If anypony asked, Code Red’s leap was a majestic display of clever bullet dodging. Not that anypony would ask. He was the only one stupid enough to walk up to a building with a gun-toting maniac on the roof. In Spurhoof, “stupid enough” meant “the only one with a badge”. He often wondered why under Celestia’s glorious sun Cranky Doodle had named him provisional sheriff until his return. It had to have been a heat-induced bout of madness.
“Hey, stop with the shooting!” he shouted at the pony on the roof. At least, they said it was a pony. He couldn’t tell. Whoever was up there had astounding camouflage skills. “I just want to talk to you.” The only reply was another shot. Red was certain he felt the wind of the bullet passing over his head! He scampered backwards for the safety of Mr. Rivet’s house.
Red whimpered and peeked at the building. It was so tempting to just let the crazy pony have his or her perch and tell people to keep away. But that was the Wagon Train Clothier, the former home and store of the Bulletproof Heart herself. Ponies around here cared about that. Heck, ponies outside Spurhoof cared about that! Like it or not, the sheriff had to get to the bottom of this.
He hated being sheriff. Oh, it had all been sunshine when Cranky had first handed him the job. Spurhoof was a quiet town. Not much for a sheriff to do but look intimidating when certain suspicious folk came around. Red could look intimidating. He could look like whatever he needed to look like. You need someone to fake a commanding presence, he was your stallion.
But now there were actual, real bullets involved. That made Red worry that people might start seeing the yellow underneath.
“No luck so far, huh?”
Only a lifetime of practice allowed Red to keep from squealing at the sudden presence behind him. He turned around to see a powder blue pegasus with a two-toned mane of similar, yet strikingly darker, colors. She had her hands on her hips and a commanding frown aimed at the shop across the street.
“Tidewind! Don’t surprise an armed stallion like that.” He gripped his pistol to emphasize the point.
The mare scoffed. “As if you’d ever fire that at a living pony.”
She had him there. He wasn’t a bad shot, but the idea of using his gun for anything other than intimidation made him… squeamish. Putting on his “in charge” face and tone, he followed her gaze to where the barrel of a rifle could just be seen over the shop’s front façade. “Whoever that pony is, they don’t want to talk. I might be able to climb onto an adjacent roof.”
“And get shot for your trouble,” Tidewind noted. “Why would a pony camp out atop Rarity’s place?”
“I wish I knew.” Then maybe he wouldn’t have to step within range.
“Well, I got more bad news.” She clapped him on the back, thankfully missing the alarm that he barely managed to cover. “We got riders coming in from the north. Saw them from the air. Not a caravan.”
Code Red barely avoided a groan. The last thing he needed was tourists getting shot on his watch. Somehow maintaining his outward cool, he adjusted his gun belt and turned from the shop and its unpleasant squatter. “Guess I better greet our guests.”
A griffon. Of course, the leader of these visitors was a griffon. Scary things, griffons. Big, with massive wings and pointy claws and snapping beaks. Code Red’s mother always warned him to stay out of a griffon’s way. She’d been dead for three years now, but that didn’t stop him from whispering an apology to her as he stepped into the middle of the street, blocking the path of the creature on her Dust Devil.
The griffon peered at him beneath the pale purple feathers surrounding her eyes. Slapping on his best Commanding Presence, Red raised his hand in what he hoped she would interpret as a simple greeting. “Whoa, there, folks. You ain't coming in through the usual trade routes, it looks like. What’s your business in Spurhoof?”
There were fourteen of them in total, mostly earth ponies, though they did have a lone unicorn. Every last one of them was armed. They all formed a line behind the griffon as she brought her lizard to a stop. That was a relief; Red had half-feared they’d ignore him. The griffon puffed out her chest and snapped her beak. “You got an inn?”
Direct. Red could deal with that. He tried to strike a leisurely pose, one leg cocked over the other and arms crossed, only to overbalance and stumble sideways a bit. Throwing on his best grin, he pressed on. “We’ve got one, but it’s nowhere near big enough for all of you. Hope you brought tents.”
The griffon raised a feathery eyebrow. “We’ve been on the road for weeks and you think we might not have tents?” Her peering gaze went to his badge. A smug look passed over her face, the kind that made Red hope he wasn’t about to become an entrée. “So you’re this ‘Doodle’ I’ve heard about? Rumor said he was a donkey.”
There were now officially a billion places Red would have rather been at that moment. She knew about Cranky. Why learn about local law enforcement if you were just passing through? This griffon was here with a purpose, and he didn’t think he’d like it. Straightening up once more, he regained his best Serious Tone. “Sheriff Cranky Doodle isn’t in town. My name’s Code Red, and I’m acting in his stead.” He put on his “I’m watching you” expression. “What did you say your name was again?”
The hungry look on her face didn’t fade, even when she took a moment to swipe the long, purple-tipped feathers from her face. “It’s Gilda, of the Apex Roost. Don’t worry, Sheriff, we won’t be around long.” Her compatriots shared a dark chuckle that had Red’s hackles rising.
At last losing that predatory look, Gilda leaned back in her saddle to observe the town of Spurhoof. It was a bland expression, almost bored. “So this is what the Bulletproof Heart calls home, huh? Lame. I was expecting something… I dunno. Dangerous, I guess.”
