Radigator Hunting
“But my shoulder’s achey. That means there’s an alligator in the tub.”
In the Bayleaf Swamps of Appleanta, life continues in a different manner from the rest of the Wasteland. While the bayou teems with mutated wildlife such as radigators and bloatsprites, society has mostly remained as stagnant as the pools that the five inch long skeeters spawn from.
Ya see, Appleanta wasn’t struck directly by a balefire bomb all those years ago. It got hit pretty bad by the fallout and the toxic rain and all that junk, but Appleanta wasn’t much of a priority for those striped zebra bastards. As such, ponies were able to come out of the Stables a lot earlier. Or, in the case of mah people, we never went underground and learned to adapt. There were hazards like the mutated animals and the radiation, even the Phage plague that yearly takes at least twenty ponies from us, but we're a tenacious bunch.
In Bayleaf society, there are fisherponies, rice farmers, barbucks, medicine mares, preachers, and the rare teacher, but there’s one profession that is respected above all others.
The hunter.
They’re the ones who brave the swamps and bring us the meat we need to survive. They’re the ones who can single hoofedly kill a radigator and not bat an eye. They don’t fear the Madwoods, the slitherers, or the zebra tribals out there. And every year the hunters throw a big festival where one pony, or the occasional griffin, will be accepted into their ranks as a master hunter. It's a festival where a pony must brave the swamps, and the ameteur hunter who brings back the biggest, meanest looking radigator gets the title of ‘master hunter’ and the honor of wearing their first official kill's teeth.
That festival is the Annual Bayleaf Radigator Hunt... Ah never said we were the most original folks in the Wasteland, did Ah?
Mah name is Swamp Shadow and that’s why Ah’m in the middle of the swamps, moving as slowly as possible through the south eastern basin, the only sounds being the soft swishing of mah oar dipping in and out of the water or the occasional call of an egret or a baby radigator calling out for its mama. But Ah wasn’t interested in babies or mamas right now. Mah quarry was the daddies, the real monsters of the bayou. If Ah could land one of the eleven-plus footers that haunted the more wild sections of the swamps and bring it back before sundown, Ah’d be a horseshoe-in for master hunter.
While most of the stallions were bigger and stronger than me, and some of them were even unicorns with magic, Ah had something they didn’t. Auntie Fortuna, the old medicine mare, always said Ah had a touch of the voodoo in me, a little bit of magic that usually didn’t flow through the veins of earth ponies. Ah had these feelings and itches that told me things Ah shouldn’t know, but somehow Ah do.
A twitchy ear told me that a storm was coming. Two twitchy ears meant it was the rain before one of the Madwoods came in. An itchy tail meant something was about to attack me. And an achey shoulder gave me an advantage over mah fellow hunters because that meant there was a radigator nearby. Adjusting the brim of mah hat, Ah frowned at the ache in mah shoulder.
“Alright, ya big scaley varmit. Where are ya?” Ah muttered under mah breath as Ah scanned the brackish swamp waters for any sign of the prey that might also be hunting me. That was always a danger when hunting predators, especially ones that had been the apex predator in the swamps before balefire radiation had mutated them into giant death lizards. Ya never knew when one might decide to surge out of the water and attack your boat so they can get the pony flavored morsels inside.
Except for me. The voodoo was mah companion and mah warning against such attacks. Couple that with mah natural talents and everything mah daddy taught me, and Ah was the best amateur hunter in Bayleaf. Soon Ah’d be the best up-and-coming master hunter in all of Appleanta.
“Achey knee... achey knee... achey knee and twitchy tail!” Ah shouted, jumping to the front of mah pirogue as a massive set of jaws lunged out at me. The beast sprayed me with a shower of swamp water as its maw snapped shut where Ah had been rowing only moments before. Thinking fast, Ah pulled mah crossbow with mah tail and fired one well placed shot as it opened to try to bite me again..
But that was no ordinary crossbow bolt. A trick us hunters have been using for years has been lacing them with slitherer venom. Slitherers, the giant talking snakes that inhabit the northern swamps, were a dangerous meal for radigators. While their poison couldn’t kill a radigator, it had the funny little effect of screwing with their fellow reptiles’ equilibrium, making it impossible for the radigator’s to dive. While shooting a radigator in the mouth wouldn’t kill it, it was still a soft enough spot to deliver mah bolt’s poisonous payload.
“Gotcha!” Ah cheered as the radigator slipped back in the water and began splashing around violently. Ah threw myself to the bottom of mah boat, trying desperately to not get ejected from its dry, leech-free bosom, and reached out for a lasso. Taking a deep breath, Ah surged to mah hooves. With the precision of years of practice at mah daddy’s side, Ah twirled the lasso over mah head and released, catching around the radigator’s neck.
“Shoot!” Ah cursed since Ah'd been aiming to lasso its mouth shut, but now Ah had to improvise. Taking mah crossbow into mah mouth, Ah grinned around the mouthpiece, bent low, and launched myself out of mah boat.
