“And what's that crunchin' sound beneath yer hooves? Maybe it's the bones of ponies that didn't make it out alive!”

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Mist growled, half to himself I was sure as he cast his gaze off behind us.

I glanced back as well as I flapped just above him. The great plume of smoke coming off the Burnout Pyre snaked its way ever up towards the daunting grey of the sky. A cramp ran through my belly and bile touched my tongue at the memory of what I’d witnessed. Turning back around, I massaged my belly with a hoof.

“It...it was respectful,” I said, soothing the cramp away, “to the dead...and we couldn’t bury them, there-there were—” heads mounted on spikes, devoid of skin...bodies strewn about, mutilated and tortured, “there were just too many,” I said, clenching my eyes shut to keep my mind off the dark path it was taking. I just needed to not think about it, keep my mind on other things. Everything was going to be okay!

“Respectful and sanitary as it may be, that plume of smoke is going to be a signal to everyone within fifty miles,” Mist didn’t sound convinced as he turned away from the smoke, “It’ll be a warning to anypony else, sure. What I’m worried about is it being a warning to whoever the fuck did...that...”

There was a break in his voice—ever subtle—at the end there. When I glanced over at him he remained unreadable in his armor, jaw set in a scowl.

“Because if they see that and decide to investigate…” Mist glanced back again, “We’re leaving some perfect tracks for them to follow,” his goggles turned up to me, “You still have that taser?”

“Yeah,” I replied, “but the batteries are dead, I-I brought the charger with me, but—”

“They’re rechargeable?” Mist cut in, tail coming up and tapping a spot on the back of his power armor, “This armor’s got an auxiliary charging port, here…” he held out a wing, and after some digging I hoofed over the two batteries, “I’ll have to trickle charge them to keep the draw on my armor down, but I should probably have them ready in a few hours.

“In the meantime, keep your eyes peeled and your wings ready.”

“A-are you sure it’s a good idea to leave the caravan, though?” I asked, keeping my voice down. We were at the tail end of the caravan and out of earshot of anyone who might be listening, but I still felt it wouldn’t be good for our already paltry relationship to be heard talking about desertion, “They’ve got guns, armor, supplies! They can protect us!”

“From a group that destroyed an entire fucking town!?” Mist retorted with a little more venom than he needed, “No, we’ll be better off high and away, in smaller numbers where we’ll be unnoticed and harder to shoot down.”

“But where will we go!? What will we do!?” I countered, gesturing forwards to the caravan with a hoof, “They’ve got food, water! They know where they’re going, for sky’s sakes! Without them we’ll be lost down here!”

“I don’t know!” Mist snapped back, tail giving a sudden snap that made me shy away with lip biting worry. Mist’s new grouchy self was coming back in full again, “But at least we won’t be meat for the fucking grinder when the time comes.”

“Pegasus!” a voice called from ahead, a unicorn defender getting both our immediate attentions, “Buck,” he specified under both our gazes.

“Red Mist,” Mist growled, “What?”

“Dynamite wants you, scouting mission.”

“‘Course he fucking does,” Mist grumbled, gesturing for the unicorn to lead on and leaving me all on my own again.

My hooves were under me, trotting on dirt that poofed under my hooves like clouds might. The ground was even soft like a cloud, a good bit nicer than the usual dry and crumbly soil. Maybe I was just getting used to walking on it.

“Skies!” a familiar voice called from behind me.

Confusion struck me as I paused mid-step turning and not quite believing my eyes.

“Cloud Poker!?” I exclaimed as he landed in front of me, “Wh-what are you doing down here?”

“I’ve come for our child, Skies,” he said simply, standing there, staring at me.

“What?” I asked, not sure what he meant. He’d wanted me to abort our child, had he suddenly had a change of heart? No, that...something was wrong! “B-but it’s not even coming...not for at least another ten months.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, pointing with a hoof.

A sudden chill made its way down my hind legs, a pain coming from just beneath my tail. That wasn’t right, something was wrong, something was terribly, terribly wrong! Copper saturated my nostrils as I turned about frantically, spying a small pool of blood where I’d been standing.