A brief fantasy passed through Red’s mind of these… whatever they were dealing with his squatter problem. He shook it off, though; he wasn’t about to go starting fights on purpose. “If you’re looking for her home, I suggest you don’t. We’ve got some sort of ruffian on the roof taking shots at anyone who gets close.”
One of the ponies in the back huffed. “Some sheriff you are.”
The snickering made him want to slink back to his office. Instead, he adjusted his belt, threw on a wry grin, and pulled out his pistol. “Hey, hey! I’ve got everything under control.” He gave the weapon a twirl… which sent it flying sideways. It landed in a nearby water trough with a resounding splash. Fighting down any attempts his blood made to invade his cheeks, he struck another confident pose beneath their deadpan stares. “I’m just giving the pony time to consider what they’ve done and surrender all peaceful-like.”
The corners of Gilda’s lips behind her beak curved up in a wry smile. “Well, I’m sure we all feel perfectly safe with a pony like you keeping an eye on things. Come on, fellas, let’s go… set up some tents.” She flicked the reigns, and Red had to sidestep quickly to avoid being run over by her Dust Devil. He watched them go, well aware of their sneering and mocking gazes, and felt helpless.
Waiting until they’d all passed on and were paying him no more mind, he trudged over to the water trough and fished out his gun. It was just a cheap Flossberg, nothing special. He ran his hands along the cool metal and sighed. “Sorry, Pop.”
A flapping of wings preceded a pair of hooves hitting the ground behind him. “That was a great show. Truly, you are among the top sheriffs in the land. Grade A.”
“Har-har.” Shoving the weapon in its holster, he turned to glower at Tidewind. “Don’t you have some receipts to cash or something?”
She gave him a painful flick on the forehead with her finger. “Bank’s closed today, you dolt.” Hands on hips, she turned to watch the griffon and her posse pass through town. “Bad news?”
He followed her gaze and rubbed at the spot she’d flicked. Should he tell her? Oh, who was he kidding? “Definitely. I don’t know what they’re up to, but I’m pretty sure it’s something related to Rarity. And they mentioned Cranky by name.”
Alarm flashed across her features. “Crap, yeah. That sounds like trouble. What do you plan on doing?”
Red had no idea. For all he knew, Gilda’s posse was here specifically for Cranky and Rarity. Once they found out neither had been around in over a year, would they move on? Or maybe they’d do something extreme. He didn’t know what that might be, and didn’t want to find out. Why did Cranky put him in charge, again?
Rather than voice any of this, he sucked in a deep breath and put on his Confident Face. “I’ll figure it out. For now, let’s just see what they do.” That was the last thing Red wanted to do, of course. If he had his way, he’d go to Cranky’s office, lock the door, and drink a couple bottles of Applejack from the old fart’s private stock. Possibly while curled up in a ball under the desk. He stared after the posse, now nearing the center of town, and tried to urge his legs to move. They were adamantly against this notion.
Tidewind placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”
He was, once. Before Cranky put that badge on him. No, no, that wasn’t fair. He’d enjoyed pretending to be sheriff. At least until that stranger came to town and started taking shots at people from atop Rarity’s roof. Gritting his teeth, he at last managed to will his legs into motion. “No, but it doesn’t matter right now.”
Tidewind walked at his side, and only now did he notice that she was armed with a rifle slung across her back. A Whinniechester, but an old one. He didn’t even know she owned a gun. “You know how to fire that thing?”
She shrugged. “Fire it? Sure. It’s the ‘hit something’ part that gives me problems.”
Good enough for Red. He wasn’t even sure if he could take a shot. Holding his hand up, he watched it tremble. Why couldn’t it be still and inspire some confidence? Stupid hand. He prayed to Princess Luna that the damn griffon and her posse wouldn’t stir up trouble.
“Uh, Red?”
He caught Tidewind’s worried expression and followed it. Gilda and her posse were in the middle of town, dismounted and having an animated discussion. They all had their weapons unholstered. He cursed under his breath.
“Whatever they’re doing, they’re going to do it soon.” Tidewind said the words quietly, but they reeked with fear. “Didn’t Rarity fight against griffons once? I seem to remember that being one of the stories.”
“Maybe they’re planning some kind of revenge?” Red looked around at the town. Spurhoof was tiny compared to most places. The main street had maybe two dozen ponies going about their business, and it likely wouldn’t get any more active unless there was some social function. His mind went to the story of Little Longhorn, a town burned to the ground and slaughtered because of the rebellious actions of a single pony. But that had been the Bad Apples. This posse worked for the Apex Roost. Surely the same thing wasn’t about to happen again.
As the posse split up and went off in different directions through town, Tidewind shook him. “Hey, come on. You’re the sheriff, Red. We need a plan!”
She was right, curse her. If Gilda was attempting retaliation against Spurhoof for Rarity’s actions… He couldn’t do anything about it on his own. He was a pretender sheriff, for crying out loud! The town needed Cranky, or even the Bulletproof Heart. But they had Code Red.
Code Red would have to do. He turned to Tidewind. “Go around town. Warn ponies that something’s up. Gather more to spread the word. Tell them to steer clear of this posse.”
Tidewind didn’t appear at all reassured. “And what are you going to do?”
