Bloodwood

Ratchet stood at the edge of the gorge, the afternoon sunlight bathing his light blue coat in its warmth. After just a day and a half of being under the canopy of the bloodwood forest, it was practically heaven to the stallion. Peering down at the carpet of treetops, he held onto one of the beams of the makeshift elevator for balance, a soft breeze ruffling his mane. To his right, the mill saw, which they had attempted to bring down the previous day, was being prepared by the others so that they could attempt to lower it a second time. Crunch paced around the large steel machine, checking the tie-offs and muttering to himself.

The plan was simple, simple enough at least. The wagon deck had been removed from the ropes and left at the bottom. Crunch, Tidal, and Ratchet had remained up top to secure the large piece of machinery to the ropes, and the rest of the party had stayed down on the ravine floor to ease it down. Oh, and Lance had come to provide protection, of course.

Ratchet glared over at the white stallion, who was sitting back on his haunches, observing the work of the three stallions with his rifle clasped between his hooves. The blue stallion knew what the pseudo guard was actually up here for—to make sure ponies didn’t talk about the wrong things. Call it instinct, or a hunch, but Ratchet had a bad feeling in his gut that Lance knew that he knew about the less than legal practices that were taking place. Since the very first night, Lance hadn’t let Ratchet out of his sight.

“That should do it!” Crunch said happily, stepping away from the massive saw table before looking over at Tidal. “We ready?”

Tidal nodded, then raised a hoof and pressed it against his front teeth to produce a loud, shrill whistle. A second later, the ropes went taught, creaked, and the saw half lifted, and half slid towards the edge. “Ride’s here,” he said, climbing up onto the metal deck of the saw table, Crunch doing the same. “Hop on.”

Lance started towards the metal safety hazard, though was suddenly stopped by a sharp wave of his hoof from Ratchet. “Me and Lance are gonna stay up here and watch the lift.” The blue stallion rapped against one of the logs it was constructed from with a hoof. “I don’t trust these things. If something’s up, we’ll holler.”

Tidal and Crunch both exchanged looks; Tidal shrugged and Crunch nodded in approval, grabbing onto the ropes the saw was suspended from for balance. “How are you gonna get down?” Crunch asked as they started to drop over the edge.

Ratchet raised a hoof, then wiggled it in the general direction of the ropes that were currently lowering Crunch and Tidal. “Send the lift back up.”

Crunch gave a corny half-salute, then clung a little tighter to his rope. “Seeya at the bottom.” One of the logs supporting them let out a precarious creak and Crunch’s face went a little pale, a nervous chuckle leaving him as he unconsciously flared his wings.

“Whatever you’re thinking about...” Lance called from behind, his voice slow and cautious. “Think about it a little more before you do it.”

Ratchet turned to Lance, advancing slowly on three hooves, his right foreleg supporting the rifle and keeping draw-ready. “I just wanted to talk,” Ratchet replied in a similar tone.

Lance stopped about five feet away, then sat back and grasped his rifle with both hooves. “I don’t.”

“Well I do!” Ratchet peered back over the edge to watch the progress of the saw for a moment, the pulleys continuing to squeak beside his head, then eventually turned his attention back towards Lance. “You’ve been watching me like a hawk ever since the first night. Why?”

The white kept his face in a deadpan, though his right eyebrow gave a soft twitch. It was the look of a stallion who knew something, and wanted you to know that they knew without actually saying anything. “Because you’re a very important asset to this expedition and—”

Ratchet cut him off with a frustrated wave of his hoof. “Don’t give me that shit. Come on.”

Lance sighed, slumped a little, then tightened up his grip on the rifle. “Everyone’s paycheck is riding on this going smoothly. If you run your mouth when you all get back to the land of the living, there’s not going to be anything waiting for you but a bunch of jail cells.”

“Jail cells?” Ratchet tensed.

“Yeah,” Lance repeated, “jail cells! If you blow this, you don’t think they’re gonna have some sort of backup plan to cover their asses?”

“Who is ‘they!?’”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does!”

Lance snorted. “I have my instructions and you have yours. We should follow them, or things won’t go well for any of us. We are not in control here.”

“That’s exactly my concern!” the unicorn fired back. “What makes you think they haven’t already decided to screw us all over. That’s why we should pack up, and go!”

Lance jacked the hammer on the rifle back, and the resulting click cut the air like lightning. “Your only concern should be your job.”

Ratchet’s face went a little pale. He took a deep breath, and licked his lips before speaking, his voice wavering slightly. “What are you going to do? Shoot me? Everyone down there’s gonna hear it. How do you explain that?” The tip of his horn started to glow.

