A Day Like No Other
It was a day like any other.
Silver Trolley pulled his milk cart behind him, the freshly greased wheels barely making a sound as the tires rolled along Canterlot’s well-worn sidewalks. As he passed a storefront, he turned, admiring the bright reflection of his cart in the window, the fresh coat of steel polish he’d applied the night before doing its job.
Most of the milk and egg deliveries in Canterlot had been taken over by the larger enterprises, who boasted of the speed and accuracy with which their robotic couriers operated. The majority of Canterlot’s well-to-do (who could afford to pay for fresh deliveries every morning) had readily given their business to those companies, leaving most of the old-time delivery ponies out of work.
But Silver Trolley had managed to survive this long, and he intended to keep it that way. That meant maintaining the level of service that had always been his hallmark; quality product, excellent presentation, and prompt deliveries, all done with a smile.
He passed a few ponies as he made his way to his first delivery, nodding to the stallions and tipping his cap to the mares as he did so. Most greeted him warmly, all familiar sights on his daily route. He might have been something of an anachronism in this hyper-modern Equestria, but he was a comforting one all the same, and it was a role he was prepared to play as best he could.
The first house belonged to one of the wealthier socialites in Canterlot, a mare obsessed with sticking to tradition. As was common for these sorts of clients, Sliver didn’t interact with the ponies themselves, only their staff, which did mean considerably less chances to put a hoof wrong.
“Morning, Jade Egg,” he said, smiling at the aged Earth Pony who had responded to his knock.
“Good morning, Silver Trolley! On time as always,” she replied, a twinkle in her eye. “Though I’m not sure we’ll be using all the usual delivery today.”
“Oh?”
“The Mistress has gone out, and without a note as to when she might return. Steady Saucer – that’s the new butler – told me that she seemed quite frightened as she left, and that she took only a suitcase that looked as though it had been packed in a hurry.”
She sighed theatrically, then smiled. “Most likely she got some invitation to an event on short notice. Either way, I’ll still take the usual order for today.”
“Sure thing,” he replied, reaching back to open his cart. He pulled out two bottles of milk and a small package of eggs, hoofing them over to the mare. She passed him a small bag of coins in return, which he slipped into his saddlebag. Then he took the empty bottles back from her, sticking them in a neatly kept cloth sack for recycling.
“See you tomorrow, then,” he said, tipping his hat once more.
Silver soon was whistling a tune as he trotted along to his next stop, Jade Egg’s story slipping to the back of his mind. In the grand scheme of things, the eccentricities of one mare didn’t amount to much.
“Morning,” he said, smiling at a unicorn stallion this time. “Got the usual for Fancy Pants.”
“The Master has left just a short while ago,” Upper Crust replied, sniffing haughtily. “He didn’t say when he might be returning.”
“Left in a hurry, eh?” Silver Trolley frowned for the first time that morning. “Seems unusual, doesn’t it?”
“Indeed, and with a bag too.” The unicorn sighed. “But it is not my place to question why the Master acts as he does. Merely to do as he has directed.”
“Right…” Silver replied. While he didn’t dislike any of the ponies he dealt with, Upper Crust wasn’t exactly someone he liked either. He hoofed over the usual delivery and accepted the usual payment in return.
“See you tomorrow,” he said, as Upper Crust closed the door.
He started to resume his whistling as he carried on, but his mind wasn’t in it. While Silver wasn’t a pessimistic stallion by nature, that didn’t mean he was a naïve buffoon either. For two of Canterlot’s elite to suddenly rush out of their palatial homes for no apparent reason felt…ominous.
That feeling grew as his third and fourth stops were met with similar news. No, the owners of the homes were not present. No, they hadn’t mentioned when they might be returning. Yes, they would still take their usual delivery.
While Silver’s coin purse was filling with its usual comforting weight, he couldn’t help wondering if it might be some time before it was this full again.
Having finished with the wealthiest clients, he turned down a side street, heading into a more dilapidated part of the city. This next stop was something of a charity case. The mare in question would always pay. Eventually. Often, he would go a month without actually seeing her, but the milk bottles always changed, and so he continued delivering, trusting she would settle her account when she remembered to.
In more prosperous times, he might have dropped her, but with business being a little slower, he felt he could afford to be patient.
Rapping smartly on the purple door, he took out her usual order of a single milk bottle and two eggs, setting them on the doorstep. As he turned to go, the door opened, a frazzled mane poking out, followed by a face.
“Oh. It’s you.”
“Miss Moondancer,” he replied, tipping his cap. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Sorry for being late this month,” she replied, a touch sheepish. A bag of coins floated out toward him. “Just been studying a lot.”
He smiled, trying to put as much warmth into it as he could. The mare always looked like she could use it.
“That’s quite all right,” he said. “Any change to the order?”
“No, thank you.” She started to pull back into the door, milk and eggs held in her telekinesis.
A loud blam echoed throughout the city, followed by tremors traveling through the ground beneath them. They both looked up just in time to see a second zebra missile sailing downward, heading in the direction of the Royal Palace.
The flickering haze of a shield appeared just in time to stop the weapon, and it detonated spectacularly, almost like a firework, if fireworks possessed the ability to kill anything they touched.
Silver would have continued staring if not for the sound of breaking glass behind him. He turned, seeing that Moondancer had dropped the milk and eggs onto the ground.
She looked at him with such terror that he felt the cold fist of fear squeeze at his own heart.
“They’ve killed us,” she whispered, starting to stumble back into her house. “They’ve killed us all.”