“Only thing I can do,” he replied, repressing a shiver. “Have a talk with Gilda.”
He waited until Tidewind had gone off to do as he’d said – which took a bit of work, because she wasn’t convinced it was the right thing to do. Not that he blamed her. He certainly wasn’t confident in the decision. (Un-?)Fortunately, Gilda was easy to find as she’d not bothered to leave the lizards. She stood in the middle of them, a revolver in her claws and her gaze in the distance. She appeared every inch the predator, her eyes narrowed and her beak glinting in the afternoon sunlight. She didn’t acknowledge his approach.
He paused some ten or so feet away, fearing that if he came any closer his knees would start to knock. Appearances had to be maintained. With hands on his hips and head held high, he spoke up. “Gilda, right? I’d like to know what you’re doing, loitering in the middle of town.”
She turned her head. Not to him, but to look down another street. Her eyes didn’t so much as grace him with a glance. “You tried this once already, ‘sheriff’. I suggest you go back to your office.”
Red pushed down the urge to grimace, using it to blockade his suddenly hammering heart before it got lodged in his throat. The griffon wasn’t even pretending to be friendly anymore. “And I suggest you move these lizards to wherever you’re planning on settling down for the day.” Thank Luna, he didn’t stutter.
With a bird-like suddenness, her head snapped towards him. She gave her gun a couple twirls, managing to make the motion appear as an act of frustration. Red resisted the urge to grab his own weapon, even as those piercing amber eyes bored into him. He was certain it was the same kind of look an eagle gives a mouse right before gulping it down. All his instincts told him now was the time to run, yet he didn’t. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t, but he didn’t.
“You think you’re tough shit?” The feather’s on Gilda’s chest raised slightly as she glared. “Think that badge makes you somepony worth talking to? Cut the act. You’re a loser. I saw it the moment you walked up to us. It’s the only reason I didn’t have one of my guys shoot you.” She took a step closer, and though they were still several feet apart she seemed to loom in his vision. “You get that? The only reason you’re still alive is because you’re pathetic, with a capital P.”
Red swallowed and tried to will some sort of argument out of his throat. “I-I’m not—”
“Shut up, the adult is talking.” Gilda took another step closer, her long lion’s tail flicking and her wings opening wide. Her beak snapped, and the sound sent a tingling jolt through his body. Only now did he realize he was trembling. “Look at you. I mean, look at you. You’re supposed to be the law in this town? What a joke.
“I’m Apex Roost,” she growled, puffing out her chest. “I was born to dominate little shits like you, and you come up to me acting like you’re tough stuff. You wanna prove it, little colt? You wanna wear the big boy pants?” She nodded to the weapon at his hip. “Go ahead. Whip it out. Try and shoot me, if you got the guts.”
Seconds passed as she watched him with peering, scathing eyes. Red tried to form a response, to grab his gun, to do anything other than shake in his boots. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking of the truth: he was no sheriff. He was a colt playing cops and robbers. Cranky hadn’t given him this badge because of any competency, he’d done it because he didn’t think Spurhoof needed a proper guardian. He was a fraud.
No, not even that. At least a fraud was able to trick ponies into believing the lie. Nopony in Spurhoof had ever looked at him as their sheriff. Even his cutie mark, a smiling theater mask, said he was a cheap imitation. He’d seen it in their eyes, the amusement, the way they played along. Gilda was just the first creature to be honest enough to call him out on it.
She clacked her beak and rolled her eyes. “What a joke.” She pointed her revolver right at his head. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”
And he did. Without uttering a word, he turned away and began the short, but oh-so-long trudge back to Cranky’s office. Where he’d grab himself that bottle of applejack, curl up under the desk, and try to ignore whatever was going on outside the office door. It wasn’t as if anypony expected anything better from him. Spurhoof might be able to handle itself. Maybe not. He couldn’t change the outcome, so why bother trying?
He’d gotten maybe a dozen steps away when a gunshot pierced the quiet of the world. Red froze, momentarily thinking he’d just been shot in the back. But there was no pain, and when he felt his body, no holes. What the…?
More shots. The air was filled with the clamor of it. Someone was having a gun battle. But who? Why? He perked his ears, taking in the direction. It was coming from the North. That wasn’t anything critical that way, nothing to worry about except—
The Wagon Train Clothier.
The pony on the roof.
Alarm rolled through Red. He turned just in time to see Gilda rushing down the dirt path that they called a ‘street’ in this town. Her fellows weren’t far behind, popping out of the woodwork as if they’d been strategically positioning themselves all along.
For a time, Red merely stood there, uncertain. Other ponies were staring after the griffon and her posse as the gunshots grew more numerous. None of them would notice if he slipped off to Cranky’s office. He reached up to touch the star-shaped badge on his chest. It felt warm and sharp and not at all comfortable.
But something else prevented him from removing it. What it was, he wasn’t sure, but it kept him from walking away. So, with a curse that made Cleric Cloud Walker shoot him a sour look, he set out for the shop.
“What in Discord’s butt-ugly face is going on here?!” Red arrived just in time to hear Gilda shouting at one of her subordinates. The stallion paid her no mind as he opened fire with his pistols at the roof of Rarity’s shop. “Luna-dammit, Gridiron, what are you shooting at?”