Black and half-coagulated.

“No! No, no, no!” I gasped, a vice crushing my heart, making it harder to breath. Yet the blood flow didn’t end, the pain in my vulva making me cringe and wince.

“Help!” I gasped out, voice choked and weak, hardly above a wheeze, “Somepony help me!”

Just then I felt something slip out from inside me, my womb cramping up and bringing me to my knees as I gave birth to something...to a great many, small things. Whimpering, I forced myself to look back, to see what was happening.

Cloud Poker cradled the butchered chunks of a foal, blood dripping down from where he held it to his breast, pooling around his hooves. He smiled as he looked up to me, our eyes meeting and his lips parting.

“Our child is here...

A cry escaped me as I thrashed awake, darkness all around and a salty wetness coating the inside of my sleeping bag. It took a heart-thundering moment for me to realize where I was, and a quick feel of my belly reminded me when I was.

It had just been a dream...a very bad dream.

But that didn’t stop it from bringing tears to my eyes and choking my throat with sorrow.

The town, the bodies, the blood, the crib...I curled up and shivered as the images trickled like acid into my brain. How could anypony do things like that!? Things were shitty down here, that was for sure, but I didn’t see how that could possibly justify the massacre of Burnout. How could anypony butcher their fellow equine like that!?

I wiped my eyes as a soft sob escaped me, then sat up in my sleeping bag and looked about. All was dark, Gauge had forbidden a fire tonight, but I could still just make out a few nearby wagons in the darkness.

But no Red Mist.

Slipping from my sleeping bag, I squinted into the darkness for a familiar buck. I didn’t want to be alone with my newfound demons right now. I needed company, someone to talk to.

‘He might not even be awake right now,’ I thought, biting my lip as another twinge rolled through my womb. Even so, I still took to the air, it would help keep my mind away from...certain areas of thought I didn’t wish to visit right now.

Moving towards the outer ring of the wagons, I flew slow and low, squinting into the darkness. Soon enough, the shadowed form of an equine came into view.

“High Brass?” I asked, swooping in.

The shadow shifted and I put a face to it as the mare spoke, “Fuck off, buzzard nag.”

Break Action.

I felt my lip curl, my body tensing at the sound of the mare’s voice. Her poisoned words from the other night still rang in my ears. How she’d gotten the idea of me, me being some sort of villain out to hurt them really got under my skin. I’d been nothing but good to the caravan and what’d I get from this bitch? A shotgun to the face.

Flapping, I made to move on, but a twinge in my belly reminded me what Brass had said about the naggy mare. She was a ‘good pony’ according to him, and had wanted and lost a foal twice. It didn’t change the fact that I didn’t like the mare, but her plight did have some personal sting to it...and as much as I didn’t want to, I still turned about and addressed the vanilla mare.

“I’m sorry you lost your foals the way you did,” I said, trying my best to inject some sincerity into my words.

“What?” she snapped back.

“High...I heard about how you...lost your foals,” I said, deciding to keep High Brass’ name out of it, “A slip and a miscarriage…” whether it was from rage or something else, her silence prompted me to go on, “I...just...I’m sorry for your loss...I’d be devastated if that ever happened to me,” I finished, trailing off as I ran out of things to say.

“What, is this the part where we’re supposed to hug and have a good cry over a couple of fancy colt snack cakes!?” she growled after a few moments, a forehoof waved me away in the darkness, “Go bother somepony else!”

“I was just trying to be nice,” I grumbled.

“Then go be nice to somepony else!”

With a sigh I was on my way again. At least I’d tried.

It took me a few more shadows, but eventually I did manage to find Brass leaning back against one of the wagons. He jumped when I called out his name.

“Oh, hey, Skies,” he greeted with a heavy yawn, “What brings you around?”

“I...well I couldn’t sleep,” I explained, “...after what happened.”

“Burnout…” I winced at the name, hearing worry in his own voice as well.

“Y-yeah,” My voice only shook a little before I cleared my throat, “R-Red Mist is still out scouting...I think,” I continued, “I just didn’t want to be alone, wanted somepony to talk to.”

