A Poor State of Affairs in Appleloosa

Something was terribly wrong in Appleloosa. Illness seemed to have come from nowhere and made half the residents ill, while it seemed that the other half were barely living off of the crops they made. The atmosphere around town was at an all time low.

Smith Wesson was not at all happy about this as he sat out on the porch of his small house. He was a suspicious pony by nature, always searching for honesty and the truth, be it good or bad.

He sat still as a statue in his chair, only moving occasionally to adjust his stetson against the slight breeze. He watched the horizon, awaiting the arrival he knew was coming...

Jim was on the train to Appleloosa. He looked out at the landscape passing by, seeing the area becoming more and more barren. He could see why things were bad here- crops didn't grow, then ponies starved. It might also affect ponyville itself. Appleloosa was a supplier of lots of food across the land, and while the rest could probably survive it was preferable that there was a surplus.

What annoyed Jim the most about this situation was the way it was being handled. When his boss came in to speak to the budding doctor, he spoke as if the food supply was more in focus than the residents starving to death. It had taken a lot of strength not to get angry at the head doctor over that- his attitude wasn't Jim's business, but Jim's attitude was his boss' business. He wasn't a full doctor yet, as he needed the approval and recommendation from the old stallion to be allowed to practice freely, as opposed to his to-do list structure he currently had to use.

Still, Jim had been sent for a good reason- to investigate the cause and cure it, if possible. On the journey he scribbled possibilities for the disease on a piece of parchment. He discussed with other passengers, the train staff and used newspapers to understand it. Unfortunately, a lot of that info was vague- the papers were keeping this issue on a low profile to avoid panic spreading. Not entirely moral, but understandable. The best Jim could come up with was that it was some sort of hyper-evolved flu, though he'd have to see for himself to be sure.

He saw the slideshow slowing down, realising the train was coming to a stop. He got his rucksack and saddle-bags ready. This wasn't going to be a short visit. He'd probably stay for a couple of months. He had hoped Sunny, his marefriend, would come too but she had to do her job at the ponyville newspaper, and she didn't want to catch the disease. Jim had understood, and hoped she'd wait for him.

Stepping off the train, Jim left the station and looked over the new wasteland of Appleloosa.

(Jesus Christ that could be the opening of a novel)

As the sun continued to beat down on the hard baked ground, a slight movement in the distance caught Wesson's attention. He knew what it was before the image was even clear. He stood up from his seat to make his way to the train station.

Smith Wesson sauntered almost casually onto the platform and waited patiently. The train arrived fairly soon and stopped in the station with a squeal of brakes. As passengers started to disembark, Wesson soon spotted his target, as it were.

The pegasus was easy to pick out from the crowd, was with his green body, blue mane and medic cross cutie mark. The sheriff had given the information straight from the telegram, one of many they had received after sending emergency messages regarding the recent sickness. Personally, Wesson wasn't looking forward to meeting this medic, figuring that many of those academic city folk types were very snobby.

Still, he hoped against hope that some luck would come through. With a slight adjustment of his waistcoat and stetson, Wesson stepped over to the pegasus.
"Are ya Jim?"

Jim looked to his side and saw a local talking to him. He smiled at the guy, figuring out who it was and shaking his hoof.

"Yeah, I'm Medic Jim. Nice to meetcha pal. You're Smith Wesson, right? Got a few notes on you when I was sent here. Good to see you're keeping an eye out for the locals here- This place isn't protected nearly as well as it should be. The residents live out here in the middle if the bloody desert with aggressive wildlife about and Celestia and such just sit back and go 'Ech. They'll be fine."

Jim took a deep breath to calm himself. He couldn't let his anger at the injustice of this place get ahead of him.

He looked further around the town. The first thing he was starting to notice was the heat. The boiling hot sun was beating down on him and he was already feeling beads of sweat trickling down his neck. He looked at Wesson, who so far seemed like fun.

"I don't want to trouble you mate, but do you have anywhere I could get a bit of shade while we talk about this disease and such? I'm boiling."

"Nice to meet ya too," he replied with a southern twang, "Sure. We can head on down to the Salt Block saloon. Ah could do with a drink and Ah reckon you could too."

Interesting. From his mannerisms and speech, Wesson was almost relieved that Medic Jim seemed rather normal and not uptight and snooty. Well, at least, he hadn't been too condescending yet.

His rant about the safety and lifestyle of Appleloosa had taken him by surprise. In fact it had made Wesson want to explain that everypony did not just "sit back" and relax but he decided against it. After all, it wouldn't be friendly, nor the best way to introduce himself to someone who was here to help.

