Ch. 7: Blues, Booze, and Ballads

The tavern shook with the thunder of hooves and reverberated with the hearty cheers of the customers. The place was swamped with raucous ponies, all hoisting pints or applauding Bluegrass, who posed casually on a table with her trusty banjo levitating in front of her. Charleston caught his breath and sipped water nearby, having just finished an energetic dance to Blue's skillful music. Cheer Chime seemed to laugh with her whole body from her position on the bar's countertop, where she'd been contributing vocals and makeshift percussion. The night was young, the travelers were well-rested, and Scale Tail Ale was on the house.

"Yeah, I know, but what you're not getting, dude, is my product should not only be legal but… I dunno, not required but… aw shit, what's the word, I can't even think of the word right now," Hempy Hooves giggled. Pele hoisted him upright on his chair before he could slide all the way to the floor. "You know? Do you get it though?"

"Hempy, I was trying to talk to you about the outbreak. Not really sure how you got on your 'product.' Anyway, this is serious," Pele insisted. The hint of blush beneath her lavender fur betrayed her own indulgence in the tavern's special brew. She sloppily clocked her hoof on the table for emphasis. "Gale said they haven't even seen zombies in this area. Doesn't that seem weird to you?"

"I guess," Hempy reflected. His heart wasn't in the conversation. Bluegrass began clearing her throat for another song. Hempy's pink eyes lit up and he elbowed Pele a little more violently than necessary. "Look! Look! She's gonna do another!"

"Alright everypony, I've got one more song in me tonight," Blue announced to her new horde of fans. "Wrote it for a friend of mine. It's the story of her daddy, and the ancient way of the buffalo. Here goes.

"Way out in the land of the endless sky

Where the cactus grows and coyotes cry

There lived a legend, I'll tell you no lie,

Named Thunderhooves, prince of the mighty herd.

Only one warrior was stronger than he

And claimed he could beat the son of the chief.

Now, Thunderhooves couldn't let that boast be,

So he challenged his foe to prove his word."

Cheer, after emptying another pony's drink on the countertop, harmonized with Blue on the chorus.

"His father before him

And father before him

And father before him

And all the way back

Were with the young Thunderhooves on that day.

Yes, his father before him

And father before him

And father before him

And all the way back

All knew that Thunderhooves would get his way!"

Bluegrass hooted and her magic undulated across the strings of her banjo, precisely plucking perfect chords. The bar patrons whooped stomped their hooves in time to her solo. Sweat shone on her brown brow and her eyes were closed in concentration and passion. The solo revved into the second verse.

"His enemy's name was Great Eagleflight

And Thunderhooves spurred him to start the fight.

They charged toward each other across the night

Beneath the cold stars and the moon so full.

Eagleflight hid his form under a sash

As Thunderhooves noticed before the crash.

It floated away in the final clash

And Thunderhooves found his foe was no bull."

The rest of the customers picked up on the chorus this time. The undeniably terrible vocals made Charleston cringe, but he couldn't suppress a laugh at the swaying forms of the singers. He relaxed and raised his voice as well.

"Young Thunderhooves couldn't believe his eyes;

He almost met an untimely demise.

If Eagleflight hadn't shouted her vict'ry cries,

He may have met the Great Spirit above.

He came to his senses and called out to wait;

Eagleflight laughed at his surprise so late.

Soon after they agreed it must be fate,

For the bull and the cow had fallen in love.

His father before him

And father before him

And father before him

And all the way back

Were with the young Thunderhooves on that day.

Yes, his father before him

And father before him

And father before him

And all the way back

All saw how Eagleflight got her way!"

The eruption of cheers was almost deafening, but most of the ponies were in no condition to care about their hearing. Bluegrass bowed and blew her fine blue bangs out of her face before Charleston helped her down from the table. Gale stood on his hind legs behind the bar and clapped his claws together. He tried to yell out his gratitude for the performance, but his words were lost in the cacophony.

"For a while, I was really thinking we weren't going to get away with the 'traveling performers' cover," Pele confessed to Hempy as the roar died down to more normal tavern levels.