The white stallion shrugged, but it was somewhat clear from his posture that he was tense as well. “Not unless I have to. But right now, you’re giving me some pretty bad vibes.”

“Rusty would know. What’re you gonna do, shoot him too? And then this whole thing would fall apart at your hooves!”

Lance grit his teeth for a second, his grip tightening on the rifle. He sidled back an inch or two as he started to raise it. “Whatever you’re thinking... you’re thinking wrong. Let’s not fuck this up. I don’t want to shoot you.”

The blue glow from Ratchet’s horn grew a little brighter as the softball-sized rock he was levitating behind Lance drifted ever closer. The white stallion noticed the change in brightness, and his eyes widened in semi-realization. Ratchet swung, and Lance turned just in time to stagger to the side and miss having his muzzle rearranged. The rock missed and Ratchet let it fall from his levitation field rather than sparing more energy to reduce its momentum; it hit the ground with a thud, then rolled to the edge of the gorge and fell towards the canopy.

“What the fuck!?” Lance blurted taking aim with the rifle at Ratchet’s midsection. Ratchet’s horn flared up again, and when the other stallion hit the trigger, an enveloping haze of blue magic held the hammer back. Lance blinked, then glanced down in confusion, and Ratchet took that moment to charge at him. The white stallion barely had time to react, but managed to pull the rifle back and instead used it to block Ratchet’s charge.

The two collided chest-to-chest, Lance staggering back a foot and a half to keep his balance white Ratchet did his best to wrap his magic around the white stallion’s neck. With a grunt and a heave, Lance shoved back at the same time that the unicorn’s magical field closed around his throat and cut off his air supply. The stallion’s eyes bugged, and he rasped a desperate word that was little more than gibberish, a hoof shooting momentarily to his neck, only to realize there was nothing to grab. Now fighting a battle against time, Lance sidestepped the unicorn as he charged, taking a few steps closer to the gorge. his gaze desperately switching between Ratchet, and the ledge he was being herded towards.

“I know a set-up when I see one!” Ratchet charged again, and again, Lance sidestepped, wheezing, face going red as he turned the butt of the rifle out to land a blow on Ratchet’s shoulder as he passed. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to break Ratchet’s concentration enough so that Lance could breathe.

The white earth pony gulped down his first breath of air. “You’ve fucking lost it!” He coughed, holding up a hoof to a glowering Ratchet who was just turning around again to face him. “You’re gonna get us all fucking killed!”

Lance braced for a second charge, but Ratchet held off. “That place is bad news! I’m not going back down there,” Ratchet growled, folding his ears, a furious glare starting to form. “We’re not doing this!”

“This doesn’t end well, unless...” Lance held out his right hoof, attempting to show compromise, though his left maintained a slightly-shaky grip on the gun. “Unless we all do our part. We don’t ask questions, and we all get a shitton of money. It’s that simple.”

Ratchet spat at the ground, and took a step forward, and Lance eased himself back a half-step. “Bullshit! I didn’t sign up to be some corporate bitch, or fall guy.” he scoffed. “You would have shot me.”

“That rock would have caved my skull in, asshole!” Lance moved both forehooves back to his rifle, sitting back on his haunches as he did so, holding his defensive posture. “You’re a liability to your whole crew.”

“I know what’s good for my crew!”

“Oh yeah!?” Lance scoffed. “Really? You want them all in jail? Because that’s what’ll happen if you fuck this up! And that’s the best-case scenario.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, it’s a warning.” Lance growled. “You just tried to kill me. I can forgive that if you promise to chill the fuck out.” He sighed. “You’ve already cut one down. One or a hundred, the penalty is the same. This is what’s happening whether you like it or not. You have two options from here, fines out the ass and mandatory jail time, or a big-ass paycheck. I know which one I want.”

Ratchet glared for a long moment, but eventually his gaze started to soften. His expression shifted from that of anger, to one of unease and trepidation.”Then I won’t be a part of it. I’ll head back. Rusty can dig his own grave!” He sighed and shook his head, looking away. “I just—”

Lance was quick. He snapped his musket back up, shouldered it, took aim, and pulled the trigger in a little under the second. If only the priming powder, which had been moistened and tainted by the swampy air of the forest, hadn’t failed to ignite.

The bitter clack that filled the air as the hammer struck, and the weapon sparked but entirely failed to discharge, was one that could have woken the dead.

Ratchet’s head snapped around, ears perking, a snarl crossing his face as Lance tilted his weapon to look down at the failed ignition. “You fuck!” he bellowed, springing to his hooves, hurling the entirety of his weight at Lance.

