

“Maybe...they would’ve made me abort the foal. I couldn’t let them do that,” I bit back.

“Why not?” she asked, “You’re not too far along and I imagine they’ve got more than a rusty coat hanger to do it.”

A derisive huff escaped me as I wrinkled my nose in disgust, “I...I just couldn’t!” I retorted.

“See: stupid. Shoulda had the little bastard taken care of, not like you couldn’t have another one later on. But, no, you up and decide to join us down here,” she paused a moment before continuing, “And hey, I’m not complaining. Stolen or not, those medical supplies are a boon,” she poked me in the chest with a hoof, “You, though? You’re just an idiot.”

“I passed your stupid test!” I slapped her hoof away with my own, “or do you want me to diagnose your last patient?”

“Any two-bit nurse could tell me he’s got food poisoning. You passed my stupid test,” she replied, “and whaddaya know? Results are back: you’re stupid.”

“You know what I meant!” I snapped through gritted teeth, “so we’re done here?”

“For now,” Strap replied, turning to finish cleaning.

“Hmph!” I turned and hopped out the back of the wagon, taking to the air and scanning about for Mist. I didn’t want to deal with any more of these damned ground pounders, no more than I had to. Even if he was being difficult as of late he made better company than most everypony else down here!

“Shoulda had the little bastard taken care of…” her words rang back in my head.

“Lousy old nag,” I grumbled under my breath. What did she know!? What right did she have to judge me!?

I cast my eyes about, trying to find that familiar black carapace armor among the ground pounders below. Try as I might, my focus fluttered as more of what she had said found its way back into my head. My attempts to clear my head of her poisonous voice failed to keep her out.

“I imagine they’ve got more than a rusty coat hanger to do it.” A pinching cramp took me in the belly, drawing me closer to the ground as I stalled briefly.

I rubbed away the pain as the world started to blur about me, a heavy moistness filling my eyes. It was just...just dusty out! I scrubbed at my face with a hoof, to no avail as more tears welled up and my throat tightened as I choked back a sob.

“Stolen or not, those medical supplies are a boon. You, though? You’re just an idiot...” she’d said.

The world was a mess of blurry shapes as I felt warm tears spilling down my face. I couldn’t see anything, forcing me to come in to land, lest I run the risk of hitting something.

“...just an idiot...”

The gritty ground drank my falling tears readily, body quivering as I tried to hold them back. I continued at a trot, head hung as I bit my lip to stifle my crying. It wasn’t fair, none of this was fair! I did nothing to these ponies! Nothing! And aside from a choice few...a choice individual all I got was harsh words and cold shoulders. All I wanted—

“Whoa! Hey, there,” a familiar, grouchy voice spoke up as I stumbled face-first into a field of green magic, bringing me to a halt. Stepping back, I scrubbed at my eyes with my wings, revealing the unhappy face of Dual Gauge standing in my path.

“What!?” I snapped at him, “Wh-what do you want!?”

His already unfriendly scowl deepened at my tone, “A few words might suffice,” he eyed me up and down, “What’s gotten into you? Been crying...”

“Nothing. Nothing,” I tore my gaze from him, wiping away a few more tears, “I-I’m fine. I’m fine, just...” I trailed off.

“Hm. Sure,” he sounded doubtful, but changed the subject nonetheless, “High Brass told me you had some trouble with a couple of my ponies last night. I wanted to get your side of the story.”

At the mention of High Brass and the ‘trouble’ two of Gauge’s ponies caused, a new emotion began to fight for dominance in my head. Blinking away the last of my tears, I looked to Dual Gauge.

“You wanna tell me what happened?”

That I most certainly did! “I woke up in the middle of the night,” I started, sorrow ebbing as anger rose, “Flew out to use the toilet or...whatever euphemism you ponies use.”

“We’ve got toilets down here too, you know,” Gauge grumbled.

‘Whatever.’ “Well, I was coming back and the buck, Rusty Ratchet...I dunno, he was hiding in the shadows or something, I wasn’t paying attention. He jumped out and pinned me down, started...started choking me so I couldn’t scream!” I felt my tail give a lash behind me, wings tense, “Then his stupid wife or...or marefriend or whatever they are put her gun to my head and started talking nonsense!”

“What sorta nonsense?” Gauge asked.

“Nonsense like...like she said she thought I was here to spy on you guys or poison you or something,” I growled, unhappily reliving the memory with a curled lip, “She was still threatening me when Brass grabbed her gun or...whatever he did that unloaded it, and scared them off.”

“Okay. And how’d he scare them off?” Gauge asked another question, though his features remained unreadable. I didn’t know if I was being interrogated as the victim or the assailant, “What specifically did he do?”

