The Wastelander's Journey

 

But most important was the sound of four other hooves beside her. The wastelander turned her head to observe the filly half-trotting alongside. She noted approvingly that the little one was having no trouble keeping pace, and her sun hat was still firmly tied in place. The filly suddenly looked up and gave her a big, carefree smile. She couldn't help but smile back.

 

The mare returned her gaze to the road, readjusting her own sun hat. Even though it was still Spring, the midday sun beat down upon them, warming the asphalt under their hooves and beading their brows with sweat. She walked a few more paces before stopping to fish the canteen out from her pack.

 

The wastelander gulped down some lukewarm filtered water, then passed the canteen to her filly. As the little one drank, she took stock of her surroundings.

 

When she herself was a filly, the Equestrian wasteland had been a hellish place. Permanently blanketed by storm clouds, denuded of vegetation, and filled with nothing but ruins, raiders and radiation. But that had been over five decades ago - before the Stable Dweller, the Lightbringer, had saved ponykind and changed the world for good. Now the warm sun hung atop a cloudless azure sky that stretched to the horizon. To the distant south was the hazy silhouette of an S.P.P. weather tower, one of fifty which the old Enclave had used to blot out the sky, now floating derelict and unused atop a single puff of cumulus clouds.

 

The low hills rolling past the old highway were topped with new spring grasses, their green shoots waving in the slight breeze. Crickets chirped and flies buzzed in their multitudes. A hawk swooped lazily across the horizon, riding the warm updrafts as it searched for prey.

 

It was crazy. Right now the wasteland was almost...peaceful.

 

As the wastelander took her canteen back, that peace was disrupted by a low rumble from over the horizon. Her hooves felt the vibration of tires on the highway behind them. "Momma?" the filly said hesitantly.

 

"Shhh," came the reply. The wastelander mare pushed her back with a hoof, backing to the crumbling edge of the highway. Wide eyes scanned the horizon as she readied to flatten herself into the roadside ditch at the first sign of trouble.

 

A puff of black smoke rose from the shimmering heat haze above the roadway. Then a boxy metal cab trundled over the horizon. The wastelander relaxed. It was just a single cargo hauler. A free ride. Probably to their destination.

 

The cargo truck was squat and angular, its square cab made of polished steel. A yellow sunrise was stenciled on a roundel atop the front grille. These new trucks ran on 'heavy oil,' a new fuel mass-refined in factories down south. Its piston engine roared and rattled as it drove along, so unlike the elegant spark generators of old. Air brakes squealed as the truck slowed to a stop beside the wastelander and her child. A blue earth stallion in the drivers' seat peered down at them.

 

"Where ya headed?" the stallion asked, pushing up his dark sunglasses.

 

"To the City," the wastelander answered, placing a hoof around her filly.

 

The driver studied the travelers with a practiced eye. He noted the age lines underneath the mare's orange eyes. The dented combat knife in its scabbard around her foreleg. The cracked leather armor she wore underneath her modest pack. The shock of a pink mane sticking out from underneath the filly's sun hat.

 

Just another wastelander, emigrating to the City with her kid. Just like all the others. Not a threat. "Hop on in," he motioned with a hoof.

 

"Thank you," she replied, shepherding her filly towards the rear of the truck. The tailgate swung out as they made it round back, revealing two unicorn stallions in blue security barding sitting inside, rifles slung between their legs. "Ma'am," one said softly as he offered a hoof to pull them in.

 

The wastelander ascended into the truck bed and found a place for them both on a bench lining the cargo bed. There were three other passengers. A young orange-colored mare and a wizened old granny, both earth ponies, sat across from them. The two smiled in silent greetings at the new arrival. In the corner near the cab perched a male griffon draped in a burlap poncho. He regarded the wastelander fiercely but said nothing, his unblinking eyes staring beneath two great black bushy eyebrows. A long jezail rifle was cradled between his talons. The rest of the truck was packed with cargo - wooden crates and two metal drums lashed to the truck bed.