The earth pony she was addressing turned to her, working to reload his weapons. “Some stupid pony is trying to shoot—” Something ripped through his shoulder, passing clear through and out his lower side in an explosive burst of red. He blinked at her, blood dribbling down his chin. The wet, guttural sound that left him was, perhaps, meant to be a word. Red didn’t know what it was supposed to be but, as he watched the stallion crumble to the ground, he knew he’d never forget it.
“Shit!” Gilda dove behind a wall and Red wasted no time following her, even though no further shots were fired. He was not surprised to note it was Mr. Rivet’s house again. “What the fuck was that?”
“That,” Red muttered, “would be that pony on the roof I mentioned earlier.” He kept blinking, trying to get the sickening image of Gridiron’s death out of his vision. Was this the kind of thing Rarity dealt with now?
The griffon stared at him, beak hanging open. “I thought you were just making that up to intimidate us.”
“Nope.” The word sounded so nonchalant. He didn’t feel nonchalant. He was tempted to feel between his legs to make sure he hadn’t pissed himself.
“What’s he doing up there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know anything?”
“No, I don’t!”
Gilda made a strange squawking sound that struck him as indignant. “You’re useless.” Grabbing him by his shirt collar, she easily lifted him up and tossed him sideways. He slammed shoulder-first into the opposite building and fell on his side. Grimacing at the pain, he sat up in time to see Gilda flying down the street to where the rest of her posse were maintaining a safe distance. “Timetable’s moved up! Take out that pony on the roof first, then make this place the next Little Longhorn!”
The words slammed into Red like a lizard at full charge. Little Longhorn. Home of the Flaming Vermillion, put to the torch when she eluded capture after the Battle of Ponyville. And now the Apex Roost sought to do the same thing to Spurhoof. Why? What had this town done to them? Was it because of Rarity? None of this mattered as much as the question looming over his mind: what was the sheriff going to do about it?
What could he do? Gilda was right, he was a sham. Even if he stood up to them, he’d only get himself killed. It wasn’t like he could rally the citizens. They all knew the truth, whether they’d admit it or not. As gunshots rang out, he wondered if it wasn’t too late to get that bottle of applejack. ‘Don’t be a one-pony army.’ That’s what Cranky had told him before he left. So he wouldn’t. He climbed to his hooves and trudged away from the sounds of gunshots.
Just when Red stepped out in the open behind the houses, someone grabbed him by the shoulder and twisted him around. He found himself undergoing a thorough physical inspection by none other than Tidewind. His cheeks burned as her hands roamed across his chest and sides. “H-hey, what are you—?”
“Good, you’re not hurt.” The mare heaved a sigh of apparent relief and stepped back, retrieving her Whinniechester from where it leaned against the wall. Only now did Red notice six others around him. He recognized the thestral farmer Banter Squash and his son Sandy, and a few others from around town. None were more prominent than the Diamond Dog banker, Mr. Gold, who was the only unarmed member of the group and looking out of place in his tan business suit.
Red stared at all of them in perplexity. “What are you all doing here?” He turned his attention to Tidewind. “I thought I told you to keep them away from this.”
She smirked and rested her rifle on her shoulder. “Yeah, well, I thought that was a stupid idea.” Red saw no reason to argue. “They fighting that pony on the roof?”
Ongoing events snapped back into Red’s mind. A fresh panic wormed its way into his consciousness as he once more took in the ponies and Diamond Dog surrounding him. “You guys have to get out of here. They’re going to raze the town!”
An explosion rocked the air and made them all jump. Red had never heard an explosion before, but some primal instinct left him without a doubt as to what it was. The others shared hard expressions. Sandy Squash cocked his shotgun. Mr. Gold removed his jacket, tossing it aside before flexing his clawed fingers.
A sinking sensation passed over Red as he watched them. They actually thought they could do something about this! “Didn’t you hear me? We need to get out of here!”
Tidewind arched an eyebrow at him. “This is our home. We’re not giving it up without a fight.”
Her words were like wasp stings against his heart. He raised his hands in a supplicating gesture. “You can. You should! This isn’t like the games we played as kids. You could die!”
“Goldy not afraid to die with pony friends,” Mr. Gold declared with a toothy grin. The Diamond Dog was known for having a friendly smile, one that didn’t show any of his sharp teeth. That wasn’t the smile he had now, and seeing those wicked canines sent a nervous thrill down Red’s back. “Boss would never forgive dog for leaving Miss Rarity’s home like cowardly pup.”
Tidewind gave the big creature a light punch to the shoulder and grinned. “Yeah, right. You’re just protecting the bank vault, ain’t ya?”
Mr. Gold chuckled and shook his head. “Boss wouldn’t like if Goldy lost that, too.” He then displayed his claws to them, all humor lost in his voice. “Miss Rarity best customer. Goldy return many favors today.”
“We all owe Rarity favors,” the Elder Squash declared grimly. “Spurhoof isn’t going to let them walk all over us.”
“Come on, Sheriff.” Tidewind grinned at Red and gestured with her rifle back towards the gunshots. “Let’s do this.”
Sheriff. She’d said it without any irony or amusement. It hadn’t been at his expense. It had been… sincere.
It made Red feel sick to his stomach.