Jim nodded happily. 

"Excellent. Much hotter here than anywhere I've really ever been."

He walked down to the little saloon with Wesson. On his way he noted all the little shops and such were closed- a couple of them had been vandalised. Of course there was some okay street art there but for the most part just a bunch of idiots thinking it would be really funny to break stuff. Not every shop was closed, mind, but there would definitely be a bit of an economic downturn if this place wasn't patched up soon.

They arrived in the saloon. The place wasn't really all that full- most ponies only really got drunk at night, and since it was midday last night's bevvies would have gone home now. Jim sat at one of the tables and ordered a drink for himself. He looked to Wesson.

"Well, things seem horrible here right now. You have any clue as to the cause? Recent diseases? Seasonal viruses maybe? If you have anypony living and diseased, would it be okay for me to check them over? I need to see this for myself."

Out of curiousity, he checked the death count in the folder. He almost spat out his drink, and indeed yelled out a pretty rude word. And a long one too.

Wesson couldn't help but feel a little depressed at the state the saloon as they entered. The place used to be fairly lively and usually had high spirits. But now it seemed much like the rest of town; rundown and deserted. The one pony still able to work took Jim's order and promptly returned with it as well as Wesson's usually shot of whiskey.

As he downed the shot, he couldn't help but look amused at Jim's reaction to seeing the death count. For somepony into the medical care, he sure seemed surprised about death.

"We're keeping the ponies that are sick in the town hall since we ain't got no hospital. Thankfully our town doctor ain't sick yet, and he's been doing the best he can. Now, Ah ain't no doctor like you, but seems to me that this disease ain't contagious. Ah've been around sick folks for a while now, helping out and all, and Ah ain't caught nothing. So whatever the cause of this is, Ah'm reckoning that everypony who's got it is getting it from somethin'.

Jim listened to Wesson. Okay, this could be an issue. A non-contagious disease was a lot harder to trace back to the source. He downed his drink, feeling the cooling liquid slip down his throat. Jim wasn't much of a drinker but in a heat like this he'd drink anything to avoid the scorching temperature. He thought for a moment- what could be causing this? He had to go inspect those infected.

"Alright then. Let's go to the town hall- I want a look at these infected. Whatever's making them sick is serious. Well, obviously since a few of them have died of it but you catch my drift."

Jim got up from their table and walked outside. He could really see the desert scenery- now his eyes had adjusted to the sudden abundance of sunlight. There was grass here, as a desert still has plant life. After all, what holds the soil together? He saw the little whirlwinds of sand, similar to leaves in autumn. This place certainly looked like it was dying. Jim wasn't sure of the death rate though. He turned to Wesson and said:

"Say, how many have died of our mystery disease? The file was a bit vague on that."

They trotted across the street, down the road and to the town hall. The heat was becoming unbearable- Jim had forgotten alcohol actually dehydrates you. Therefore, he was incredibly relieved when they reached the town hall. A few more minutes of that and he'd have collapsed.

"Should have brought more bloody water." He muttered.

Smith Wesson followed Jim out of the saloon, although not before leaving bits for the drinks with a decent tip. Celestia knows that everypony in this town needed some good fortune. As he stepped out into the scorching sun, he noticed Jim's discomfort in the heat. He forgot that many ponies were not used to it, unlike him.

"Ah can't give any exact figures, but Ah'd say two thirds of the town are sick, with about a quarter of that being dead," Wesson answered, "And we're all thankful that it ain't any higher."

He lead the way into the town hall, opening the doors for Jim. The lines of pews usually used for siting at town meetings had been converted in makeshift beds. Ponies young and old filled them, some sleeping, some groaning. One white earth pony with a stethoscope cutie mark was frantically making his way between patients, tending to as many as he could.

Wesson raised an eyebrow at Jim's last comment. "Ya know, if your real thirsty, you can buy some for an extortionate price from trade caravan later," he replied, with a sense of bitterness, "Since this whole disease ordeal, the town's crops ain't grown any sense. Ponies were starving until this trade caravan rolls into town selling supplies.

Jim felt several theories running through his mind. Images of fungi, faulty water supply, gas...several possibilities. He was slowly working through them. He walked over to one of the infected- a colt, about 8 years old. Jim inspected the kid. He had a red mark spreading across his face, and the non-red parts were full and lifeless, as if his fur had just given up one day. The red mark was interesting- what could cause a pony's very fur colour, a vital part of their genome, to change? It didn't make sense. 