 

The driver fiddled with the gearbox as the truck lurched forward, engine roaring. It picked up speed and was soon barreling down the bumpy, broken highway. As wind whipped over the open truck bed, the wastelander pulled off her sun hat, revealing a matted purple mane atop her orange-furred coat. She did the same for the little one perched atop her lap. The two-tone pink filly fidgeted between her knees. The mare sat back and sighed, tilting her gaze up to the azure sky.

 

All her life she'd been a wastelander. Just like her momma, and her momma's momma, and even before that. All the way back to her pre-war ancestors, who had fled from Baltimare when the megaspells hit. Or was it Fillydelphia? It didn't matter much. As soon as she could walk she had lived on the move, traveling the wastes in search of food, shelter, and work. Scavenging. Guarding caravans. Transporting mail. She had done it all, drifting with the rains and the rad fields year after year, carrying on alone after momma had got sick and passed on the road to Hollow Shades. She'd only let her guard down once, five seasons back after taking shelter from a thunderstorm. The stallion caravaneer had been tall, and handsome, and had shared some pre-war records and a bottle of whiskey with her. And one thing led to another, and... He'd stuck around about a week after the foal was born. Took off in the middle of the night in a fit of patriotism to "join the NCR militia." Typical.

 

So she'd carried on. But the times were changing. Independent salvagers were dying out, displaced by scrapping firms with big crews of ponies, cranes and motor trucks. Trade caravans between the smaller settlements were dying out. And despite the wastes being safer than they had been in centuries, it was harder than ever to make a living. Even with the little one helping out, there was no guarantee they'd have stable work through next year.

 

And so mother and daughter had found themselves trotting east, towards the City. THE City. The new one. The one everypony talked about. The one whose radio broadcasts filled the airwaves with new music, new ads, and news hinting at a bright new future dawning for the ponies of Equestria.

 

The old granny mare had fixed her rheumy eyes on her daughter and had come to life. She waved her hooves around, humming low hymns in her ancient tongue. The young orange mare beckoned her over, asking questions in a sing-song voice. Her filly laughed and hobbled over to them to accept their attention and headpats. The wastelander flashed them both a thankful smile. These were good ponies to be traveling with.

 

The sun crept across the horizon as they drove onwards. The truck jolted and picked up speed, the ride suddenly smoother and bump-free. Ponies had repaved the highway here. The wastelander craned her head over the truck bed walls. The hilly wastes had given way to fields of young wheat and barley. Farmhouses and barns arose from the pale green fields. Farms in the wasteland! If only great-grandmomma could have seen this! The wastelander had thought about becoming a farmer - channeling back her earth pony roots. But she didn't know much about tending crops, and had nowhere near the caps needed to buy land of her own.

 

The sunlight tinted from yellow to orange as their transport descended towards the coast. The afternoon air was tinged with ocean salt. Shimmering blue waves appeared on the eastern horizon. As the City grew close, the passengers rose from their seats to catch a glimpse of it. Even the stoic griffon stopped clutching his jezail and twisted his head around for a peek. The wastelander did the same. Her chest swelled as she caught sight of the City for the first time.

 

Glass and steel towers glinted crystal and amber in the evening light. Squared-off office and apartment blocks clustered around them, and below those, a sprawl of tents and construction scaffolding. To the east, smokestacks and factories of the new industrial sector, and below that the cranes and docks of the coastal port. The harbor was cluttered with ships of all sizes, plying cargo and passengers from across Equestria and beyond. The city skyport was barely visible to the north, a jutting grey mass of hangars and landing pads. Sleek elliptical airships drifted casually across the sky, their composite skins daubed with painted designs and block letters. Lights shone in many windows, and more began winking on as day receded towards night.

 

The wastelander gathered up her daughter in her hooves and hoisted her up past the truck bed. "Wooooah..." the filly exclaimed in awe as she stared at their destination. Her mother felt a surge of trepidation as she took in their new home. In all her years, this was the first settlement she had seen without any ruins. The first urban area built entirely after the War. This was modernity. This was progress. This was...hope.

 

As the ex-wastelanders drove past the city limits towards the entry checkpoint, they passed a tall whitewashed billboard alongside the road. A stenciled sunrise was painted across its upper half. Below it in block capitals was a message:

 

"WELCOME TO NEW FRIENDSHIP CITY."