“I’m not your sheriff,” he growled.
“Oh, stop it,” Tidewind countered, rolling her eyes. “We don’t have time for it. Cranky made you—”
“Cranky made a mistake, okay?!” He grabbed at the little bronze star on his chest, fighting to get it off. It ripped through his vest, and he didn’t care. Brandishing it at her, he snarled, “I don’t deserve this thing. I’m a fake, a pretender, traipsing around while you all laugh at me behind my back! Don’t deny it, we all know it’s true. I’m worthless, I can’t help anyone, and I am not going to let you all commit suicide in my name! Forget the Bulletproof Heart, she’s not here, and neither is Cranky. Fighting them is stupid, it’s going to get you all killed. So don’t fight them.”
Red thought maybe he’d get through to them, or perhaps they’d stop to try and encourage him, or… something slow and dramatic. Instead, Mr. Gold shrugged and started for the fighting. The others promptly followed him. Most didn’t even give Red a passing glance. He watched them go, shoulders slumped and heart in his stomach.
Tidewind stayed. Only Tidewind. She studied him with a somber, thoughtful expression. He couldn’t meet her eye, too busy staring at his feet and listening to the gunshots going off just a couple dozen feet away.
The mare stepped close and took his hand, still feebly holding the badge, in both of hers. She raised it up and pressed it to his heart. “Cranky was a smart donkey,” she told him, voice neither pitying nor accusing. “And he was practical. He never did anything without a good reason. If he gave you this badge, it’s because he thought you deserved it.” She placed her hand to his shoulder, giving him a soft smile. “Like it or not, you’re the sheriff of Spurhoof until he gets back. What you do with that title is up to you.”
His throat was dry. He still tried to get something out. “Dewy, I…” The words caught. He hunched his shoulders as another explosion rocked the town. Every shot reverberating through the hot air was like another weight dropped on them.
“No more chatter,” Tidewind said, still with her smile. “They need us.” She turned away, but before heading for the fight she said, “And if you ever call me that in public again I’ll shoot you in the butt.” She broke into a trot, leaving him behind.
He watched her go, then looked at the badge in his hand. It was hard, the edges feeling sharp against his skin. He recalled the day Cranky had pulled it off his worn jacket and pinned it to him. No speeches, barely any warning. I’m headed out of town for a while. Watch over the place while I’m gone, will ya? He never even gave a reason for Red to be his choice. It had just… happened. It had all felt like a joke, even then. It should have gone to Tidewind. Why hadn’t it gone to her?
A scream briefly overcame the gunshots. Red jumped and faced the sound. Ponies were dying. They were dying, and he was just standing here feeling sorry for himself. He felt so… so stupid. Now more than ever, he understood how much he didn’t deserve that badge.
But somepony had to wear it.
“Celestia? Luna?” He pinned the badge on his shirt. “Forgive me for taking this life for granted.” He pulled out his Flossberg and checked that it was loaded. “Forgive my lack of faith in my fellow equines.” He flinched at another scream, holding his gun up by his shoulder and glaring at the street from between the houses. “And if it ain’t too much to ask, I’d like to keep my hide intact today.” He broke into a run before the weakness in his legs could change his mind.
The street before the Wagon Train Clothier was filled with noise. Gilda and her posse had broken into the building and were using it as a defensive fortification against the ponies of Spurhoof, who surrounded it behind whatever they could use for cover. Of note was a massive Thick Scales lizard in the roadway, behind which cowered its master, Cleric Cloud Walker, and three other ponies. The great beast was curled so that its face was safe from the onslaught of bullets, none of which could pierce its eponymous thick scales.
Code Red had severely underestimated the will of the townsfolk; there had to have been three dozen ponies and thestrals taking shots at the shop! He almost felt sorry for Gilda. He felt far sorrier for Rarity. What would he tell her if she came back one day to find her home shot to shreds like this?
The sharp zip of a bullet reminded him that he was exposed and gawking, and he promptly dove behind the body of a dead pony. Then he realized it was young Salted Butter. He’d been saving up to start a bakery. The boy’s mother was going to be inconsolable!
“Red!” He looked up to see Tidewind taking cover behind the house’s door. She nodded grimly to him. “Glad to see you finally decided to join us.” She flinched as a bullet chewed up the wood of the doorway.
“We outnumber them two to one,” he shouted over the gunshots. “Why the heck aren’t they dead yet?”
“Because they know what they’re doing,” she shouted back, fumbling to reload her rifle. “And we don’t!”
Of course. None of them were soldiers or gunslingers. They had the will, but not the experience. Red cursed under his breath and, with an apology to Salted for using his body as cover, peeked out at the scene. Gilda’s ponies were keeping well hidden behind the windows. Whoever got a bullet in one of them would have to be a crackshoot or ridiculously lucky. There were four bodies in the streets, and he only recognized one as belonging to the enemy. It was black with burns from some unknown source.
A rumbling sound startled him back into cover. He turned to his right, brandishing his gun, as the earth rose up in a mound. A grey head popped out of the soil, and Red could only stare in bewilderment at the sight of Mr. Gold covered in dirt. “W-what the hay?”
Mr. Gold met his gaze and gave a sharp-toothed grin. “Ah, good for pony to join us!”