“Well sure, I could use the company,” he replied, patting the dirt beside him, “A bit of chit-chat always makes shift go by faster.”

In spite of my distaste of dirt, I still settled down next to him...it wasn’t so bad, “I guess I’m lucky I caught you on watch again.”

“More like I’m unlucky I caught the watch,” Brass grumbled, though his annoyance wasn’t directed towards me. After a moment he elaborated, “Dynamite has most of us doing doubles by order of dad himself,” he gave a soft huff, “But as much as I love to complain, it’s probably for the best, no telling what’s out there after the attack on Burnout.”

The resurgence of the town in our conversation immediately removed all the cheer I’d rallied upon finding my only unicorn friend. I cringed as the things I’d seen began to resurface: flayed heads, mutilated corpses, a butchered—

“You, uh, okay?” Brass asked with audible caution, drawing me thankfully from my thoughts, “I heard about what happened in the house—”

“Please, let’s talk about something else!” I interjected, biting down on my lip to keep my attention elsewhere, “I...I mean, how-how could anypony do something l-like that?” I stared at my hooves in the darkness; dawn was coming and I could see them shaking before me in the growing light.

“Because they just ain’t right in the head,” Brass replied like it was a simple reality. Just another fact of life...but that couldn’t be!

“B-but that doesn’t m-make any sense!” I snapped back, “Wh-what could possibly drive a-a pony to b-butcher a...a...” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence.

“Foal?” he finished for me.

“Yes!?” I cried.

“Because this is the wasteland,” High Brass answered, “Look, I don’t know what to tell you! Ponies...we...some of us can be very messed up individuals. I don’t know what it is, how it happens, but some ponies just snap, go insane!” he continued, “And it’s our job as the sane ones to bring the insane to justice...oftentimes with bullets.”

I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. Was it just that stupidly simple? Could ponies just be that capable of evil? My lips parted to ask, but was interrupted by a soft pop as a brilliant white light exploded overhead.

“What the—” Brass murmured as we shielded our eyes against the brightening heavens.

A flare drifted down towards the camp.

In the new light I could see other ponies reacting similarly throughout the camp, confusion spreading like wildfire. Who had lit off the flare? For what reason? An accident? On purpose? What did it mean?

“Brass?” I asked, turning to him.

“I have no idea,” Brass replied, frowning as he turned his gaze to the immediate area, “What friggin’ idiot lit that thing off!?” he called, “Gauge said no light tonight!”

“What?” an earth pony puller muttered as he rubbed his eyes.

“Not me!” a unicorn defender on patrol called back.

“No clue!” another defender sounded off.

“Does somepony want to tell me what the hell’s going on here!?” Gauge growled from somewhere else in the camp, grouchy voice rising above the growing hubbub of confusion.

A sudden nagging sensation grew in the back of my skull as I squinted up at the falling flare. It was like a lost name on the tip of my tongue, there but just out of reach. What dots was my brain trying to tell me to connect? What was it about somepony shooting off a flaregun…

Click.

“Th-those raiders…” I murmured.

“What?” Brass turned to me.

“Those raiders at the church...they had a flaregun on them,” I repeated, my stomach twisting itself into a worried knot, “Wh-what if they were there to signal an attack!? Wh-what if th-those three...” I gulped, “...weren’t the only ones?”

I saw it click for High Brass too, in the same moment that a sudden rumbling made my ears twitch. It was a sound like growing thunder, one that I’d never quite been able to hear up in the soft clouds but one that I recognised all the same: the pounding of a great many hooves across the ground.

“We’re under attack!” Brass yelled out, readying his shotgun with his magic.

Then darkness fell as the flare died, casting us all under a blanket of blindness. I blinked against the pitch black, wings bringing me to a short hover as I tried to get my eyes to adjust.

“Who called that? Who said we’re under attack!?” a startled voice in the darkness.

“Someone get the light back!” a mare cried out.

“What’s attacking!? What’re we under attack from!?”

“What’s that rumbling!? What’s that noise!?”

“It’s a stampede! A stampede!” somepony cried out in fear.

