Fallout Equestria: Wounded Hare

The following day, I checked my gear and food for what I had. Which, in all honesty, wasn’t much at all. My stomach growled, and I took out one of the two remaining packs of cigarettes in response. The labels faded and worn from constant storage in my pockets. These were the last of the cigarettes my father gave me years ago. Tearing one of them open, I took out the first one and flipped it upside down, shoving it back in the pack before I took out another.

Placing it between my lips, I lit it with a match. I inhaled the toxic vapor and breathed, letting the clarity of nicotine fill my head and dull my stomach. Putting it back in my vest pocket, I shrugged on my pack. It was feeling heavier by the day, I felt weak in both body and mind.

Making my way out the door, I stopped to look at the other side of the street. The corpse of the Yaoqai lay stiff around its puddle of frozen blood. I felt sorry for the creature but glad that I didn’t have to deal with it myself. My luck is holding out once more in ways I can’t explain.

As I walked in silence down the road, hearing only my clopping hoof steps on the frozen pavement, I saw the shadow of the Vanhoofer cityscape draw closer. I stopped, staring at it. It sent a sense of foreboding and anxiety through my legs. My chest tightened as my heartbeat and breathing became more rapid. The sight reminded me of when I arrived at a different frozen city, one far to the east on the side of Equestria. Stalliongrad.

Being reminded of that city felt like a cold hug, and the memories I thought long buried slowly rose from the ice. Old wounds began to burn as the moments of their making came to my mind’s eye. The bullets stinging my chest, the blades nipping at my veins, and the trenches that were home to it all.

“Damn, that cursed city…” I muttered to myself, the weight of my memories pressing down on me. I took a deep breath, trying to push back the flood of emotions before I continued my journey. Each hoof step felt like a step into the past, not a step towards the future. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t shake the feeling of impending danger. I clung to my rifle, the only thing that gave me comfort.

As I trudged down that road, I was unsure of the time. The sun’s light was obscured by the heavy clouds and howling wind. My weary legs and the looming shadow of Vanhoofer told me I was making progress. The cigarette on my lips had long since burned out, but I kept it there as a reminder of my determination. I had to conserve every resource, even a simple cigarette. A lesson driven deep by my father before I left.

The clouds grew darker and with it the wind, threatening to throw my small frame side to side; the blizzard that shortly followed, blinded me. Something never changes in places this far north; always something to slow you down and drain every bit of grit you have. Yet, I kept going. Even with the memories of sorrow and mistakes that got me here, each step brought me closer to somewhere safe. Somewhere where I can clear my mind and think of a plan. I couldn’t tell you if it was the anger I felt for the Crescents for putting me in that massacre that led to the deaths of twenty eight souls, my shame for doing nothing to stop it, or my regret for each step leading up to all of it. Maybe it was all of the above but with each step. I kept creeping closer to what Luna had in store for me, my heart pounding with anticipation, be it punishment or forgiveness. Time will only tell.

It wasn’t anything special when I made it to the town that Rock Candy told me about. Most towns in the wasteland weren’t; a series of shacks filled the insides of ruined businesses and apartments centered around the only business in town, an inn that functioned as the town bar. The wheezing and coughs of sick ponies filled the street as they fought for each cold breath, the lick of heat from fire barrels barely tidding them over. Some lay still, taking their final moments as I walked past them. I blinked momentarily, nearly seeing them replaced with the countless frozen corpses of that long-ago war. Yet another reminder of things I wished to forget.

I made my way to the door, struggling to open it; my strength had waned over the last two weeks of walking here. Eventually, I cracked the icy seal of the door with almost all of my effort and got inside. My goggles fogged instantly from the temperature difference; it was much warmer inside if you count barely above freezing as warm. The soft sounds of a radio playing music crept through the air as I moved my scarf off my muzzle, breaking off the frost that accumulated from my breath.