“Yee-Haw!” Ah shouted, diving on to the beast’s back and wrapping the end of the rope around mah right foreleg so he wouldn’t buck me off. Then Ah was holding on for dear life as the radigator started thrashing even harder. This thing was a monster, it had to be at least twelve, maybe thirteen feet long. With a tail thicker than a cypress tree and claws and teeth that could cut through flesh like butter, this bad boy was gonna be mah ticket into the ranks of the master hunters.
The mutated reptile roared and hissed as it tried to roll, but the slitherer venom was already taking its toll. While it did move back and forth, occasionally dunking me into the brackish waters, it didn’t have the power or focus of mind to throw me. And even if it did, Ah wasn’t going down that easily.
Ya see, a radigator has one major weakness, besides pumping it full of high caliber rounds or magical energy beams, and that's the soft spot at the base of its skull. One bullet or bolt into that spot and the radigator gets a quick, cheap lobotomy. Of course, the risk of this is actually getting past the gator’s jaw and claws to this hard to hit weak spot that’s about the size of pre-war bit. And if ya miss, you’re probably just gonna stun him and have him wake up inside your boat where he’ll have an easy to eat pony right in front of him.
Ah wasn’t going to give him that chance though.
Pulling myself up his back, the rope safely wrapped around mah hoof and mah crossbow in mah mouth, Ah scaled the gator like it were Canterlot Mountain. The beast tried to throw me, but it was too dazed, and Ah was too determined to be denied mah kill. Thrusting the point of mah crossbow into the base of its skull, Ah grinned as Ah pulled the trigger with mah tongue and let the bolt fly. It struck the back of the beasts skull, sinking into the soft spot with a dull thud followed immediately by the squelch of tearing into brain matter. The radigator twitched, then went limp, and Ah let out a sigh of relief as Ah realized that it was over.
Ah had to hurry though, the gasses inside its body would quickly release and soon it would sink to the bottom of the swamp. (And with it mah ticket into the master hunters.) Swimming back to the boat, the rope still wrapped around mah hoof, Ah climbed back in and secured the tether to the wench at the front of mah pirogue.
“Wish Ah had a little bit of that levitation magic, but Ah guess beggars can’t be choosers,” Ah half-heartedly complained as Ah started pulling the massive eight hundred pound gator into mah boat.
A unicorn could just grab'em with their magic, but an earth pony like me had to use old fashion technology to ever hope to pull these beasts out of the water after we killed them. After the arduous task was completed though, Ah adjusted mah trusty hat, and pulled the silenced pistol out of mah back right boot with mah tail.
“Better safe than dead,” Ah said, and placed another shot into the base of the radigator’s skull, ensuring that the monstrous creature was really dead. Turning to the back of mah boat, Ah grabbed mah spare oar, realizing that Ah had lost mah other oar when the gator lunged, and started paddling back for Bayleaf.
Ah always loved the swamps. The smell of the water, the call of the birds, hell, even the bugs had their charms as long as they weren’t biting ya. With mah impressive kill, nothing could ruin mah day and... twitchy tail.
“Well, well, well, if it ain’t the most lovely hunter in all of Bayleaf. Although that ain’t sayin’ much since the rest of’em are a bunch of phaged up bucks,” Ah heard him taunt as he rose out of the water in front of me. “How’s yer daddy doin’?”
“Gator,” Ah growled, mah tail moving slowly for mah hidden pistol.
Gator wasn’t an actual gator, but he was close enough. A dark green teenage dragon who fancied himself a raider prince, Gator’s raiding ways had always been frowned upon by the ponies of Bayleaf. However, the scaly bastard always seemed to find his way back into town with a posse of lowlifes backing him up. Everypony was either too scared or too smart to try to tangle with him when he came to town with ten gun toting psychopaths. He knew as long as he didn’t cause too much trouble, he wasn’t in any danger of having every gun toting resident of Bayleaf descend on his fire fartin' ass.
“Lookey there,” Gator whistled as he appraised mah kill with a wicked gleam in his eye. “That’s quite the lizard ya got, girlie. That’ll win the festival prize fer sure.”
“What do ya want, Gator? Don’t ya have a bunch of nerds to try and raid?” Ah mocked, referencing the fact that he had yet again failed to raid the eggheads up north at the college in Olives. Heck, half his posse got vaporized in the process. Gator spat a glob of black tobacco spit and narrowed his amber eyes at me.
“Ah was just gonna kill ya real quick like, take that gator fer myself, become a master hunter, and go about mah merry way, but now Ah think Ah’m gonna take mah time and enjoy this. Maybe even take a taste of that plot of yers before Ah roast ya and have ya fer a snack,” Gator growled. Ah swallowed hard and could feel mah flanks tighten up at the threat. Gator flourished his claws while licking his lips, and we were suddenly in an old fashioned Mexicanter standoff.