“That’s what I said,” Tidewind called.
Still submerged to his neck, the Diamond Dog shook his head to rid it of some dirt and took on a grim expression. “Goldy attack from below, where pony not expect. Not good here. Miss Rarity’s floor in way. Get big loan, pay for quality wood. Dog can get through, but take time. Dead Dog help nopony.” He smiled again. “Dog get good deal for Miss Rarity. Pony pay back fast.”
It came as no surprise at all that Rarity’s high standards would get in the way of one of their only advantages. Red would have cursed the mare were she around to know about it. He flinched as Tidewind fired a few times at the shop. Mr. Gold promptly disappeared underground to avoid the retaliatory shots. “Would you stop that? I’m trying to think of a solution, here!”
Ducking back behind the wall, Tidewind shouted, “Maybe you should do less thinking and more shooting. You’ve got a gun, use it!”
As if you’d ever fire that at a living pony.
Red grimaced and considered his options. A wary glance at the shop’s roof showed no squatters. Was the pony up there dead? No help from there, then. No going above, no back doors to speak of. No reason to doubt Mr. Gold’s… Wait.
He kicked at the ground near the hole the Diamond Dog had produced. “Mr. Gold! Are you down there?”
Grey, pointy ears poked out from beneath the sand, swiveling around as if in search of something. Then the dog’s head popped out again, beady eyes aimed right at Red. “Sheriff Pony need something?”
Before too long, Red found himself on the dog’s back and underground. In the back of his mind, he knew this should be a fascinating thing. Very few ponies got to witness a Diamond Dog in its element, crushing through the solid rock with all the finesse of a fish through water. At the forefront, however, was the thought running on repeat like a broken vinyl record: This is a bad idea. Bad idea or not, there he was, about to die because of a badge. If he ever saw Cranky again, he’d lodge the damn thing down his throat.
They came to an abrupt stop, caught in a small pocket Mr. Gold had created with his claws. The dog, little more than a shadowy silhouette, tilted his head. He spoke quietly, not quite a whisper. “We are under Miss Rarity’s storage room.”
Red didn’t bother looking around. In the pitch blackness, everything looked identical. “How can you tell?”
Mr. Gold shrugged. “Am dog. Dogs know these things.” He sniffed. “Air not last long. No vents. We should move.”
“Not yet,” Red whispered. “Can we hear the signal from here?”
They perked their ears in tandem. All was quiet. Anxiety began to flow through Red’s veins. If they were deaf to the world above, this whole plan would be ruined. He tried to follow Mr. Gold’s advice from earlier, to remain relaxed and regulate his breathing. The silence wore on. The Diamond Dog beneath him shifted.
Faint in the still air, shots began to ring out. A lot of them, all at once in what surely would have been a deafening cacophony had they been up there. Acting on the sound, Mr. Gold began to dig up. Quickly, but cautiously. Soon a dim light shined on the tunneler and his passenger, thin streaks between boards. The Diamond Dog began to claw at the hard wood, sending splinters flying. Red had to wonder why a creature with claws capable of cutting through solid rock had so much trouble doing the same to wood, but he had more important things on his mind at the moment. He kept his head low, preventing the splinters from getting in his face, and gripped his Flossberg.
After what felt like an eternity, one of the boards snapped. The gunshots grew louder, a constant barrage that had to be wreaking havoc on poor Rarity’s shopfront. Red mumbled an apology under his breath as he and Mr. Gold climbed out of the new hole and into a small room. It was filled with crates, rolls of fabric, ponnequins, stacks of folded clothes, and various other accoutrements of a well-maintained clothing store. It was a shame to see the thick coating of dust on it all.
No time to worry about that. Shaking the dirt off, Red forced his wobbling legs to move him to the door. Pushing it open brought out the full explosive cacophony of the assault on the shop. His gun trembled in his hands, but he grit his teeth. This was easily the stupidest thing he’d ever done. That was probably the only reason it might work.
With a sound that was most certainly not a whimper, he poked his head through the crack in the door and took in the shop. Gilda and her crew were all lined up against the far wall, taking cover from the shattered windows as bullets ripped through the shop floor. There was nine of them left, and they were waiting grimly for the rain of bullets to die down. None of them noticed him peeking through the door under the stairs.
Heart thundering, he took aim at the closest potential target – the lone unicorn. A breath. Another. A longer one. His hand was still shaking. The old Flossberg went off, jerking in his hands. He missed the unicorn, instead hitting the shoulder of the stallion beside him.
Then Red started pulling the trigger. Again, again, and again. All thoughts left him as he focused on emptying the clip and taking as many of them down as he could. Confusion reigned for a brief time, but eventually the ponies and one griffon realized where the new attack was coming from and returned fire. His gun empty anyway, Red ducked back into the storage room and began to reload. The motions were automatic, ingrained in his head by the constant insistence of his father.
Shooting had been a sport in his family. A test of skill. He’d never seen it as anything else. Now, as he panted hard and slid the last bullet into the breach, he recalled the jerking motions of the impacts, the pained eyes of the ponies he’d struck, and the cries that barely registered over the gunshots. This wasn’t a sport, it was terrifying, and he hated it. He glanced at Mr. Gold, who was hunched over their exit, ears folded back and nose sniffing the air. He wanted to tell the dog to leave, to get out while he still could, but his throat was too dry and tight to offer any sound.