Walking inside, I stripped off my goggles; my vision cleared. I got a full view of the tavern area of the bar. A few round pre-war tables were in the center, scraped, chipped, and devoid of original colors. Booths lined the walls, and the few ponies that were in here had taken residence. A couple were unconscious in their drunken stupors; it took a few moments for the smell of vomit and stale beer to hit my thawing nostrils. A tired-looking mare in a ragged apron and dress was busy trying to clean a pool of fresh vomit.

I wandered over to the bar area, a single mint green earth pony in an apron and black shirt was wiping a filthy glass with a dirty rag; somewhat counterintuitive if you ask me. I shivered as I sat down on a stool in front of him. The Barkeep didn’t so much as look at me as he spoke, his voice rough and dirty as if he had chain-smoked since he was a colt. “Do you have caps? If not, get lost.”

Rummaging around in my bag, I took out the few caps I had managed to save before placing them on the counter. The clink of the metal caps on the wooden counter caught the Barkeep’s attention; that is when he finally looked at me. His hoofs placed the glass and rag on the counter before leaning forward, his hoofs now out of sight.

His glance looked past me back towards the door before returning to me, his eyes narrowed. “Are these-” I was about to say before I heard the subtle click of a hammer cocking back. Instinctively, my hoofs slowly and deliberately rose above my head. “I don’t want any trouble.”

He snorted. “Trouble seems to have found you. Some buddies of yours came by a few days ago, nailed a nice drawing of your face on my wall, and offered a nice chunk of cash for your sorry skin. If they wanted you dead, you would be. Consider yourself lucky they want your skin intact.”

I gulped, internally kicking myself for letting my guard down. The weeks of walking had made my mind slip about the bounty posters; I failed to see the one next to the door. Keeping my hoofs in place, I peered back to the door, the poster freshly drawn waving in the draft from the loosely held-together wood. That wasn’t my first time being held at gunpoint, but that never made it any easier, especially in the state I was in. “Can I at least get a drink first?” I asked, trying to defuse the situation. I didn’t want buckshot hitting my balls.

He let out a slightly amused chuckle. “Sure, what would you like?”

“I’d like a Green Applejack whiskey on the trio of rocks,” I said, hoping he would remember the phrase.

His eyes shifted back and forth to the ponies behind me before he stared at me, contemplating the order. The silence was thicker than the air outside before he grunted. “Damn it, Candy. You really had to screw me out of a nice payday.” The Barkeep muttered to himself, decocking the hammers underneath the counter. “You’re lucky that I owe Candy big time. Come with me.”

He led me to a set of stairs that went to the second floor of the building; the Barkeep was grumbling the whole time, something about cursing out Candy and how she would owe him for this. Going up, the hallway up here wasn’t in any better condition than upstairs. In fact, it smelled a bit off. The scent of out-of-date perfume and musk perforated the halls with the sting of hard liquor intermixed. It didn’t take much for my mind to figure out what was happening there. It mostly came from one of the doors to my right as the Barkeep led me down the hall until we reached the last door. “This is where you’ll be staying, Caramel will be stopping by with bath water and some food that is nearly rotting. Anything else, including her extra time, will cost you.”

He opened the door before he shoved me in; I turned just in time to have it slam in my face. I scrunched my face before I sighed, not sure if I should trust this stallion but he seems to respect Rock Candy more than his own greed. Turning to the room, I saw the ancient mattress sitting on the rusting cot in front of a dusty standing mirror; the tub wasn’t much better, with cracks along the porcelain; the best thing was the nightstand with a working radio on it. The place smelled of stale dust and cigarette smoke, this was obviously where the Barkeep came to get away from work.

Slowly walking, I went over to the foot of the bed, shrugged off my back, letting it thump onto the wooden floor, and leaned my rifle against the frame. I craned my neck as I stretched, twisting before I got a resounding pop. Sighing with slight relief, with having the weight off my back for the first time in what felt like weeks. I removed my jacket and shirt and gave my legs a good stretch. Rubbing my shoulder, I turned my head to look into the mirror.