The kid was awake- the disease hadn't got a grip of his nervous system yet. Jim took the time to ask him questions. In the gentlest voice he could manage, Jim asked:

"Listen, I'm going to try and make you all feel better. Can you tell me exactly how you're feeling?"
"Well, mah belly hurts n' mah head feels like it's on fire."
"I see. So, headaches and nausea... Anything else? Do you see anything that isn't real, or have weird dreams? Anything like that?"
"Well, ah sometimes dream 'bout a weird little reservoir. D'no why, considerin' I don't think ah've ever left this town."

Jim nodded, thanked the little guy and proceeded to go around asking the same question to those who could still talk or think straight. It was the same story each time- they kept dreaming about a little reservoir. Jim started noting down this stuff on his parchment, using diagrams and spider charts to attempt to come to a conclusion. Once he was done, he went over to Wesson.

"Could you tell me about this caravan? Doesn't it seem suspicious that the moment everything goes to Tartarus, someone swoops in with a profitable solution?"

(Sowwy about late post. Been a bit burned out lately- I'm getting my energy and drive back, so I should be back on top soon.)

(No problem mc)

As Jim went off to ask his questions, Wesson looked around the hall. Inspecting the sick was not the most cheerful of tasks but it had to be done. He passed a sick family of three, a mother, father and daughter, all lying in beds together. The mare's eyes seemed red and moist from tears. Further along was an elderly stallion. Wesson recognised him as a patron of the Salt Block, only know he was unconscious from the effects of something other than alcohol. Thankfully, he didn't spot any dead among them.

He hated this situation. While Appleloosa had a good sheriff, there were some ponies saw Wesson himself as something of a saviour, or at least someone they could rely on in hard times. His skills and his special talent seemed to be completely useless right now.
He stopped his train of thoughts as Jim came back over to him and spoke.

"To be honest, Ah ain't normally one to be suspicious, but that caravan does seem odd," he answered, adjusting as stetson as he spoke, "There's about four of 'em, ride into town every few days. They sell water, food, and medicine mostly, at extortionate prices. But Ah think we're too busy being grateful to care about that..."

Wondering where this was going, Wesson gave Jim a look. "Why? What are ya thinkin'?"

Jim was a little suprised Wesson didn't pick up on it. Still, he didn't show it- the stallion seemed nice enough and it wouldn't be fair to treat him like an idiot.

"Think about it. They may have something to do with it- they rig up the crops, wait for you all to starve. Then they give you tainted water and medicine at a high price- they give you something, you think you need more of it. It's a vicious cycle."

Jim noticed that Wesson was looking rather helpess. It was similar to the look a doctor makes when they can't cure something. They're used to being on top of things, so when something comes along they can't fix then they lose a kind of security blanket. Indeed, Wesson looked the heroic type. He'd be used to being helpful and protective of the town, so when this disease struck he was out of his depth. 

He looked around some more, still no difference in their conditions or stories. Looking to Wesson, he asked:

"So, when d'you think they'll pop by again? I'd like a word with them."

Smith Wesson did indeed consider the possibility that maybe the caravan was somehow involved in the illness. What Jim said seemed to make sense, although...

"That's a nice theory, but Ah don't think it's right. 'Least not how you put it," he replied, before explaining himself, "Ah mean, folk started gettin' sick a while back and then less than a week later the crops start dying. Only after all that happened did the caravan visit Appleloosa."

However, despite this logic, Jim did have a point. It was clear the caravan was continuing trips into town to make a profit, there was no doubt about that, but it did seem convenient how they turned up at the perfect time for them. Yet Wesson couldn't picture exactly how they were involved in the illness. Unless they were missing some piece of the puzzle.

In answer to Jim's question, Wesson glanced at the sky and the shadows. "Well, they ain't been in town for a few days and it's coming up to high noon. They usually ride in sometime around then, so Ah reckon you'll get to meet 'em pretty soon."

Jim thought a little about Wesson's response. Okay, so they could be just taking advantage of a situation. He'd need to inspect their products first. He looked to the sharpshooter and said:

"Fair point. Still, it's a little too convenient. I'll need to talk to them."

He took one last look at the patients then left the town hall, standing in the shade while waiting for the caravan. Checking his watch, he saw it was 11:58. They'd be here any minute if today was a visiting day. If not, Jim would have to just wait until tomorrow. He still wasn't sure about accommodation. Maybe he'd stay at the tavern or crash at Wesson's, if he was alright with that. 

Suddenly, Jim heard the clattering of a carriage driving across the sand and earth, approaching the town square. Smiling, Jim watched for these salesponies to appear.

"Be my guest."