“Well, he had his gun out,” I replied, thinking for a second, “he identified them by name, told Rusty Ratchet to get off me...I don’t remember his exact words. He didn’t exactly threaten them with bodily harm if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Hm,” Gauge grumbled, eyeballing me like he had when we first met as if to get a feel for me, “Okay, so you didn’t notice anything when you first headed out? Your first inkling that anything was wrong was when Rusty jumped you?”

“I was tired, yes,” I replied.

“And they didn’t hurt you in any way?” at my indignant look, he quickly added: “I mean anything that would leave a mark? Bruising, cuts, scratches? They didn’t physically harm you?”

“Nothing, well…” I gave myself a quick once-over, not spotting any marks before glaring back up at Gauge, “I think tackling a pregnant mare to the ground counts as physical harm even if it doesn’t leave a mark...he choked me, too!”

“But no lasting injuries, physical injuries?” he stressed the wording, “Like I said: anything that’d leave a mark?”

“No,” I admitted, grudgingly, “I still think they should be punished!”

“I didn’t say they wouldn’t be,” was Gauge’s grumbled reply, “I believe my son and, for what it’s worth, I even believe you. All I’m trying to do now is gauge the level of punishment,” he tried to calm me, tone taking on a placating touch, “They were threatening you, that’s for sure, but they didn’t cause any real physical harm,” he grumbled, sounding as if he was talking more to himself at the end than to me.

We continued on in silence for a while, and I scrubbed my hooves clean of dirt after hopping to a low flight.

“I’ll dock them some pay, give it to you. I can have Dynamite chalk Break Action up for the shittier watches for the rest of our journey to Burnout. The fixers don’t exactly stand watches, and I don’t want an angry pony working extra on my caravan anyways, but I’ll see if I can get Cookie to have Rusty help with food as extra duty,” he eventually said, turning his eyes to me, “Will that suffice?”

I mulled that over for a bit. My rage against the two ponies had faded somewhat and as much as I wanted to see them physically punished, I couldn’t come up with anything specific. Maybe jail time, but there weren’t exactly any jails around. Searching over the ground beneath me as I thought, I eventually came to the conclusion that Gauge’s ruling was fair enough for the circumstances...even if I felt they could be a little harsher.

A sigh escaped me as I turned my head to Gauge, “It will suffice.” Gauge gave me a little nod and began to trot off, but I stopped him with a call of: “Hey!” he turned back to me, “Thank you,” I said.

He hesitated a moment before giving me another nod, “You’re welcome,” was his reply, and he headed off again. I gained altitude enough that I was above the height of the wagons, Gauge’s intervention resetting my previous emotional drama.

Strap’s cruel words still crushed in around my heart, but I didn’t let them overwhelm me again. I made to go back to searching for Mist, but an alternative to flying around made me look for a different color pattern. It didn’t take me long to spot Dual Gauge again.

“Do you know where Mist is?” I asked when I swooped down to the older unicorn.

“Mist?” Gauge frowned, “Dynamite’s the one who makes the watchbill, but I suggested he be put on scouting duty. Goddesses know those wings of his could prove useful for something like that. So if he’s not around, he probably went off with the scouts,” he frowned for a few seconds, thinking, “He’ll be back for lunch, provided all’s well.”

“And...is it? ‘All well’?” I asked, those two words putting me on edge, “Or, do you think it should be?”

Gauge’s grey eyes turned to me, one brow lifted inquisitively as he frowned.

“Well...Mist said that when he showed you that flaregun, y’know...when he went back to show you the bodies of those—” my wing shoved my taser into my mouth, shaking as the mare charged me, “—raiders...he said you seemed spooked.”

“So what?” Gauge replied, defensive all of a sudden, “What’s your point, what’re you trying to say?”

“I’m not an idiot, no matter what that nag of a doctor says, Dual Gauge,” I asserted, “Those raiders were there to...to signal you being there or...or something!” I glanced back the way we’d come, but nothing but a dusty cloud and dead landscape greeted my eyes.

“They’ll be fine,” Gauge finally replied, “They’re scouting out ahead of the caravan. As to the raiders, I don’t know what they were doing. Maybe they were there to signal us coming, maybe they just happened across a flaregun. But they’re dead now so we’ll never know.

“And, hay!” he continued, “Even if they were there to signal some attack, they were thwarted. Whoever they may have been there to signal is none the wiser to our passing; don’t lose sleep over it. There haven’t been any reports on large raider bands anywhere near this part of the wasteland anyways. Burnout’s just a day or so away, you won’t need to worry about any of this then.”

His words helped to stem the outbreak of my fears, though the last bit put another question in my mind and I didn’t hesitate to voice it.

“Burnout?” I asked.

Footnote: Level progress 75%

Skills increased:

+Medicine

Author's Notes:

A special thanks to Interloper and Nastyhooves for help with the surgery scene.