I stopped, fully seeing myself for the first time since the mountains. My crystal blue eyes looked dull from the bags underneath them, briefly hidden by the long strands of my jet black mane; scars from the years of fighting and survival dotted my light-gray coat along my torso and sides, some hidden underneath the grim I collected over the last month of traveling. Staring at each one, I grimace. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you, Jack?” I muttered to myself, trying to picture myself before I came here. Before I was forced to join the Crescents… Before I left home. The memory was there, but it was blurry, unfocused.

A knock sounded, shocking me out of my thoughts; the mare from downstairs opened the door. This mare must be Caramel that the Barkeep mentioned; her soft orange eyes looked at me briefly, sheepish; I could feel her gaze tracing each scar. “I-I’m sorry if I caught you at a bad time. I have the food and water Mint Creme told me to bring you.” Now that I had a better look at her under the candlelight, she seemed closer to my age, not ragged, just a bit dirty.

I gave her the best comforting smile I could muster. “Thank you. You can leave it on the nightstand.” I pointed with my hoof towards the nightstand with the radio with just enough room for the tray. She hesitantly stepped forward through the door, revealing her change of clothes. Gone were the filthy apron and dress; she was in a more scantily clad dress that accentuated her young features. She looked uncomfortable with it on, yet she seemed used to it. My heart thumped a beat before I turned and leaned down to my gear away from her.

Tearing out what little personal items I had from my pack, I heard the soft steps stop by the bed. Caramel didn’t leave once she placed the tray on the table; I turned my head to see her sitting on the bed as if she was waiting on something. She returned my look before turning away, ashamed. “This is the part where you try to hit on me and get these rags off.” She muttered, her voice stifling; she didn’t conceal her discontent of doing this well.

That’s when it clicked on what Mint Creme meant with extra time; I shook my head. “Sorry, but no, thank you,” I said, standing up and walking over to her. She looked up at me, confused at my refusal; this apparently didn’t happen at all. I offered a hoof with a comforting smile. “I’m not the type of stallion to force a mare to do things she doesn’t want. My mother would kill me if she found out. Besides, it’s written on your face that you don’t want to be here.” I said, making a half-hearted chuckle.

She looked at my hoof apprehensively, unsure whether or not to take it. “But, Creme told me that if I didn’t come back with caps… he’d…” Caramel tried to utter out, her eyes clenching closed, a tear making its way out. I flared my horn, taking out the caps I would use for a drink. I took her hoof with mine and placed them in. She looked stunned at this before looking up at me. “W-why?” Her lip quivered as her eyes looked into mine; she was fearful of what they meant.

“Just tell Creme that I didn’t last long and you ran my pockets.” I said, giving her a slight wink.

“But, why?” She muttered, glutching the caps close to her chest.

I turned my back to her and made my way to the door. Pulling it open with my magic, I stood next to the threshold. “Because, I’m not that kind of stallion. You’re obviously not a fan of this line of work, the extra caps will get you in the right direction.”

Creme stared at me for a moment, bewildered. She silently walked over to the door and stopped right outside. She looked at the caps in her hoof, before returning her gaze to mine. “Thank you… I never got your name.”

“Name’s Jack Rabbit, but you can just call me Jack.”

She softly smiled. “Thank you Jack… I’ll be back with some more food once dinner is over.”

I didn’t say anything as I gently closed the door, once again being left to myself. Sighing, I sat on the bed to look at the window. With the snow and wind pounding on the ancient glass pane, I wouldn’t be going anywhere until this storm left. It was a miracle that I made it through the blizzard, I’ve seen bigger and stronger ponies fall dead from the cold, yet I made it.

When my gaze found the food tray, the sight caused my stomach to ache. I don’t remember the last time I had any food that wasn’t frozen solid. The tray held a few small chunks of homemade bread, and what looked like a thin stew; what it was made out of, I didn’t care. My magic wrapped around it to bring it to me; I shoveled the stew into my mouth. It was thinner than I had expected and extremely watered down, similar to the stew given to the lower caste of Crescent Troops. I bit into one piece of bread to find it was rather stale and on the verge of molding; unperturbed, I dipped it in the watery stew.