Another flare shot up into the sky, showering the area around us with light. At first I brought up a hoof to shield my eyes again, turning midair towards where the sound of rumbling hooves was coming from. But my hoof fell away with my jaw as I stared at just what was rushing at us. I didn’t believe what I was seeing, I couldn’t. There was simply no way; they were things of fiction, of nightmares, of B movies and half-baked radio shows.

Zombies.

Equine things with rotting flesh and gnashing teeth, rushing at us, a horde of the living dead! It came as no surprise that I peed a little bit.

Gauge’s voice called above the rising chaos, “Lights on, everypony! Lanterns up! Get the spotlights on them and open fire!”

I could better see the rushing zombies as lights flashed on around the camp, both magic and spark-battery powered. The vicious things snapped and snarled as they galloped full tilt towards us, a veritable horde of them!

“Open up!”

“Shoot! Shoot!”

“Fire!”

I could hardly hear my own cries of terror as gunfire erupted around me, forcing me to cram my hooves into my ears. The zombies began to fall as the barrage of gunfire tore into their ranks, but the creatures began to spread out, not faltering unless a round found its way into one of their rotten bodies.

“Hide!” Brass yelled at me, shotgun at the ready, “Find someplace to hide!”

‘Hide?’ my brain was overheating as it tried to process too many new things at once, ‘Hide!’ I leapt up, scrambling atop one of the wagons and peeking out over the top. The zombies were closing in, snarling and snapping their desiccated jaws as they rushed us. Brass opened up with his own deafening reports once they were more within his weapon’s range.

But as effective as the barrage of gunfire was, the horde’s rush couldn’t be halted.

And then they were on us.

Screams of terror and pain began to erupt all around me, intermixing like some sick form of music with the snarls of the undead and the piercing reports of weapons. I could do nothing but squeeze my eyes and ears shut, whispering prayers to the winds for it to end. First Burnout sacked and slaughtered, now an attack by these...these things! Too much was happening too fast...and not for the first time my wings itched to fly higher and higher until I’d breached the clouds.

Another cry escaped me as something slammed into the carriage, nearly sending me flying to the dirt. My eyes shot open as I threw out my hooves and wings for stability, quaking as I peeked over the side. My heart stopped for a flicker of time as I saw a small group of the rancid monsters converging around Brass.

He ducked, juked, and dodged back and forth, agility barely keeping him from their teeth as he fired off his weapon as fast as he could get targets. Each rocketing blast of High Brass’ shotgun was deafening, forcing me to cram my ears as flat against my skull as I could. I never imagined guns could be that loud!

My ears whined at me to turn down the volume as zombie after zombie dropped to his weapon…until one managed to get through.

The snarling, snapping creature lunged, falling on him in a slobbering, rotting mess of gnashing teeth and wild eyes. He cried out as it latched onto his throat, angling the shotgun up and magically pulling the trigger.

A blast of gore erupted from the zombie’s back, shattered fragments of white bone and thick, blackish goop contrasting sharply in the morning light. The creature jerked back as everything below the exit wound went limp, its spine severed. Howling with pain and rage, the creature bit down again as Brass racked his shotgun, levering it up and pressing it underneath the zombie’s head.

Click, whimpered the weapon.

Brass’ eyes went wide as the zombie bit at his throat, snarling as it wrenched its head from side to side, finally tearing out a good sized chunk of his neck. He cried out, blood gushing from the wound as he smashed the empty weapon against the zombie’s skull, sending both weapon and monster tumbling away.

He thrashed, pressing a hoof to his neck as he tried to crawl back.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was up and running up to him with a cry of: “Hold on!” I bit down on his mane, dragging him back away and leaving a trail of blood. He tried to gurgle something at me, whimpering as his eyes rolled wildly in their sockets.

‘Gushing blood, not good...’ I flinched at an exceptionally close blast of gunfire, ‘It’s not spurting, didn’t nick an artery! I can stop it! I can save him!’

Getting to the wagon I’d been hiding on, I set him up against it, sitting him up to keep the wound above heart level. He gurgled pleadingly at me, blood coming up past his lips as I threw my saddlebags on the ground, tearing through them for a healing potion.