For a second time, Lance reared up to meet him, using the rifle as an impromptu shield. Ratchet hit with full force, and it was enough to knock Lance back onto his hind legs. The stallion panicked, and took a few steps back to maintain his balance. Ratchet growled, concentrating as hard as he could on getting his forehooves around Lance’s throat.

“I had to! Stop!” Lance wheezed, looking back over his shoulder as he swayed, starting to lose his balance. “Oh, fucking Celestia, stop!” His voice was tight, strained, and desperate as he fought to keep his balance. “I’ve worked with these guys before. They w—”

“Fucker!” was all Ratchet said, baring his teeth as he pressed both forehooves to Lance’s throat. Finally winning the battle of force, he pushed the white earth pony past his balancing point, back and over.

Directly over the edge that Lance had been standing precariously upon, his back mere inches from the sheer ledge, the ledge that Ratchet hadn’t been focusing on.

The fall was tranquil in an eerie sort of way. Ratchet pushed off of Lance, but it did little good now that the both of them were falling, the rocky cliff face racing by right beside the both of them like an oversized belt sander. Lance’s blue eyes were wide and horrified, mane whipping around his face as he gazed up at Ratchet, but below that horror was an unbridled fury, a rage directed at the pony that had most likely just killed the both of them. Ratchet gazed back with the same fury, but under that, he looked sorrowful. He had, after all, started this.

The tree canopy came rushing up to meet them much too fast. Lance fell through first, his form disappearing into the sea of green, and yellow... and red.

Ratchet followed him a half-second later.

A shrill whistle sounded from high above, muffled and barely-audible through the trees.

“Heave!” Rusty yelled, motioning to the two lines of ponies, eight on each rope. Together, all sixteen of them grunted and groaned, taking slow, deliberate steps backwards as the ropes gained tension. “Okay,” Rusty said, peering up at the tree canopy. “Now start lettin’ it down slow.” He stepped forward, just in case he’d have to hop in on either side and grab a rope. “Make sure to bring it down even. We don’t want that thing gettin’ off-kilter.”

Everyone in camp had been called out to lower the milling machine into the gorge; everyone except for Blazer, who really wasn’t in any condition to be pulling on ropes with a bandaged forehoof. Even Shayne had pitched in, albeit somewhat begrudgingly. She’d propped her rifle up against a nearby tree and taken a spot at the end of the left line, having wrapped the end of the rope twice around her left hoof so she could use the other three to pull.

After a few moments, a crackling from above and a heavy rain of leaves and twigs signaled that the machine had been lowered into the tree canopy, and a moment after that, the bottom of it appeared through the foliage.

The snap of a twig sounded from above and Rusty jerked his head up to look for it. He seemed to just barely spot whatever it was, and take a precautionary step away as it soared towards the ground and hit the forest floor with a reverberating thud about ten feet away from where the rust-colored stallion stood.

Rusty’s jaw fell open and his right hoof lifted from the ground to make a grab for the cigarettes in his breast pocket as he watched the softball-sized rock roll away down the hill.

The machine continued to lower, now about twenty or so feet off the ground, and Rusty snapped open his lighter. He had just puffed the tip of his cigarette to life and tucked the lighter away when there was a muffled shout from above. Squinting, Rusty peered up at the tree canopy and waved his cigarette smoke out of his eyes with a forheoof.

Suddenly, to the left of the elevator, the foliage broke and a thrashing blue shape tore from the leaves and out into the open. Some ponies noticed it, others didn’t even look up from the rope as the pony dropped towards the ground like a stone. He hit with a sickening, wholesome thud, like an axe being sunk into a moist tree stump.

The impact was felt more than it was heard. That’s when everyone looked. The root bed on the forest floor was stiff and unforgiving, so Ratchet bounced. The hard angle of attack ensured that he didn’t bounce up, but rather, to the side, and his form went tumbling violently down the casual slope, his form limp and broken. He came to rest against a tree trunk, hitting it nearly as hard as he had the ground.

Rusty had frozen to the spot and fallen into a stunned vigil with all the others, who’d stopped any efforts of lowering the saw table any further. “R...Ratch?” he rasped.

Ratchet did not look okay. A few of the crew had seen ponies killed by much lesser falls and tumbles. There was little doubt among them that the chances he was alive at all were less than slim.

Like a specter from above, Lance’s rifle dived in and struck the ground butt-first, directly beside the left group of ponies. It discharged, spitting a two-foot foot lighting bolt of muzzle flash into the air with a deafening crack that caused the eight ponies on the left to jump in unison. A couple scattered, and two more dropped to the ground to cover their heads from what they could only assume would be falling debris.