As I chewed the soggy bread, the soft background noise of the radio music was cut off and replaced by a very energetic host. “Hey, Hey, everypony, this is Comet Blaze here coming to you live on the tippy top of the radio waves. I’m just happy to say that we are nearing the end of another awful year here in Vanhoofer, marked with today’s occasion! Hearth’s warming eve! Now, ladies and gentlecolts, before you all go out spending your few caps on last-minute holiday shopping, I’m here to give you the news.”

I placed the tray back onto the nightstand and got up while I listened. “Now, there have been rumors of some new faces that have arrived in our little corner of the wasteland. I’ve come to say those rumors are true; this new group by the name of The Lunar Crescent Army has taken up residence in the eastern part of the city by the river. We will call them the Crescents for short; how does that work, folks?” The host laughed to himself before he continued. “As to where exactly, I couldn’t tell you; all the ponies I sent there haven’t turned back up. All that tells me is that they aren’t ponies to mess around with, sources say that they have a lot of ponies and their fair share of guns. I’d steer clear of them If I were you.”

I shuffled through the pockets in my discarded vest to find the pack of Lucky Colt cigarettes and placed one onto my lips without thinking, using the candle flame to light it. “And that is only the beginning…” I muttered to myself before crawling into the bed to stare at the ceiling as the radio host continued with his long-winded spiel.

I had stopped paying attention to most of it and only caught a few words here and there. Something about two factions called The Ravens and The Jackals having an uneasy ceasefire. Raiders were always a problem no matter where you went; it all began to blur as my mind crawled back to the Crescents. By the sounds of it, they had found a place to hunker down and get a foothold. Which wasn’t good in the slightest; once the Crescents found a spot, they would fortify, scout, and wait for reinforcements for the takeover. At least that’s what happened in Stalliongrad before the war there officially kicked off.

Their presence was a suffocating weight on my chest, a constant reminder that I was utterly alone and trapped. I couldn’t hide in the city forever. I couldn’t fight them even if I wanted to, at least not directly. There had to be a couple hundred, from my estimate from the supplies I traveled with, and enough firepower to flatten entire blocks of the city, all of it now having a target to point at. Me.

My mind was a cacophony of anxiety and indecision, each thought louder than the last. A slight knock on my door shattered the silence, and I turned to see a leg covered in the light brown coat of Caramel push the door slightly ajar. She moved a bottle of what looked to be liquor with her muzzle through the gap, and the bottle quietly scrapped against the wooden floor. Her muzzle stayed for a brief moment; her face hidden by the door as she whispered. “Thank you again, Jack.” As quietly as Caramel came, she quietly left, closing the door with a soft click, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the weight of the Crescents' impending threat.

I tried to get up and retrieve the bottle, but my body protested, begging for rest; it yearned to stay on the filthy mattress. I couldn’t agree more for once, yet my mind wouldn’t settle with my thoughts pounding against my skull. I turned my head to flare my horn, levitating the bottle to my hoofs. I read the label to see that it was Applejack whiskey; I snickered a bit at it. Like my mother, I was never much of a drinker outside of the rare occasion.

“I think this is one of those rare occasions…” I muttered to myself, cracking it open to let the stinging liquid pour down my throat. I felt a shutter flow up my spine as it hit the back of my throat; the feeling subsided once the warm liquor hit my stomach, eased by the presence of food. It felt fantastic feeling the numbness mixed in with the electric buzz of the now stumpy cigarette in my mouth; my muscles began to relax and unwind. With each puff came an accompanying drink of whiskey; it didn’t take long for me to fall under its spell; I was always a lightweight.

Seeing that it was still slightly light outside, I haphazardly dragged my pack to the side of the bed with my magic. Shaking the contents loose onto the floor without a care, I scavenged the pile until I found what I was looking for. It was an old pre-war journal that has survived all this time, devoid of writing. I had seen the journal hiding underneath a pile of books in front of an old bookshelf. The books above it had protected it from the elements all these years; I couldn’t believe my luck with it at the time.