“Drink!” I ordered, holding a vial of the purple liquid to his lips. His magic weakly gripped the vial, chugging it back. He let loose a cough, a splatter of blood and potion splashing my breast. I winced at the warm liquid clinging to my fur, wishful for some personal protection equipment.

The cough and the traces of purple potion dribbling out with the rest of the blood flow weren’t good. If the zombie had damaged his esophagus enough that blood was getting into it, he could drown in his own blood!

“Hold still!” I said, retrieving and pressing a stack of dressings against his neck. They quickly turned red so I plastered more on, “I need you to help me apply pressure to the wound, can you do that?” He whimpered something at me, wincing as trying to speak pulled at the wound, “Here! Hold here!” I grabbed one of his hooves, pressing it to the bandages. But the second I released, he jabbed it out behind me, trying to say something.

“What!? What are you—” I looked back over my withers as the half-paralyzed zombie bit down on my tail, yanking hard. A cry escaped me as I collapsed backwards, the monster throwing itself on top of me, teeth gnashing at my face.

Screaming and gagging at the monster’s rancid breath, I shoved and kicked it off me, scooting back as fast as I could. But the zombie recovered quickly and was soon dragging itself inevitably towards me again.

I jumped as something bumped off my rump, but my eyes lit up as I saw what it was: Brass’ shotgun. Fumbling, I grabbed it in my hooves and shoved the mouthgrip into my maw. A small rope bracelet was attached to the sliding part—the pump!—and I slid my hoof in and racked it back and forth, shaking as I pointed it at the zombie and tongued the trigger.

Click.

“Mmph!” I yelled into the weapon, pumping it again, ‘No! No! Please work!’

Click.

I pumped it a third time, but it was clearly out of ammo...and the zombie was still dragging its way towards me on its forelegs, rotting flesh rubbing off its hindquarters as they dragged against the ground. Its dull eyes seemed to glower with animalistic carnage, wishing for nothing less than my utter annihilation.

My wings refused to open, terror locking them against my sides as I scooted backwards on my butt, aiming the shotgun at it in an attempt to ward it off. From the way the creature kept advancing, the effort was futile.

“P-please! No!” I cried at the creature, “Help! Please! Somepony help me!” I screamed, rolling onto my belly and getting to my hooves, “Help me—” my cry turned to a scream as another zombie pounced on me, fetid breath blowing across the back of my head as its rotten teeth bit and tore at my mane, its weight knocking me back down.

There was a loud report of a rifle and with a sharp splat the zombie on top of me went limp with a shudder. Its rotten corpse pinned me down, something with a feeling of wet goop filling my mane and running down the back of my head. I shivered and retched at the sensation.

Another scream left my lips as I thrashed and tore at the ground with my hooves, trying to get out from under the dead weight.

A low growl that somehow managed to roar above the sounds of battle made me freeze, a warm puddle of something I was certain wasn’t blood pooling around my hindquarters.

The crippled zombie was still coming.

My throat was sore as I cried out again, doubling my vain efforts to escape from beneath the slain zombie. The crippled one was advancing, eyes set only on me.

I cried out again, begging for help...and my cries were answered as something bounced off my forehead, hitting the dirt and rolling in a half-circle as it came to a rest at my breast. It took my terror-addled mind a few seconds to realize just what it was: a shotgun shell. My gaze turned quickly to where High Brass was laying, my stomach twisting as I saw him slump back against the wagon, unconscious.

Practically juggling the shell and shotgun, I tried to fit one into the other before it was too late. The zombie pulled itself closer.

There was a big slot on the bottom. The shell went in there, right? Cramming it in, I slid my hoof into the pump-bracelet and pulled back, just like in the movies.

The pump refused to move.

I cried out through the mouthgrip. What had I done wrong!? Why wasn’t it working!? I pulled harder, rattling the weapon, maybe it was jammed? How did I unjam it?

The zombie was five yards away.

I let out a whimper, kicking my hind legs in a vain effort to throw the dead zombie off my back.