"It's working out pretty good, I'd say," Hempy agreed. He bit the edge of his glass and tilted his head way back, draining it. He almost missed the table when he set it back down. "As far as apocalypses go, dude, this is an awesome way to spend the end times." He wiped stray dribbles of ale from his purple chin.

Pele nodded and took a draught of her drink. "Too bad these walls wouldn't hold back more than a few dozen of them," the turquoise and lavender pegasus observed. "I mean, look at how warped and rotten they are. Zombies would bust in here completely unfazed. We'd have to Molotov cocktail the fuckers. Which, admittedly, would be pretty cool. Picture the fiery mess of limbs that would be left."

Hempy squinted his pink eyes at Pele for a moment. "Why? Why did you have to say that?"

"When's that Rum Runner pony getting here? If he doesn't get here in the next hour, I'm not sure I'll remember meeting him," said Pele. She scanned the room for the umpteenth time. There was no shortage of seaworthy colts, but the celebrity pirate guest the tavern-keeper had mentioned was not amongst them. Pele worked her jaw impatiently and took another swig.

"What happened to Cheer Chime?" Hempy asked. "Did she fall off?"

Pele followed his gaze to the bar, where Cheer had been swiping drinks from other customers and harmonizing between gulps. "Not sure. She's weirdly good at staying balanced… but I don't know how much she's had." Pele contemplated the situation and shrugged. "She's probably fine. I'm going to ask Gale when Rum Runner is supposed to be here."

"I guess I'll look for Cheer then," Hempy said as Pele headed for the griffin tavern-keeper. He attempted to make a graceful transition from chair to ground, but the floor seemed to bend away from his hooves. He stretched his hind legs and slid down the back of the chair, reaching for the evasive ground. Finally, he made contact. He hefted himself forward, flailed for what seem like an eternity, and caught himself with his front hooves. He allowed himself a few seconds to acclimate before weaving toward the other end of the bar counter. The bang which resounded from the front of the tavern stopped him mid-step.

"Fillies! Gentlecolts! I apologize for being tardy."

Every patron turned toward the door in unison, ears pricked and eyes wide. The most visible aspect of the newcomer was the impressive, though somewhat ragged, tricorne on his head. The violet shadows of night obscured his other features. Everypony tensed up as he lingered in the doorway. The stranger chuckled softly and stepped into the glow of the gas lamps. His pelt was the rich brown of old ship hulls and his choppy mane was as black as bilge water. A worn scimitar hung from a strap around his waist. He lifted his head, revealing his calm caramel eyes.

"Captain Rum Runner!"

Rum Runner and his crew strolled up to the counter amidst whinnies of welcome as everypony realized there was no threat. Several ponies inelegantly vacated their stools for him, which he and his group took with appreciative nods. Pele instantly took to the air as the famed pirate became engulfed in the crowd of fans. Other pegasi had similar ideas, to her dismay. Her curiosity wouldn't permit backing off. She wanted to know what the hype was about, and whether such a celebrated pony would be willing to take on passengers for his next voyage.

Though Hempy Hooves was interested in the pirate ponies too, he reminded himself that his friend could be unconscious behind the bar. "Cheer?" he called as he clambered onto a stool at the freshly abandoned end of the counter. He unsteadily leaned over the smooth wood of the countertop and searched for evidence of the yellow and magenta pony.

"That's quite a cutie mark," said a voice nearby. "And I like the flank it's on, too."

Hempy slipped on a ring of condensation and nearly toppled behind the counter himself. He righted himself in the stool and turned toward the pony who'd addressed him. The pegasus smirking back from a couple stools down didn't look like he belonged there. His pelt was a dark, cool gray which offset his styled spikes of orange mane. His warm brown eyes sparkled in the lanterns' light. Hempy swallowed.

"I, uh, I like yours too," Hempy replied with an awkward grin. He tried to pose with one elbow on the counter but nearly lost his balance. "But I think I'm a little too drunk to actually know what it is."

"No worries. It's a weird one," the stranger said. He closed the distance between them and sat next to Hempy. His mark consisted of colorful concentric circles. "It's supposed to be sound waves. My name's Amplitude, but call me Amp. I'm a cabincolt on a transporter."