Opening the yellowed pages, I took out an old pencil and began to write down everything that had happened to me since I stepped foot off the convoy. It felt uncanny writing in a journal again, my last one lost in Stalliongrad the day before I left; the feeling of relief washed over me as I confessed to the pages. I prayed that I would be able to keep hold of this one.

Holding the pencil in my magic so I could take occasional whiskey drinks straight from the bottle, a thought came to mind. That trip up to the mountain village started because Steel Knuckles was told about it… by the Vultures… My mind snapped into clarity from my blood freezing in place.

In the heat of everything and the internal chaos that occurred afterward, I had forgotten about them; a unit of upper-caste unicorns who specialized in stealth and sabotage, at least to what the rumors said. All I really knew was that they were dedicated killers who kept any solid knowledge about them a secret they took to the grave. I had seen a trio of them in Stalliongrad, but they decided to spare me since I was alone because who would believe a battle-shocked wastelander?

My mind rewound to those trenches of Stalliongrad back to the moment when that trio of black armored ponies appeared, if they were even there. I had just crawled out of a trench bunker that had collapsed from an artillery shell; what I was doing at the time escaped me, but what I saw never would. In the hazy fog that flooded the trench, the soulless gaze of their red lenses pierced my being. They didn’t say a word when they saw me, only aimed their suppressed weapons at me, while nothing new to me even then. What really made the fear stick was the blade that had silently pressed against my throat; I pressed my hoof to my throat, shuddering at the memory. They didn’t say a word before evaporating in a veil of shadow. I was terrified; all of them had vanished like ghosts.

As my mind raced from one memory to another, the click on the radio attracted my attention once more. The radio host was winding down from his long-winded script. “Well, that’s it for this Hearth’s warming eve news here at Vanhoofer Broadcasting. Here is a song that I think you all will enjoy, one of my favorites. Here is Health to the Company by the Shortest Bonds.”

My ears drooping, I gave a melancholic smile giving my face a break from the sorrow. I haven’t heard this song in… years. actually, the last time I did… “I was with everyone…before…” I muttered to myself, rubbing my eyes, trying to fight the tears welling up. The memories I thought were long gone were there, but they had never left… “3rd Recon, 6th Platoon, Charlie Squad… Heh… Nectre’s Rejects they called us…” I said to my reflection in the mirror, bringing the bottle of whiskey to my lips and taking in several deep gulps before I gasped for air from the burn. “Rejects we were…out of all of the newly graduated soldiers, we all were the last prospects to be chosen out of…” I rubbed the back of my head, the liquor making it hard to remember. “A lot… the six of us were the last ponies to be chosen. You remember…” I uttered drunkenly to the mirror, pointing the bottle of whiskey at it, the contents sloshing and partially spilling. “Lieutenant Nectre… with an r e not an a r is what he first told us…” I chuckled to myself.

I hiccuped, the urge for a cigarette hitting my mind. I lit one and followed it with a gulp of whiskey. “He gave us all ranks then and there…asking each of us our combat specialty and ranked us accordingly if I… Think…” I paused, trying to swim through the haze clouding my distraught mind. “It was Shining Buckle and I who were made Privates. We both did well in our marksmanship, but firing rifles was our only good skill on paper.” Breathing in a puff of the burning tobacco with a pensive chuckle before I continued. “I think it was Bronze Amber who was made a Corporal, being our one and only medic. That wonderful sweet mare… always fretted over us even with the slightest nick… I had a crush on her, you know… those caring dark emerald green eyes…” My breathing hitched at the memory of her soft smile the first time I met her in training. Taking a deep breath while I flutter my eyelids to fight the tears, I shifted to rest my back against the headboard, getting a better view of my reflection.

“Then there was Specialist Sunshine Haze, a stallion who treated me like his little brother…and was my best friend… He…” I felt the tears breaking through my defenses, cutting a channel through the sweaty grim that covered my cheek. “He was our SAW gunner, very serious and grumpy but even he cracked the occasional joke.” A chuckle tried to rise through my throat, but it wouldn’t come, so I took a long drag from the cigarette again. “Sergeant Velvet Dove, the talkative radio operator, always had a story and didn’t like it when it was too quiet. Could spit out words faster than some of those pre-war rappers he would listen too. Always had to tell him to slow down.” I raised up the bottle to see that it was half gone already; then, as if I was talking to the bottle.