As Smith Wesson waited for the caravan, he sat down on a bench outside the hall. As he casually crossed his legs and tipped his hat down, the earth pony seemed to reside to a state of being a statue, still and unmoving. However, it wasn't long before the sound of approaching wheels was heard by him too.

He pushed his stetson back up and observed as a single wagon rolled into town. It was rather large with a white sheet draped over the back to barely conceal its contents. The two burly stallions who had been pulling it detached themselves from the harnesses as another stallion leapt out of the back. As they began to set up, a mare came out to stand on a crate and address the already approaching townsfolk.

"Fillies and gentlecolts," she began in a well spoken voice, "Roll up and take a look at our provisions. Anything you want, I can guarantee we will have, and I can bet that you won't be able to find better prices anywhere from here to Manehatten!"

Jim raised an eyebrow. The first thing that struck him about these ponies was the announcement. Anything they want, huh? That sounds almost like trying too hard. He had to investigate. He walked out and over to the wagon, waiting in the queue while the boiling heat sent sweat all over him. The doctor ignored this though- a little heat went going to keep him from questioning these ponies. When he got to the counter, he looked at the stallion who was on charge of selling the supplies. 

"Hello my good sir! What would you be in need of?"
"Actually, I'd like to ask you a few questions. I'm from the health and safety board, and I'd like to inquire about your products. This disease thing crops up, and you say you have a cure. As a doctor I'd like to inspect that and see if it's safe."
"Well I'm sorry sir, but that's a trade secret."
"You'd be breaking the law if you denied me this, you realise."
"Erm...but...I..."
Jim looked over to Wesson.
"Hey, Smith? Could you help me out over here mate?"

Jim noticed the crowd was getting agitated- they wanted their supplies, and here was this fancy pony blocking them! Jim decided to let them get their shopping first- they'd have peace and quiet then. He looked to the pony at the counter and said:

"Look, these ponies want to buy stuff. I'll ask you once you're done with the sales, okay?"

The stallion nodded. Jim leaned on the carriage, awaiting the crowd's dispersal.

(Really sorry about the late post. I've been kaput due to homework and nabs and such. I wish I could say it was all over for now but it isn't. I'll try to find time and it'll definitely be better but posting may be slowed down a little.)

This doctor certainly was forward and to the point, not unlike Wesson himself. The earth pony had simply watched from his seat as Jim approached the caravan with his questions. He himself knew better than to block the crowd from trying to purchase their much needed supplies.

When he was called, Smith Wesson got to his hooves and sauntered over to the counter and with good timing too. Certain ponies in the crowd looked a little more than annoyed at Jim for slowing their progress. Fortunately, his presence was helping calm them or at least stopping them from doing anything rash…for now…

"What's your plan then?" Wesson whispered to the doctor, as he observed the crowd buying their supplies.

Jim looked to Wesson, whispering back:


"Well, I'm going to ask some questions. Sample their goods and so on. I need your help though- I've got a hunch that if they try to swindle you, they'll do it by showing me some sort of fake. Paranoid, I know, but I have to be sure. So I'll need you to buy some of their cure, water, the sort of thing that pretty much anypony would buy. I'll pay you back afterwards."


Jim was about to continue when he noticed something, sniggering at the thought. Oh Celestia, he was turning into Sunny. She was always like this, pressing her way into an issue far smaller than she treated it. He wondered if he'd get back and find her curb-stomping some colts for bullying.


Back to the matter at hoof, Jim watched the crowd disperse. He then went up to the counter and said to the stallion:


"Right, they've hopped it. You guys open for discussion?"
"Fine. Come round the back and we'll talk."


Jim followed after them. He was a little tense- they might try to kill him. Of course, that was proposterous. Wesson was nearby and even then, ponies could see. The back of the wagon wasn't exactly secretive. Indeed, when he came to the meeting point it seemed normal. The stallion who was selling things and the mare doing the advertising looked friendly enough and they had a table with their products laid out for him.


"Thanks for setting aside your time guys. I promise this wont take long."


Might as well be friendly. Jim pulled some equipment, such as syringes and bottles of liquid, from his bag and began testing.

"You got it," Wesson acknowledged, nodding to the doctor.

It seemed Jim was certainly thorough in his work. Despite those claims of paranoia, Wesson would rather somepony be safe and cautious than reckless and clumsy. The earth pony had seen that many times from experience.

He casually made his way to the counter and smiled at the stallion serving.

"Howdy. Ah'll have some of that there medicine, a flask of water and Ah better get some bread too," he said, promptly purchasing the items and heading back to the bench.