In total, five of them let go of the rope.

Rusty dived forward in an attempt to save it as the three ponies still hanging on were yanked right off their hooves. He missed by four feet, and instead landed on his belly with enough force to knock the air out of him, his cigarette grinding itself out in the damp leaves and breaking in two. The green unicorn holding on in the front cried out and released the rope as he was dragged into the air, and Brick, who had rooted himself to the spot just behind the other stallion cried out in pain as the rope whizzed through his hooves, wisps of friction smoke curling into the air. Shayne, who’s left hoof was still wrapped thrice around the end of the rope, slammed into the large stallion from behind like a miniature wrecking ball and bowled him right off his hooves. From above, a loud slam and a clatter reverberated through the air as one side of the saw table dropped and collided with the wall of the gorge; Shayne gave a batty squeal as she was hoisted away and up into the air, now the only one on the rope. Tidal, who had been sitting on the left side of the milling machine, had somehow managed to get a hoof around one of the hoist chains supporting the heavy mill, clinging to it for dear life as Crunch slid down the smooth metal surface, his wings outstretched and flailing as he clawed desperately for traction with his forehooves.

Wheezing for breath, tobacco scattered across his lips like grungy lipstick, Rusty dragged himself to his hooves and staggered towards the other rope, which the group had managed to hang on to, however even with a block and tackle, the weight of eight loggers wasn’t enough to combat the saw, and they were being pulled towards the cliff face. The eight from the other rope had scattered, some boldly trying to retrieve it, others simply getting out of the way as the heavy machine lurched and swung precariously above.

Rusty dived again, and this time he was able to get his hooves on the end of the other rope and wrap it around his hoof. Despite his weight, it didn’t stop the machine’s fast descent as it pulled all nine of them across the forest floor. Another pony jumped on Rusty’s back and grabbed onto his shoulders, riding him like a toboggan across the frictionless leaves that might as well have been snow for all the grip they provided.

Crunch slid right off the end of the table and crashed into Tidal’s chest, and the both of them went falling about fifteen feet to the forest floor. Somehow, Crash managed to get his wings open at about eight feet, and they caught the air and flumfed up; he had just barely started to level out when Tidal grabbed onto his hind legs and jerked them both of them right out of the sky. Tidal hit the ground first, and Crunch landed right on top of him, then the two bounced separate ways and went into leaf-frenzied rolls down the hill.

Slowly. Ever so slowly, with ponies dogpiling one after another on top of Rusty, who let out an almost comical wheeze every time another pony was added, their weight equalized with the milling table and its left side came to a stop two feet from the ground, completely vertical. All the shouting and the screaming stopped, leaving nothing in the air but the exhausted panting of a dozen or so ponies. Shayne’s batty squeal sounded from above, and the mare came plummeting back down out of the trees, leathery wings fluttering as she fell, still entwined with the rope that had yanked her up into the air like a yo-yo. She ran out of slack about five feet up and came to a forceful stop, barking in pain as her right shoulder took the brunt of her weight. Finally, her hoof unraveled from the end of the rope and she fell to the ground, landing flat on her back, wheezing as the wind was knocked out of her.

There was silence.

“Hoooooooly sheeyat!” someone shouted, completely shattering the tense silence with a four-syllable expletive that normally would have only been three.

Rusty groaned, trying to shrug the others off his back. They took the hint, and started to shift. He was just starting to calm himself down when the rope trembled violently in his hooves and a loud crack and a groan sounded from above the tree canopy.

Rusty went stiff. “Scatter!” he shouted. And scatter they did; they didn’t need to be told twice. The rope that had been taut in his hooves no more than a moment before suddenly lost any and all tension, and Rusty threw it away in horror as the heavy mill saw slammed into the earth a couple feet away. The rope snaked back towards the ground, bunching up on the forest floor, and the mill balanced on its end just long enough for Rusty to stagger away. From above came the aggressive chatter of breaking branches and the brittle snap of shattered tree limbs as the mangled remnants of their improvised lift exploded through the tree canopy, torn from its mountings by the load imbalance. The assortment of scattered and broken logs hit the ground with a deafening thunder, dusting the fleeing ponies with splintered shrapnel. And then, finally, like a majestic giant tripping over its own feet, the log mill groaned and fell over to the side, hitting the ground with a final, reverberating echo that shook the ground and the very forest itself.

One by one, the ponies who had fled returned and gathered around the wreckage, either too shocked or too breathless to speak. Shayne sat up slowly from between two logs, eyes wide as she held her right shoulder with her left hoof; she was trembling, larynx bobbing erratically up and down on the front of her neck as she undoubtedly tried to form words.