"I'm Hempy Hooves," the purple and rainbow pony said, wondering if Amp could see his blush.

"Don't see many others of, you know, our kind in places like this," Amp said with a gesture toward the rowdy group down the bar. Hempy noticed how Amp's eyes kept flickering around. Perhaps he was just as nervous. "Please don't take this in a creepy way, but do you wanna get some fresh air? It's a little crowded in here."

"Absolutely," Hempy said. He hoped he hadn't agreed to the invitation too quickly. By the look of the wide smile on Amp's face, Hempy had nothing to worry about. He forgot his quest for Cheer and followed Amp out the front door. He tried to signal to Pele as he passed the mass of sailors around Rum Runner, but she'd managed to take the stool next to him and the two were distracted by what appeared to be an intense conversation. Across the tavern, Bluegrass and Charleston were absorbed in their own discussions. Hempy figured he wouldn't be missed.

"Splicer?" Despite the context, Cheer Chime still felt it more polite to call to her friend before entering the wagon. She looked around the alley, making sure she wasn't being watched. She unlocked the back doors with Charleston's keys, opened them, and carried her tray of two drinks into Splicer's domain.

Cheer's noise had alerted the zombie, who had eerily moved to face her before she'd even stepped inside. Splicer quietly stared at Cheer, unblinking and vacuous. As Cheer moved closer, Splicer made a hungry grumbling sound and worked her jaw in anticipation of a meal. Cheer tried to disregard the implications. She hadn't realized how much she was shaking until she set down her tray. The mugs of ale quaked violently and nearly spilled as she used her mouth to move them from the tray to the floor.

"I thought we'd have a drink together, like we used to," Cheer whispered. Splicer groaned again and pressed against the bars of her cage. "I don't know if zombies drink much, though." Cheer scooped some of Hempy's special dry, crushed leaves into one mug and pushed it through a gap between the bars. Splicer lowered her head toward it and began to mouth the lip of the glass. She tried to devour the mug from other angles but only managed to slosh booze over her face and onto the wood beneath her. It was only a matter of seconds before the zombie realized the ale wasn't pony flesh. The bluish pony rumbled as if in irritation. Even in the dim light, Cheer could see her eyes fading from their normal carmine to the drug-induced purple hue. At least the leaves were still highly effective. Cheer sighed and sipped some of her ale.

"I guess you really aren't in there anymore, or you'd be all over that, huh?" she said with a halfhearted laugh. "I wish you were still there, Splice. You know how much I hate zombies. I lived every day in such terror when all this started, but you really seemed to thrive. It was like the stories you wrote jumped from the page and into reality, and that was your dream come true. I only ever agreed to be in the zombie squad in Woostirrup because you were in it. I wanted to keep you safe. I fucked up." Cheer hurriedly rubbed away a forming tear, as if Splicer would care whether or not she was crying. "You're my best friend. That's why I'm stepping up. I'm going to keep everypony safe. I'm going to cure you, okay? And then we can go back to writing comics and reading adventure stories and making costumes and doing all the geeky stuff that's special to just me and you. So, if there's any piece of my friend left in there, please hold on. Everything's going to be okay. I'm going to make everything okay."

Cheer lifted her hoof and rested it against the metal of the enclosure. Splicer stared at it. Then, to Cheer's astonishment, she lifted a bloody hoof and pressed it to the other side of the bar. Cheer's heart raced in hope and horror. "Sp-Splicer? Can you hear me?"

The moment was shattered as the red returned to Splicer's eyes and the undead pony's jaws parted hungrily. She lunged toward Cheer's face, smashing her head into the iron separating the ponies. She snapped her teeth mechanically. Cheer tried to calm her frantic breathing and stumbled backwards until she collapsed against the doors. She tightly closed her eyes and waited until the banging of skull against metal subsided. When she looked back, Splicer was still watching her and pushing against her confines.

"Goodnight, Splicer," Cheer murmured. She opened the doors and jumped into the alley. With a final bitter sigh, she relocked the wagon and left the remains of her friend behind, unaware of the three figures watching from the darkness.