In reality, he needed none of these things. Since Smith Wesson spent half his time living and camping in the wilderness, he often got his supplies from the land around him. Thinking about that now, it may explain why he hadn't gotten sick.

(Actually tried to post this a few days ago. Energy levels= plummeted halfway through though.)

Jim's tests were thorough, yet quick. He put the samples on Petri dishes and added materials, trying to determine what exactly was in them. After about 5 minutes, he got up and looked at the ponies who were providing the tested materials.

"Well folks, this checks out okay. I guess I'll be on my way- thanks for your help though. Not as many are as willing to cooperate."

Jim left, falling into step beside Wesson after catching up to him. He looked at the products the other stallion bought and smiled. Hat was what they needed. They went behind a building, out of sight of the salesponies who were already packing up and carting away. Jim carried out his tests again, having brought the results from the previous tests with him.

He looked over the samples, a frown forming on his brow. He passed the dish to Wesson and asked:

"Does this seem familiar? It has a really weird structure..."

(Note I'm deliberately being vague dice Fire already has this all worked out.)

(No worries mc. There's no rush here :) )

Smith Wesson waited patiently as Jim conducted his…experiments. The world of science and technology were something of a mystery to him. He visited his elderly parents in Manehatten roughly every month but that involved a train ride and a walk. They rarely went elsewhere in the city together and Wesson had only occasionally ventured around himself.

As far as he was concerned, that was not the way of life for him. The frontier was his home. And now it was in the hands of a doctor he had met that same day.

When Jim passed him a dish, Wesson took it and examined it.

"Can't say Ah know much about this kinda stuff," he admitted, unsure what to look for. He stared at it for a while and even sniffed the contents. The smell of one of the samples caught his attention. "That one don't smell right. That's the water, ain't it? Can you find out what's in it?"

Jim took the water, smiling now that they seemed to be getting somewhere. He gave it a test and found there was definitely something weird in it- normally water went green with pH indicator, but this stuff went blue. An alkali, eh? He took out his notes and scribbled this fact down. Granted, writing with his teeth was a pain but he wasn't a unicorn and hooves aren't ideal for writing. Or at least they were even less ideal than the mouth. He looked over to Wesson, a slightly solemn expression.

"This would certainly do stuff like that. It's an alkali- basically it burns up your insides. Horribly. The ponies affected....I could say eating acidic stuff like apples- which there certainly isn't a shortage of- but I don't want to jump to conclusions. There could be something else in here. Don't suppose you've got resident magic expert or are we chapping there?"

(Maybe a touch shorty shorts)

"Son, you are buckin' the wrong tree if you're seriously askin' for a unicorn in an earth pony town," Wesson stated plainly, shaking his head.

He turned his attention back to the water. So this was the cause of the illness. Having been around the sick for a while, he knew they were in serious pain and to imagine their insides being burnt was awful. Smith Wesson was starting to burn up inside himself, but with rage. How could these ponies even consider selling deadly water to the town?

Something suddenly crossed the earth pony's mind. Even if the water is making ponies ill, why were the crops were suffering? They weren't being given this water, unless...
Without saying a word, Smith Wesson galloped away towards the town's well. He quickly had filled a bucket from the well and returned to Jim, placing it beside him.

"Test this," he said, gesturing at the bucket, "'cause Ah think we got an idea of what's goin' on round here."

Jim took the bucket, starting to understand where Wesson was going with this. He took the bucket water and conducted the test, getting identical results.

"Ah, so it's your water supply. Who's doing this though? I don't see where these ponies fit into it." Then a thought struck: "Wait, they're selling good water. That would mean that either they use another supply or they know how to reverse the process, especially considering the samples were fine but the products are tainted."

Jim noticed Wesson's anger. The pony was seriously getting miffed, which was perfectly justified. Jim was hot and bothered and tired, so he couldn't feel much emotion at all. Considering the circumstances he probably would feel intense anger after a rest.

"So, any idea what to do now?"

Wesson was sure his theory was along the right lines and having Jim agree only confirmed it for him. So the town's water supply was tainted, and the sales ponies were likely behind it and making a big profit from it.

"Next step is simple; we stop 'em," Smith Wesson said simply. "Ah say we head outta town to the water supply and-"

As he spoke, Wesson noticed a fast movement in the shadows. His words were cut off when something hard connected with a back of his head. The earth pony stumbled forward and collapsed onto the sand, knocked out cold.

One of burly stallions from the caravan stood behind him with a wooden bat in his hoof, while the other approached Jim, brandishing his own bat.