“Is anyone hurt!?” somepony in the group shouted.

“I’m good!” a cream-colored earth pony called.

“Same!”

“Me too!”

Crunch was a few feet away, patting his way desperately, but gently up the hill as he searched for his glasses. By some miracle, he actually found them. Bending them back into shape, the pegasus fitted them over his muzzle, then sighed.

Tidal laid where he’d stopped rolling, sprawled out on his back. “Fuuuuuuuck,” he croaked.

Rusty slowly picked himself up, grimacing at the marks left on his forehoof by the rope. For a second, he seemed to relax, then it hit him. “Rachet!” he bellowed, turning and nearly tripping as he sprinted across the clearing towards the immobile blue lump that was the unicorn. Skidding to a stop beside the wreck of a pony in a spray of muggy dirt and leaves, Rusty stooped over and rolled the unicorn onto his back. “Come on Ratch, tell me you’re breathin’.” He gave his face a few light smacks with the flat of his hoof, then dropped his head and pressed his ear to the flat of Ratchet’s chest.

Stunned silence filled the air as other ponies gathered around, forming a ring around Rusty and Ratchet that nopony seemed to want to break. The large, auburn earth pony remained hunched over Ratchet, eyes closed, right ear firmly pressed to his chest as he listened for sounds of life.

“Rust...” Ma rasped after a few moments, taking a slow step forward. “Don’t—”

“Yep... He’s dead,” Rusty declared. Slowly, the hulking form of an earth pony stood, then inhaled a deep, measured breath. The stallion had valediction in his eyes, and an anger in his voice. He swallowed a lump, raising a shaking hoof, then lowered it again. “Where’s that fuckin’ bat?” he croaked.

There was another short moment of silence, then the ring of ponies tentatively parted to reveal the thestral standing just on the outskirts of it. Her tufted ears were folded flat against her head, and she sat back on her haunches, eyes wide. Rusty locked eyes with her, and she locked up like a deer caught in the glare of a spotlight.

“I-I didn’t—” She glanced around at the others, then looked back to where Lance’s rifle had landed. Rusty growled, then stepped towards her, and Shayne reacted by flinching backwards and raising her right hoof towards the butt of her rifle.

He lunged at her, and the mare grasped the butt of the rifle, yanking it from the harness on her back. The mare had managed to bring it about three quarters of the way around when he slammed into her, knocking the rifle aside and sending Shayne into a backwards tumble. She landed hard on her back, then rolled head over hooves as her leathery wings flailed at the air. Any further movement was stopped by the cold, relentless trunk of a bloodwood tree as her back thudded up against it, and the mare found herself watching Rusty advance.

He reached her in less than a second, and a powerful auburn hoof slammed down on the trunk beside her head, splintering the bark. He pressed the shin of his other foreleg under her jaw, against her throat, then pushed upwards. Shayne gagged and let out a pathetic squeak as he pinned her neck, then lifted her right up and off the ground.

“Explain!” Rusty bellowed, acrid, cigarette-tainted breath spilling over Shayne’s face. “It was just the two of them up there!” He dragged Shayne up the bark of the tree until she was at eye level with him, which ensured that her hind hooves were a little over a foot off the ground.

Shayne’s hind legs kicked desperately at the air and she clawed furiously at Rusty’s foreleg with her front hooves, eyes swiveling frantically in her skull. “I...” she choked out. “Maybe they fell—”

“Bullshit!” Rusty fired right back, interrupting her and pressing down a little more on her windpipe. The batmare’s jaw dropped and a sound somewhere between a wheeze and a squeak escaped her as the thrashing intensified.

The ponies around them had started to mutter and argue. Crunch watched on in something that resembled horror, while Blazer and Tidal had moved to the immobile form of Ratchet. Spark watched with something that resembled disinterest, and everypony else was arguing about just what the hell was going on.

A periwinkle hoof settled on Rusty’s shoulder, and he glanced back with a huff to peer into Ma’s blue, and surprisingly soft eyes. “Wha’dyou want?” he huffed towards her.

“Let her go,” Ma rasped, pulling lightly on Rusty’s shoulder. The stallion resisted her for a second, then sighed and leaned back, dropping Shayne back to the forest floor. Immediately, the mare clutched at her throat and fell over onto her side, hacking, coughing.

“Tie her up,” Rusty gruffed to nopony in particular, shrugging Ma off and turning away to look over the destroyed lift. “Get that machine turned upright. Get everything back to camp.”