Growling with untamed fury, the zombie pulled itself another yard. Four more to go.

Maybe the safety got engaged, did that stop it? I quickly found a little stud by the mouth grip, biting down on it and trying to rack it again. Still nothing.

The zombie was three yards away now.

I reversed the safety and tried again, making me cry out with frustration as the pump refused to move.

Two yards.

“Come on!” I whined at the gun, looking over it again. There was another stud I hadn’t noticed by the trigger, maybe that was the safety? I bit it, pulling back on the pump once more.

Never before had I ever felt something as absolutely glorious as the pump sliding back with a loud, satisfying ‘clack’. Had the feeling lasted longer and not been in such a hellish situation, it would’ve been better than sex.

One yard.

I slammed the pump back, lifting the weapon in my mouth. The zombie’s teeth gnashed down on the end of the barrel, tearing and pulling on the hard metal as I found the trigger with my tongue, pulling it for all I was worth.

BOOM! The weapon roared with a sound akin to thunder.

All my hearing went out the window as the gun threw my head back violently, an obscene amount of gore punching out the back of the zombie’s head as the weapon was torn from my mouth. It clattered to the dirt as the now-dead zombie followed it, impacting wetly as my ringing hearing returned moments later.

A pool of partly-coagulated blood, thick and almost black, gushed out around the dead zombie’s head, flowing freely from its gaping maw. Its dead eyes stared sullenly into the soil, finally, finally leaving me.

A cry of joy escaped me, a loud and glorious half-laugh, half-sob choking its way out of me as warm tears blurred my vision. The sounds of combat were dying down, more cries of pain and suffering ringing above those of gunshots and growls of the undead. A wave of fatigue began to sink into my limbs, making me want to lay my head down on the soft, soft dirt and take a nap.

But the shotgun in front of me reminded me I wasn’t done yet.

Using my brain, I twisted about under the zombie’s corpse, using the weapon as a lever to pry the body off me. At first it didn’t want to give, but after a glance towards where Brass lay, I let out a growl and threw my all into it.

The zombie rolled off with a soft thud and I was on my hooves in an instant.

The dressing I’d been using to stem the bleeding from Brass’ neck had fallen away with nopony to hold it. I dug out more from my discarded saddlebags, pressing them to the wound, but it appeared the bleeding had stopped.

The bleeding had stopped.

“Oh, no! Blue above, please no!” I found the mandibular artery under his jaw, watching his chest for signs of breathing.

But he had no pulse.

And he wasn’t breathing.

“No, no, no!” I said, shifting over, tearing open his vest, and beginning compressions. ‘One, two, three…’ I counted in my head, my own heart rate rising. The dressing fell away again, blood trickling from the wound as I tried to keep it circulating, “Damnit!” I snarled, pressing the dressing back in place. My hooves quivered as I secured it quickly with a bandage and began CPR again. I felt his ribs crack under my hooves as I counted up to thirty again.

I used a wing to pull back one eyelid as I started doing rescue breaths. The pupil was unnaturally dilated—that wasn’t good—and from smell alone I knew he’d soiled himself.

The world was growing blurry as I shifted back to compressions, not trying to think about the low percentage of times that CPR worked. It had to this time! It had to!

“Come. On!” I growled between compressions, “Don’t. You. Die. On. Me! Don’t. You. Fucking. Die!”

Then it was back to rescue breaths.

Hooves rushing over dirt heralded the approach of another pony. I barely looked up, spotting the blurred form of Leather Strap with goggles and mask in place, medical saddlebags at her sides. She dropped her horn to Brass’ body, evaluating him with her magic.

I shifted back to compressions, wiping my tears with a wing.

“H-help!” I didn’t stop pumping his chest, he didn’t stop playing dead, “H-he—”

“He’s dead,” Strap’s harsh voice cut me like a scalpel as she straightened up. I froze, lifting my eyes to hers, hooves planted firmly on Brass’ unmoving chest.

“No! No, no, no!” I wailed, trembling like a feather in a storm, “You...he, he c-can’t! No, he can’t be! He—”

Her horn flashed as she gave me a telekinetic slap across the face, making me choke back on my words. With another burst of magic she dragged me across his corpse, shoving her face into mine.