We stood there, him just smiling at me and me just standing there, stiffer than a shot of moonshine. Ah knew mah crossbow would only be effective at close range, and only when aimed at the rare soft spot, while he had the advantage of razor sharp claws and fangs, and he could breath fire. Plus, with the exception of a cypress stump five feet to mah left and the moss and gossamer covered trees surrounding us, there was nowhere for me to go besides mah boat. Ah was pretty much cornered with nowhere to run, but Ah also knew that if Ah stayed in mah boat, Gator would destroy it. So Ah did the only thing Ah do.
Run anyway.
Ah made a break for the nearest tree, leaping from mah pirogue to the stump as Gator lunged after me with his claws outstretched. Mah hooves found purchase on the stump, a two foot island of safety in the leech infested swamps, but Ah made the mistake of looking back. Behind me, Gator snarled as he splashed down into the water, claws empty, and whipped his serpentine head around at me. The hate boiling through his eyes was mah only warning of what was about to burst forth from his cracked, disgusting lips.
Woosh!
A gout of emerald flame erupted from his mouth like a hateful volcano of balefire. Ah tried to take the next leap to safety, but the flames were too fast. Ah closed mah eyes, bracing for the painful, agonizing death set to consume me, and that's when Ah felt it.
There’s another thing about the voodoo that ya should know. Sometimes, when Ah want to be somewhere else, Ah blink and Ah'm there. Usually it’s something mundane like not wanting to climb the stairs up to mah bed after a long day on the bayou and then, in the blink of an eye, Ah’m under the covers in mah pajamas. Or sometimes when Ah want another glass of hard cider at the bar, Ah just pop up behind it and grab myself another round. Ah don’t know how it works, but sometimes the voodoo really is mah ally. Thank Celestia above that today was one of those days.
“Where’s the screamin’!? Where’s the ‘mah skin is meltin’ off’ screamin’?” Gator roared.
Opening mah eyes, Ah saw that not only was Ah not on fire, but Ah was also high in a cypress tree. Ah lifted a quick, silent prayer to the Princesses before Ah started to weigh mah options.
Ah couldn’t kill him alone with mah current gear, and Ah couldn’t out paddle him or out swim him. Ah couldn’t even get close enough to hit him with a poisoned bolt in a section of scales that were soft enough to allow the poison to be injected without leaving myself open to those claws or his fire breath. Ah couldn’t hide forever either. Hell! Even if Ah could, Ah couldn’t let him take mah gator or mah boat; mah family couldn’t afford to lose either of those.
“Think Swampy! You’ve gotten yourself outta stickier situations before. Ah can’t think of any, but... Wait! Sticky!” Ah cheered internally as it all clicked and mah brain finally thought up a plan. It was stupid. It was reckless. But it was a plan.
Mah eyes spotted the gossamer vines hanging over Gator’s head and a smile crept across mah face. For those Yankees out there, gossamer vines are thick, sticky, web-like plants that hang from the cypress trees and make fliers like griffins or the pegasi think twice about taking to the air in the Bayleaf Swamps. Carefully sneaking across the branch Ah was standing on, using mah tail for extra balance, Ah silently made it one hoof in front of the other to mah prize. Taking mah knife in mah mouth, Ah quietly cut away at the gossamer vines one by one as Gator searched around the stump and mah boat for me. With a snicker, Ah took mah knife into mah tail and loaded a poison dart into mah crossbow. With a flourish, Ah cut the last strands holding the net together and watched as it spread out over Gator below.
“Ai-Yee!” Ah shouted, diving after the gossamer.
Gator looked up, surprised as all hell to see me plummeting at him from above. He was even more surprised as a gossamer net slapped into his face and shoulders, wrapping around his claws, and dragging him down with the force of its weight. Meanwhile, Ah dove headfirst into the water just to Gator’s side, thanking the Princesses that mah gambit didn’t include hitting a submerged stump, before surfacing right behind the thrashing dragon.
“Smile,” Ah quipped, and fired mah poison bolt right where the sun don't shine.
Mah eyes went wide as Gator let out a pained roar and his tail drunkenly swung mah way. Ah dove, narrowly avoiding the flailing appendage and was surprised when the voodoo took me and deposited me back in mah boat. Not questioning it, Ah holstered mah crossbow and took up mah paddle as Gator slumped up against the cypress stump.
“Come back ‘ere, ya stupid bitch!” he shouted before unleashing a torrent of flame five feet behind me. “Stop being six of ya so Ah can roast ya!”
Ah wasn’t the type to listen to murderous raider dragons so before ya could say ‘Crazy Crawdad’ Ah was rowing mah flank back to Bayleaf with mah quarry still safely in the bottom of mah boat.
And that, mah friends, is how Ah became the first mare to ever be named a master hunter. All in all, Ah'd say it was a very good day.
