Title:           One of Us--Part 1: In which we start in the middle of things
Author:          Lithonius
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/W8PddUyA
First Edit:      Thursday 31st of January 2013 08:44:36 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Thursday 31st of January 2013 08:44:36 PM CDT

Part 1: In which we start in the middle of things.
 
"You two follow that one, I'll take care of this one," Anon said, pulling another pellet out of his satchel. The two ponies nodded, each of their mouths a flat line. The ground here squelched under his feet, the sandy mix of clay and mud and water designating the boundary between Dodge City and the Haysead Swamp. Tufts of grass grew here and there, poking up and covered in mud where the two fugitives had trampled. The thick woodwork and rubber groaned in his hand as he pulled back, leading the target in the air.
It had a certain desperation in its flight; Anon hadn't seen one fly quite this fast before, but then again, he hadn't seen this one in the first place. Initially they had only suspected two of them in town, but no one noticed the one on the roof fly away until the chainwraps had grounded the others. Anon flexed the ache in his jaw, considering that perhaps putting both the sheriff and the deputy in the coach with him had been a bad idea. Hopefully they'd still be able to catch the runners, but Anon would have to take care of the flier himself.
Fully drawn, Anon pulled the pellet up just a bit and let go. His hand quickly drew another while he squinted.
It turned at the last minute and ducked, the shot going through one of its wings with a puff. The pony fell downward in  a spiral, the creature hopelessly trying to correct itself, before crashing through the canopy.
Anon sighed and walked back to the tipped carriage, hopping in for a moment to search for his hammer. The space was too small, he concluded, to have ponies help him like that again. Once the hammer was slung across his back he noted the direction on his compass and ran into the swamp.
There wasn't any need for silence here. The branches and life of the swamp dragged and snapped and scraped him all across his mask and coat, and his gloves quickly became covered in grime from the trees and rocks he crossed. The moist warm air of the swamp collected on the glass over his eyes before he flipped them up, off, and stuffed into one of his many pockets. He darted left and right between the trees holding up the darkening canopy, holding up his compass in one hand while the other brushed away the swamp from his face.
A shaft of bright light up ahead signaled the final resting place of his prey, but the edge of the ravine came up fast, and his glove slid around a trunk a little farther than he found comfortable.
Before him branches and roots and rocks poked out at each other down several stories, moss and lichen hanging down from the moist shelves of life protruding from the earth. He squatted down, listening to the faint sounds of the swamp, trying to look through the slight mist that hid the bottom, and wondered if one of their kind could survive such a fall. And fall here it certainly had; Anon could see the patches scraped clean from where it had struck each time, but had failed to stop. The fall had to have been fatal.
Anon stood and turned, inspecting his compass to head out, but an unfamiliar sound stopped him in his tracks.
A cough.
>H-help, please!
A small female voice was calling out from the bottom of the ravine.
>Somep0ny, anyp0ny, please!
Anon thought back to his notes. Nop0ny lived out here in the swamp, Dodge city was as far east as any of them dared to settle on this side of the swamp, and nearest road passing through was two days travel to the north.
>Help, please.
Anon rolled his eyes and turned back around to look for a way down, wiping his gloves on the back of the only clean part of his coat.
His boots sank a little into the mud down here, and the small river on the far side trickled down from somewhere way to the north, but at least the foliage was sparse. The trek down had moved him back a few yards, so he walked back toward the shaft of light, listening for her cries for help. They stopped as he neared where the crash should have been, and for the last few steps the only sound he could hear was the squelching of his own two feet.
"Hello?" He stopped to listen and look, hoping that whoever had been struck down here was still alive. That had been quite the fall, so anyone down here hit by it might really just be dead. He called again.
"Hello? Is anyp0ny there? I'm not gonna hurt you, I'm here to help."
>"P-promise?" the voice asked him from behind, echoing off the walls.
Anon twirled, trying to catch where the voice was coming from, but he couldn't see anything but moss and grass and leaves.
"I promise I won't hurt you." Anon waited for a moment before reassuring her, turning around to scan the floor of the ravine. "You can come out now, I promise I won't hurt you."
Two solid blue eyes opened on the side of a rock and it collapsed in a flash of green light and a sigh. Her legs were full of holes and mud and twigs, only one wing sprouted from her blue back, and a short black stump jutted from her forehead. From the looks of her, the fall had done quite a number on her body, and her breath was short and quick. Anon squatted down near her face to look her in the eye, pulling out a folded burlap sack stuffed in his large left pocket.
"How many changelings are there in Dodge City?" Anon asked, unfolding the bag.
>"W-what?"
"I asked you how many changelings are there in Dodge City. Where is your pod's leader?"
>"I," she paused for a moment to cough, sprinkling blue specks all over the mud in front of her, "I don't know."
Anon stopped unfolding the bag and looked at her. She just stared away.
"'I'?"
Another cough, more blood.
>"I can't...I can't hear them anymore."
"Hear who? The other two? We've already captured them. Who are the changelings targeting next in Dodge City?" Anon made his face as grim as possible at the little changeling in front of him. "Answer me!"
She flinched, letting out a little squeak. Anon looked unimpressed and stood.
"Where did you hide the bodies? Did you hide them out here in the swamp?" Anon pulled his hammer from his back and gestured with it, his eyes following. "Tell me so I can let their poor families know and give them a proper funeral!" Her eyes clenched shut and she pulled her legs up close, squishing the mud onto her underbelly.
Anon looked back down at her, covered in filth. One of her fangs was visible poking out the side of her mouth, and it dripped blue. He set the hammer down head-first, resting on it like a cane, and looked down the length of her body. A leg was left bent out in a awkward shape while the others had curled up as tight as they would go. Her head moved, and his eyes darted back. Two bright blue glossy eyes opened to look at him.
>"I'm cold."
"That's not what I asked. You'll be warm soon enough, in a cell." Anon looked around the swamp again, unable to bear the sight of her eyes wincing in pain. He couldn't believe he was starting to go soft, after all they had done to him.
The silence continued for a moment as Anon scratched the scar near the top of his back. He remembered the Everfree Forest, the noises that night, could almost hear them screaming-
>"I don't know," she said again with a pant, breaking his reverie, "I didn't get rid of them."
Her eyes blinked tightly, and a small tear ran down her nose, joining the mud she lay in. Anon blinked, staring at her in disbelief, gears turning in his head as to why one of the drones would keep talking like this.
>"I don't know, and I'm...I'm sorry."
 