“Shut-up!” she snapped, holding us snout to snout with her magic, “Saying ‘no’ never solved anything! He’s dead because you weren’t fast enough and now you gotta live with that!” A choked sob escaped me as I tried to pull away, but she held me still over his still-warm body. “Now quit your crying, grab your supplies, and get your dock moving! We’ve got ponies to save!”

“But he’s—”

Strap silenced me with another sharp slap, this one with her hoof, “You. Can’t. Help. Him!” she drilled into me as I touched a hoof to my stinging cheek, “Get ahold of your-fucking-self or give me your medical supplies! High Brass is dead, you can’t help him! Other ponies are dying, you can help them!” she tore me to my hooves with her magic, “Get your flank in gear!” she shoved me a few steps back from Brass’ body, “Move! Prove to me that you’re the doctor you say you are!”

I wasn’t really a doctor, but I was suddenly moving not of my own accord, I was on autopilot, I was reacting, training took over. My ears hurt from the cries and my nose wrinkled at the stench of blood and waste.

There was a surgical mask on my face, but I didn’t remember putting it there. I was side by side with another crying mare as a buck thrashed and screamed beneath the dressings I secured over his bloody wounds.

A needle to a saline drip went in once I found the right vein, and Strap reassured the pony they were going to make it. After all, she’d never waste good saline on a pony she doubted would make it.

I provided support as one of Strap’s better trained ponies set a broken foreleg with magic. I wasn’t sure whether or not it was ironic that he had a bonesaw as a cutie mark.

A mare kept screaming for her mother as blood pumped out of her shredded hind legs. Eventually Strap swore and touched her horn to the patient’s head, putting her to sleep to let her die quietly.

An old buck whimpered and cried like a little colt as I held his intestines in place with a dressing. After a wave of her horn, Strap gave him a sip of healing potion, secured his guts atop his open belly, and had him carted away on an improvised stretcher.

“Will he live?” I dared to ask.

“Don’t know,” Strap replied, already moving to the next patient. All her previous hatred of me was absent, though I attributed that more to fatigue than any sudden change of heart.

I took a quick moment to collect myself, taking a few gulps from my canteen. The cries of the wounded had lessened—through the mercies of medicine or death—and already the caravan had nearly recovered.

“C’mon, get ‘em up in the wagons. We need to get a move-on here, people!” Gauge’s growly voice cut through the hubbub as he approached the medical mare, “Strap, how many more wounded that can’t walk?”

“Just a couple more,” Strap reported, already moving to the next crying pony. She jerked her head for me to follow, “A couple more minutes and we’ll have them loaded up.”

“Good, good,” Gauge replied, looking around, “Has anypony seen High Brass?”

The mention of Brass made me freeze mid-step, more wounded or no. Turning, I spied Gauge getting nothing but negatives on the whereabouts of his son. Sorrow squeezed its way up into my throat, warm tears flooding my eyes.

Should I tell him? Was that my responsibility, having been the one not fast enough to save him? What would I even say? How would he react? Would he kick me out for not being able to save his son? Would he—

“Skies!” I jumped as Leather Strap snarled my name, “Get your feathery ass over here!”

Gauge turned at the shout, spotting me staring at him with teary eyes. Not wanting to find out what he’d do if he knew I’d let his son die, I turned quickly and followed after Strap.

There were just two more injured ponies laid out by the medical wagon. Both of them had only minor wounds and had been triaged down to the least concern. The two were already being taken care of by four other medical ponies.

The first had been a case of friendly fire, the friend in question hovering over the pony he’d shot issuing an endless stream of apologies. Most of the worry in his eyes was unnecessary, the wound was a through and through and was quickly bandaged up.

The second pony—

“High Brass,” the gruff and worried voice of Gauge made me jump as it came from just behind me, “Was he among the wounded?”