Before he could reply, she slammed the door closed.
More flashes appeared in the sky, more zebra missiles impacting uselessly on the shield. The quiet streets began to fill with screams and cries of terror as more ponies realized what was happening. Then the air raid sirens started, their harsh tones adding to the cacophony.
He looked back once more at the closed door, thinking on the mare’s last words.
No. He wouldn’t give into that fear. The Princesses had protected them until now, and they would deliver them from this. Fierce courage filling his breast, Silver straightened his back, adjusted his hat, and resumed off at a gentle trot. There were still deliveries to be made, even with the war on, and he would see that they were done.
Pain engulfed his body as he lay there, his shattered mind still trying to piece together what had happened. Dim memories of that day twisted and swirled, their colors smearing into a pastel-colored mess. With some effort, he remembered having been on his route, making his usual stops. Then he remembered the missiles, and then…the cloud.
Forcing his eyes open, his vision was filled with pink swirls. He blinked several times, as if to clear them, before he realized that the clouds – pink clouds, what an odd thought! – were real. He hadn’t been hallucinating, then.
Putting that thought aside, he struggled to his hooves, aches and pains breaking out all over, his skin feeling dry and stretched.
He felt pressure on his back, and turned to look. Of course – his harness! He’d been pulling his delivery cart when he’d passed out from all the strange pink clouds in the air. Stretching out his neck, he took one strap in his mouth, tugging at it to release it, then the other.
And yet the harness didn’t release. He stared at it dumbfoundedly, bringing one hoof up to push at it. Weakly, numbly, as though his body wasn’t working quite right, he finally realized that the harness had somehow melted to his skin.
The thought should have sent waves of panic through him, but all he felt was a numbing acceptance as his mind continued to struggle processing all it was going through.
Leaving the harness for now, he started to stumble forward, thoughts of trying to reach a medical clinic driving him onward. The wheels of his cart squeaked and scraped, the grease having been eaten away by the Pink Cloud. He paid the sounds no mind.
A part of his mind pointed out that it was strange he wasn’t hearing any other sounds – anything other than the tired melodies of the sprite bots – but he didn’t spare much effort to think on that. Those thoughts could come later.
He stopped short upon finding the first bodies. A mare and her filly were clutched together, blood dripping from their glassy eyes, their lips drawn back in matching rictus grins. He felt the numbness grow stronger, and while his mouth opened to say something, anything…he found that he couldn’t.
Stepping around them, careful not to hit them with the wheels of his cart, he continued onward, encountering more bodies, each as dead as the last.
It was only when he passed a storefront – the glass miraculously intact – that he stopped short.
That morning, he’d been a decent looking chestnut colored stallion, with a neat blond mane and well-kept tail.
The reflection in the glass was…not that.
His mane and tail were ravaged, looking as though they’d been burned away, with only a few blackened strands remaining. His hat was strangely untouched, though as he poked it with a hoof, he found that, much like his harness, it was firmly stuck on his head.
Beyond that, even his body looked wrong. Large patches of his coat were missing, and the skin beneath them looked sallow and gray. His eyes were yellow and sunken into his head, and his gums were bleeding around his teeth.
He supposed it must be some sort of radiation poisoning. But that was something that could be cured, he was sure of it. His mind clung to that thought as he resumed his journey for the nearest medical clinic, that small hope buoying his failing spirit.
A few minutes later, he felt that hope turn to ash as he stared at the remains of the nearest clinic. Bodies were piled up around the entrance, some already turned to skeletons, though he didn’t see how that was even possible.
One thing was clear: no salvation awaited him inside.
He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, staring at the scene before him. He didn’t remember when he’d started to walk, the squeak of his blackened cart contrasting with the saccharine marching music trumpeting through the desolate streets.
He wasn’t sure he cared to remember.
Three smart knocks echoed off the door, the splinters and dents just signs of an action long repeated on a door no one remained to repair.
“Delivery,” a raspy voice said, the stallion - the ghoul - responsible turning his head back to his rusty, aging cart. With effort, he carefully took out four weathered, aged bottles, all empty, and set them on the doorstep. Then, gingerly, he took the four equally empty bottles next to them, placing them in his worn, badly weathered sack.
There was no payment, but he’d long since grown used to that. Times were tough, after all, and he was sure they’d make it up to him when they could.
As he made his way to the next stop, he slowed, as he always did on this street.
He felt it was important to be reverent in the place where you had died.
Doing his best to put on a smile, he pulled out a single empty milk bottle, setting it next to the faded purple door.
“I’m sorry I don’t have any eggs today, Miss Moondancer,” he called out, his voice feeble. “Maybe next week, if things are better.”
The tiny voice that occasionally whispered in his head came out then, reminding him that he didn’t even know if Moondancer had survived The Last Day.
He ignored that thought.
In truth, he didn’t want to know. So long as he could pretend she was still alive, it gave him something to cling to.
Sticking the empty bottle back into his bag, he resumed on his route, squeaking wheels riding along the tracks he’d long since worn into the stone streets over the last eighty years.
It was a day like any other.
Author's Note
Just a small character piece I had come to mind when discussing things with a friend.
Fallout: Equestria is a special story to me, but I've always had a hesitance about doing anything in the world, despite considerable desire to do so. Put simply; I didn't think I was up to the task.
This vignette, of course, in no way matches up with the masterwork that is the original, but I think I've managed to make an addition to the universe, rather than merely adding a piece of clutter wearing the name for flavor.