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Anon's arms ached as he approached the carriage, up-righted since he left. The burlap sack prevented him from waving his arms at the Sheriff, who was strapping the deputy into the reins at the front.
>"Oh good, you caught it. Go on and throw it in the trunk with the others."
The trunk on the back of the carriage was open, the door hanging like a jaw over the other two squirming burlap sacks tied shut. Anon looked down at the shaking bag in his arms.
"No, I think I'll carry this one," he replied. The sheriff raised an eyebrow at him. "Gotta write a report on this one. Can't mix them up."
 
The carriage rumbled and shook in the sunset on the way home, and Anon was left in the passenger compartment sitting next to the sheriff, staring at the bag laying on the bench across from them. He couldn't find a comfortable position to sit in, and sometimes he looked out the window at the passing desert, but his eyes always returned to the bag.
He poked his head out the window on the side, covering his mask in dust as he looked at the deputy pulling the wagon, and saw that the town was still a ways off. He pulled his head in and looked at the sheriff, leaning in to his face.  He whispered his name.
The sheriff didn't respond.
Anon uncrossed his arms, lifted his mask, and slowly picked up the shivering bag. He cradled it in his arms, careful not to touch the pony beside him.
"Shhhh," he whispered, "everything's going to be alright."
The bag stopped shaking.