A mare to keep

When I awake I am still haplessly suspended from the trap. Blasted survivors, they must have been setting defences to ensure people like me didn’t steal their supplies. I dangle and sway and through my blurry vision I can see the six-shooter.

My first thought is not for myself, it is always for Applejack. I cannot see her anywhere, although it is taxing enough just to see the ground through my fuzzy vision.

I pass my grubby mitt over my head in case I am bleeding. I remove the hand and inspect the results. No blood.

I’ve always had a strong head. I stretch my arms as far down as they will go but I cannot catch hold of the revolver. I hear the corrupted howl as the moon rises over the townscape. In the forefront of my field of my vision, a small corrupted child rushes past the mouth of the alley.

My heart races, begging to escape the confines of my chest, and my breathing is erratic. I cannot move my legs; blood has rushed to my delirious head and fingertips. After a further sweep of my surroundings, I stumble upon the fact that the day is nearly over.

The moon hangs lonely in the sky and the shroud of night quickly mantles the once effulgent expanse. I shut tightly my eyes as the roof from which I hang complains. I hear a creaking and abruptly my head crashes down against the dustbin counterweight below.

I feel nauseous. I snatch the revolver by the very tip of my middle finger and hold it steady in my hands. I tremble as I try to aim the shaking barrel of the gun. It didn’t look like the survivors that had set the trap were in any hurry to glean their prize. I take a long deep breath in and pull the trigger. The chamber is empty.

I felt as if I am playing Russian roulette against myself. Mine is a sad and lonely existence. I pull the trigger again and then a third time. Again, nothing exciting happens. The magazine carries on turning until there is only one chance left. I close my eyes and squeeze the trigger for the last time.

The six-shooter erupts with a violent explosion. I fall flat on my arse and listen out for the inevitable screams and howls. I can hear them and they are getting louder and louder. sprint towards the dancing shadows until the worst possible thing happens. If I cannot outrun them I will be cornered. I don’t fancy my chances all that much.

I trip slightly over a loose paving slap as I sleekly leave the corrupted in my wake. I dive over the dumpster and as I land haphazardly on the other side, I hear Applejack scream.

I leap back into action and leave my rucksack behind. I make for the copse of trees and soon I see the cause for the disturbance. Applejack darts away as a corrupted hunter drags half of his body across the grass whilst his legs remain clasped in the bear trap.

My legs give way at the most inopportune moment and I fall face-first into a shallow bramble bush.

I can sense the fear in her screams and I can see the fear in her eyes. Finally she severs her reins and gallops quickly away. I can do nothing. I am without a weapon and without hope. My routine is left in tatters and my normal humdrum errand has gone sadly awry. I watch her as she disappears from sight.

I can hear the encroaching growls and howls and screeches and screams and keep my eyes closed for the end.

I am woken by a familiar whinny. I battle free from the thistle-bound bush and gaze onwards, befuddled by my beloved friend’s new found zeal. She rears up and liquefies the corrupted hunter before bucking away the assailing townspeople.

I am concussed, heavily bleeding and starving. All I can think of though, is how my shy little flower has blossomed. I clear the accursed brambles and long sticky grasses until I am abreast Applejack.

She leaps and turns to face me. She winks confidently. “Look Andy, I have no clue what a ‘jiffy’ is. But you can’t go around making promises you can’t keep.”

I look back at her and scowl. “Why don’t you keep your trap shut?! Not that you care, but I was ensnared in some dumb idiot’s crude idea of a trap. You’re an awful selfish monster, why haven’t I eaten you already?” I snarl.

I hear a volley of gunshots, though they sound like they are coming from miles away. I try to fight this inbuilt anger. It tests me; it makes me feel hatred for my beloved friend. I pull her head down by the mane and flick her cruelly in the eye.

My mind is not my own.

She brushes off what would usually send her packing. She trots over to a stump and lowers her back for me to board.

I limp over to her, and with every step a get a little angrier. I grimace as the dull gunshots sound off in the far distance once more.

Applejack stamps her hoof on the ground as a warning. “More survivors are coming this way. Andy, I will wait for you but hurry.”

I feel this overwhelming haze falling over everything. It is as if I can sense the rich blood as it pumps throughout Applejack’s marvellous form.

I reach the stump and wildly leap onto her back. Before I could issue a single command, I sunk my teeth through her thick coat and pelt. She bucks her legs out but calms herself down uncannily.

She carries me effortlessly through the dreary fog of the night as a pair of headlights shredded the scarce wildlife and scathed the lacklustre wilderness. I drift in and out of consciousness until all I see is blackness.

When my eyes do peel open, this world’s greatest monster has opened fire on us. I feel warm sensations all up my back and along my right leg. I can feel the anger taking over.

Applejack forges onwards without ever darting or straying from the path. I hear her whine as a bullet catches her in the orchard tree cutie mark. We charge through a low-hanging branch. I huddle into her but still my face is littered with sap and bracken from the evergreen. I run my fingers through my hair and look in horror as my hair has shredded in great clumps from my scalp.

I know she can sense these changes in me. As a long time rider I know that a mount reacts to their rider’s emotions. If she could feel even a fraction of my hatred, she would have gone mad. She turns to look at me. “Hold on Andy, there’s a bit of a jump coming up.”

The group of survivors have cajoled us into a bottleneck. At the cap of the bottle is a wire fence. A stray gunshot takes the legs from right under her and she ploughs right through the barbed wire. Luckily, I am released from her broad back. I burden her no longer. I land awkwardly in the sparse balding grass beyond my mount and my hearing worsens.  I can barely hear her frightful screams as she thrashes around in the unpleasant net.