Any sound… There was no sound.
Red’s ears perked. Had he gone deaf? The world was still, the wave of bullets at an end. At least, he thought so. He licked his lips and scraped a boot on the floor. The rough sound jarred the stillness. Nope, not deaf.
A shot filled the air, and Red knew agony. Gun forgotten, he clutched his bleeding shoulder. Everypony knew getting shot hurt, but nopony could have prepared him for how much! The door to the storage room slammed open, shoving him hard enough to bash the back of his head against the wall. He fell as a couple more shots rang out. There was a yelp, and he saw Mr. Gold dive down through the hole in the floor. Red didn’t blame him in the slightest.
A taloned claw grasped his shirt collar, hefted him to his hooves, and slammed him against the wall. Groaning, he opened his eyes to find a sharp beak pressed against his muzzle beneath a pair of furious amber eyes. “You little shit, I should have killed you when I first saw you!”
Grimacing, Red tilted his head to look out the door. All he saw were bodies. He couldn’t have done that. His gun didn’t hold enough bullets. Crossfire? “W-wha… What…?”
His jaw was clamped closed by the gun pressed to his chin. “I was gonna be welcomed back to the Roost with open wings after this! No more exile, no more feeding on scraps in the wilds, no more relying on the kindness of a damn prey species. You ruined it.”
Red squirmed, trying to push the gun away. Gilda was far stronger. All his efforts earned him was more pressure. Tears formed in his eyes with the abrupt awareness that he was about to die.
“I should kill you slow,” she hissed, beak clapping so close to his muzzle it scratched him. “No time. Those assholes are gonna get brave and come inside. But before you die, I want you to know you haven’t saved anyone. I’ll come back with more bandits, and then I’ll slaughter every. Single. One of—” A clunk announced something hitting the floor. Gilda looked into the shop and her eyes went wide. “Son of a—!”
The explosion was quick and loud. Red clenched his eyes closed at the sudden brilliance and heat. It took him a second to realize he’d fallen to the floor, still leaning against the wall. It took him another to notice he was not, in fact, burning alive. He was partially behind the open door, it must have saved him. Gilda had dropped him and thrown herself into the storage room, by some miracle escaping with only some singed feathers. She climbed dizzily to her feet and let out a snarl before turning back to the door.
Her gun barely rose before a shot came, familiar and so loud it made Red’s head hurt. The impact threw Gilda backwards, slamming her into some ponnequins. This time she didn’t get up, merely moaning in pain.
Red sat there for some time, trying to straighten his thoughts. He eventually recalled his injury, and reached up to apply pressure to his shoulder. With a groan, he climbed to his hooves, ready to step outside. When he looked up, it was to find that he wasn’t alone. Standing before the door was a pale yellow pegasus dressed in what appeared to be rough, genuine leather. Her long, pink mane was wild, like it hadn’t seen a brush in years, and her expression was a grim mask of displeasure. She had magnificent wings, spread wide and imposing. He hadn’t known wings could get that big. In her hands was a massive scoped rifle which had, scratched in jagged letters on the wood, the name Cardinal.
Red stared at her, dumbfounded.
She glared back, her eyes piercing.
Words slipped out of Red’s lips. “A-are you the pony on the roof?”
The mare breathed a long, slow breath. Then she spoke. “Where is the Bulletproof Heart?”
That wasn’t fair. She was supposed to answer his question before asking her own. But then, she had the freakishly big rifle. “She’s… not here.”
The mare’s hold on her gun tightened, the barrel rising slightly. “She lives here.”
“Used to,” he corrected timidly, well aware of where that barrel was aimed. “Sh-she left town over a year ago.”
With another heaving breath, the mare closed her eyes tight. “Where is she?” This time the question sounded self-aimed.
Red didn’t know who this pony was or what her business with Rarity might be. All he knew was that she gave off an aura of menace, and he wanted her out of Spurhoof – and more importantly, away from him – right away. “Last I heard…” He paused when those fierce blue eyes met his again. “L-Last I heard, she was in Manehattan. But that was some time ago. We don’t get news fast out here. It’s probably outdated by—” He clamped his teeth shut when the barrel of the rifle pointed his way. He raised his hands, praying she wouldn’t shoot an unarmed stallion.
“Get the griffon.”
Gilda? He hesitated only long enough for the mare to start raising her rifle before turning around. He spotted his gun on the floor and reached for it.
“Leave it.”
He paused, glancing over his shoulder. He doubted she had the patience to hear his arguments, so he left it. “Sorry, Pop,” he whispered. Reaching Gilda, he shoved some of the ponnequins aside. The griffon was still alive and awake, but appeared to be in a state of shock. She merely stared at the ceiling, seemingly lost in her own world. There was a hole in her hip. A big one. Offering neither complaint nor aid, she let him lift her up by the shoulder.
The pegasus gestured with her head for him to leave the storage room, and he did so without protest. These weren’t the actions of somepony intending to kill, at least he didn’t think so. He was beginning to think he might get out of this alive. Stepping into the shop proper, he moved to the center of the room.