Turning slowly, as if I were in a dream, I came to face Dual Gauge. My eyes met his, and I found them filled with an emotion I’d not thought the angry, old stallion was capable of: fear. Oh, he’d looked scared in Burnout, everypony was put on edge by the bodies, but this was something else entirely. This wasn’t the rough and tough leader of the caravan, this was a father worried for his son.

If only I could’ve helped calm his fears.

“Was...did you see him among the wounded?” Gauge asked again, my silence only feeding his fright, “Tell me he’s okay!”

“Gauge, I…” I began, words failing me. Fortunately, another pony supplied the answer I was so afraid to voice.

“Gauge,” Leather Strap cut in as she trotted up to us and let out a quiet sigh, “he didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

Gauge said nothing, he just stared at her and then at me, then back to Strap as if he didn’t quite believe what’d just been said.

“I’m sorry, Dual Gauge,” Strap repeated, injecting all the comforting bedside manner she could into her voice, “Skies?” she turned to me, “Take Gauge to his son, I’ll finish up here.”

Gulping once, I only managed a nod before leading the way.

I’d seen ponies die before at the hospital. I’d watched a few times as the doctors consoled crying or stone faced relatives of the deceased, never thinking I’d ever be the one doing it. Yet now as I looked from High Brass to his father, I found myself at an utter loss for words.

Did I say that I felt sorry for his loss? I did for sure. Did I apologize for not being fast enough? I hadn’t been. Did I tell him everything was going to be okay? But how would it be? Numerous options scrolled through my head, words forming on the tip of my tongue before I bit them back to reword it, to make it the right thing to say.

Whether fortunately or not, Gauge spared me the worry of my wording.

“He’s the only reason you’re here, you know,” he spoke up in my silence, “I was gonna leave you behind at the chapel...but Brass, he…” his voice was somber and quiet, “Well, it was his idea to trade you medical supplies for safe passage.” He seemed to find something funny about that, a mirthless, pitiful chuckle escaping past his lips “‘Safe’ passage…” he trailed off and let the quiet resume.

A soft pain filled my chest, a tightness creeping up my throat as I stared down at High Brass’ body. I wanted him to move, to breathe, to blink and wake up and talk to me, to his father! But I knew enough about anatomy to know dead ponies couldn’t do that.

“How…” I began, glancing briefly to Gauge, “how do you want to move the body?”

Dual Gauge said nothing, just standing there looking at his son.

“Gauge?” I hesitantly touched a hoof to his shoulder. He jerked as if startled, turning weary, red eyes to me.

“What?” his voice was quiet and hoarse, broken like he was inside.

“Is there a...a body wagon or...something?” I asked, “Wh-where do you want his body?”

“Where do I want...” he choked on the last word, turning back to Brass as he brought a forehoof to his face, “I’d...I’d want to bury him...maybe with his mother…” he hesitated a moment, fresh tears rising to his eyes, before stepping forwards.

His horn lit up, lifting his son’s body and slowly—gently—stripping away his gear. He set the body back down, resting his hooves across his chest in a more peaceful pose. His magic faded with a notable hesitance.

“Gauge?”

Teary red eyes turned to me, their owner looking too weary to give a response.

“If...if you’d like I could get a couple others and do it ourselves if it’s...if it’s too hard right now,” I offered, “I just need to know...which wagon—”

“Skies,” he cut me off, turning away with Brass’ gear in tow, “it doesn’t matter...what I want.”

I just stared at him, not comprehending.

“Rule...number four,” he said, “if...if you can’t carry it...” finishing the sentence was more than he could bear, as he turned away, weeping, and trotted off without another word.

‘Rule number four?’ I wondered, glancing from Brass to Gauge. What had that one been? ‘If you can’t carry it…’ my eyes grew wide, and I missed a beat with my wings as the meaning of his words dawned on me, ‘...you can’t keep it.’

But that was hardly sane! It was inequine! He couldn’t carry the body so we’d just have to...have to leave it behind!? Surely they could make room in one of the wagons! He couldn’t possibly be serious! That was cruel, horrible!

But this was the wasteland.

Footnote: Level progress 75%

Skills increased:

+Small guns

+Medicine

Author's Notes:

More violence, more death, another chapter completed