“Lastly, there was Staff Sergeant Double Ruby… She was a mean and stern mare who didn’t take any of our shit, but she cared for us… made sure to keep the Lt in line as his assistant and not push us too hard…” I paused, my silence overtaken by the song's ending on the radio. “We drank to her memory with this song, we sang along… it was her favorite… she always requested it from the local band when we had R&R… it was the way she always wanted us to send her off…” I stopped, trying to pull another drag only to find the cigarette had gone out, down to the old brown filter. Sighing, I shook the bottle in a slow circle. “It shouldn’t have happened…” I muttered, my voice slowly quieting again as the memory of turning to see the cultist’s rusty blood, blood-caked bayonet protruded from her throat. From a cultist I had declared dead… she had taken my word… “She trusted my word…and that trust got her killed because I was careless…” I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore; they flowed freely, the bottle trembling in my hoofs. “Why… Why am I still here when they are all gone…” the tears pitter-pattered on the stained mattress, the greedy fabric soaking up the salty tears with glee. I looked up to the ceiling, my eyes blinded by my weeping. “Luna… P-Please tell them… that…that I…I miss them all… my friends… they were all I had… ” I muttered, sniffling between every other word. Putting my face into my hoofs, the tears unstoppable like a tidal wave. I choked, struggling to speak. “Tell them… tell them I’m sorry…”

I sat there, thinking of nothing but my friends… my family, and everything we had been through. The best of times and the worst of times…Then, the memory of the day we came together for the first time revealed itself. Lt. Nectre, the youthful unicorn officer of a medium build sported havelock blue fur around his body, mostly covered by the charcoal grey overcoat worn by lower ranking Crescent Officers. He adjusted his navy blue beret to cover more of his short brass colored mane;a sewn patch of the Crescent Moon intersected by two crossed swords perched on the front, further signifying his officer status. I remember feeling intimidated by his presence, honestly I believe all of us were as we stood there in formation in front of the training hall at Camp #17. The feeling was made worse with us being bottom barrel picks.

Then, that moment's clarity was that of an old holotape movie, and the words he told surfaced. “I believe in transparency, trust, and respect; I will not lie to you like other officers. You are all adults and soldiers in The Lunar Mother’s Army. It takes a heavy heart to say. We will be heading into Stalliongrad. There, we will all see the worst that Ponykind has to offer. This will shake your resolve and test your mettle and faith for most of you. We will learn many hard lessons and I’m afraid those lessons will be learned by the blood of our brothers and sisters. Each of us will bear that weight differently.” Lt. Nectre said, walking down the line, looking at each of us in turn, memorizing our faces, names, and reactions. His voice kind, firm and commanding confidence.

Lt. Nectre halted and coughed once to clear his throat, gauging us one by one from where he stood on the barren dirt. “Look to your left and your right.” His weathered voice carried with the wind as we looked side to side. “These are the ponies that will lessen that burden, as will I. I’m not here as your officer but as a fellow brother. As a brother fighting side by side with everypony here, that requires trust. In the trust I have with all of you, I give you the most important words I’ve been told to lessen that burden when a brother is gone.”

I looked down at the bottle in my hoofs, struggling to remember the words he said so many years ago. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes softly; the words flowed like winter snow. “Blessed Thou Lunar Mother.”

The breath ebbing out of my lungs, the tension in my mind easing with each word. “Who art in moonlight.”

I raised my head towards the ceiling, breathing in the cold winter air through my nostrils. “Guide me with Stars.”

The air left my mouth warming my muzzle as I sat up, my back straightened. “I plead for strength.”

Taking in my next breath, I looked back at the faces held within my memory, tears came freely. “To protect your children.”

The words hung heavily in the air before I gripped the nearly empty bottle tightly and chucked it across the room into the far corner with a clatter. Opening my tear stained eyes with determination and clarity, I glared at my reflection. “As is your will.”