He looked back just in time to see the mare fire something from the rifle’s second barrel. It made a dull sound, sending a large cannister into the storage room. The sound of an explosion burst from within, blowing the pegasus’s mane and tail backwards. She didn’t even flinch.
Red gaped at her, alarm rising when he heard the unmistakable cracklings of a fire. “What are you doing?”
The mare didn’t turn to him, only stared into the storage closet. It wasn’t hard to imagine the flames growing quickly, considering the dry and highly flammable material within. Just as an orange light began to dance across her pale visage, the mare replied, “Get out. Let nopony in.”
Something stirred within him, preventing him from being cowed. Just this once, he felt a reason to object. “This was the Bulletproof Heart’s home,” he replied, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “It’s important to the ponies of this town. You can’t just—” Suddenly, the barrel of the rifle was only an inch from his face. That didn’t disturb him half as badly as the venom in the mare’s expression. Gilda’s glare had nothing on this mare’s stare.
Without another word, Red stepped away. She continued to stare. He swallowed to ease his dry throat and tried to will that stubbornness back. But it didn’t return, and eventually it was Red who looked away. Head low, he turned and exited the shop, practically dragging Gilda with him.
The ponies of Spurhoof were outside, all waiting to see what would happen. Cleric Cloud Walker was the first to greet him, hurrying forward to help him with Gilda. Questions were asked. Where there any others? What happened to that mysterious pegasus? How had he escaped alive? Amidst all the chatter, new words began to pop up, words that had never been associated with Red’s name before. Brave. Daring. Heroic. Before he knew it, he was being cheered as a slayer of bandits.
For the second time that day, he felt like he was going to vomit.
Tidewind was sitting on the porch opposite the shop, blood dripping from a wound in her leg. Even so, she was grinning at him when the crowd at last let him by and took Gilda off his hands. “Gotta admit, Red, I didn’t think you’d make it out of that in one piece.”
That made two of them. Clutching his wounded shoulder, he asked, “Mr. Gold?”
Tidewind grimaced. “Bullet in the chest. Cleric says he’ll be fine, but he won’t be leaving his room at the bank anytime soon.”
Shouting interrupted their conversation. The villagers were finally noticing the fire. It was far too late, though; even as Red watched, the back of the house was turning into an inferno. From out of the smoke came the pegasus, walking with the rifle in her hands and an expressionless face. Some ponies rushed to get water to fight the fire. Others stared at the pegasus mare as she walked with purpose directly to Red. Her piercing blue eyes met his. “Do you have a way of getting in contact with the Bulletproof Heart?”
Red immediately thought of the bank. It was no secret that Rarity had forged some deal with Howler’s to make it easy to contact her. “Yes.” He looked past her, watching as the fire began to spread to the front of the shop. His heart sank as the sign above the door was engulfed by the crackling, searing heat. The pegasus turned to watch as well, and for a long time nopony said anything. All Red could do was let the cold knife twist in his gut as the Wagon Train Clothier was consumed.
At last, he asked, “Why?”
The pegasus looked to him. The firelight danced in her eyes, giving the anger within them all the more heat. “Tell her. She destroyed my home, so I destroyed hers.” Her vast wings flung open, and then mare was flying east, into the coming darkness. It wasn’t long before she was little more than a speck in the distance.
Tidewind let out a whistle. “She’s intense.”
Red said nothing. He just sat on the porch next to her and watched as the shop burned. Already, the ponies of Spurhoof had given up on saving it and were instead devoting their efforts to keeping the flames from its neighbors. Those not working the buckets stood around watching as Spurhoof’s only landmark, a symbol of local pride, kept the town aglow with the onset of night. Cleric Walker came by to tend to Red’s wound, pulling a bullet from his shoulder. Even going through that searing pain, he couldn’t stop watching the ever-dancing blaze.
He thought about Rarity, the prim and proper mare he barely knew. He thought of the Bulletproof Heart, who appeared out of nowhere to be a hero of Equestria. He thought of legends and villains of the past, of the stories that made them seem so special. He wondered about Gilda, and what might drive her to such lengths. More than anything, he thought about what he’d just done, and how ponies would look at him now.
After what may have been hours, Tidewind bumped his good shoulder with her own. “Bit for your thoughts.”
At her curious look, he took the badge from his shirt. Carefully, this time. “I don’t want to be sheriff anymore.” He offered it to her. “You want the job? I think you’d be way better at it.”
She cocked her head in that birdlike way pegasi had. “I didn’t just slay a bunch of bandits.”
“Neither did I.”
Tidewind gazed at him. Then at the badge. Licking her lips, she took it from him, but didn’t put it on. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
“Yeah? Well…” He brought his eyes back to the flames. The front collapsed inward in an eruption of crackling sparks. “I was never known for those.”
Author's Note
Have questions about the world of Bulletproof Heart and aren't afraid of spoilers? Then visit the official BPH Q&A blog!
My thanks to SorenPixels, who originally conceived of the character of Code Red and allowed me to use him in my own way.
Don't go looking for Fluttershy's motivations in Bulletproof Heart. They aren't there. The coming sequel will provide some hints to it, though. If I can ever finish the damn thing.
I wanted one last scene where Cranky showed up the next day to take his badge back and finally explain why he chose Code Red as his temporary replacement. Alas, word count limitations prevented that.
