//------------------------------// // Painkiller (part four) // Story: Somepony who loves you // by Nonagon //------------------------------// Painkiller (part four) A Somepony who loves you Story Cheerilee didn’t go to bed right away that night. After giving the foals their pills and saying goodnight (not goodbye) she waited outside the classroom for a while, listening through a crack in the door. Much as she longed to, she didn’t dare peek her head through the door. Not tonight. Tonight needed to be just like any other night. For a minute, there was only the soft in and out of little ponies breathing. Then there was a rustle. From the set of sheets nearest to the door Cheerilee could hear a pony turning over, then a whisper. “I don’t think you’re a thombie.” There was a long, silent pause. Then: “Thanks.” After that, there was no more. Cheerilee squeezed her eyes shut and waited for five more minutes until she was certain that all of her students were asleep, then crept away and shut herself in her office. Gravely, she reached into a drawer on her desk and slowly unrolled a map of Ponyville. Reaching the hospital wouldn't be like her journeys in the past. The building was on the far side of Ponyville, not an unreasonable distance by air or at a gallop, but a full day's journey at the crawling pace she set for herself. On top of that, she had to be back before bedtime the following evening. If her students were forced to sleep without their pills, without her being there for them, then all this would be completely pointless. Taking the winding path through town was looking like a bad idea. Cheerilee sighed, tracing her practiced safe route on the map with her hoof. Though it was more direct than any other way, going through what was formerly the most heavily populated parts of Ponyville and having to constantly maneuver around shadows would hold her back far too much on this particular journey. Instead, it might make more sense to walk around Ponyville, following the river until she came around to the hospital from the side. Measuring with her hooves, she determined that the shortest route would be to double back and cut across fields directly to Sweet Apple Acres, then swing north and stick to the outskirts until the grounds came into view. It was risky, but no more so than any other route would have been. Once she actually reached the hospital, however... that was another matter. She was just going to have to figure it out from there. Sighing again, Cheerilee walked over to the sink and poured herself a glass of water. She spilled her medication out onto her desk and counted the pills again, subtracting one as she swallowed her own. Nine white pills. One more night after this. At the very least, she'd given herself some breathing space. She scooped the pills back into their container and returned it to its place by the sink. The second bottle came out as well. Six little pills. Six little... Cheerilee yawned. She tidied these pills away as well and locked them safely away in their drawer. She lay down and wrapped herself in a sheet that she'd selfishly kept for herself, laying her head down and closing her eyes against the darkness. And to think, she thought to herself as tiredness fell upon her, she called it a cure. --- "Goodbye, my little ponies. Please be here when I get back." Cheerilee gulped. She hesitated in front of the building for longer than usual before turning away. Her little ponies had nothing to worry about, of course. Only twice had she ever actually returned to them before they woke up, both times when her nerves had failed her on some menial task that could safely be put off. They were used to waiting, knowing that their teacher had promised she would return. How long would they wait today? A few hours longer than normal? Until it was time for dinner? How long did she have before they began to suspect she might not be coming back? The teacher turned to the road and began to walk. I will come back, she told herself. I have to. I promised. Instead of taking the usual road into Ponyville, Cheerilee turned directly off the path the moment she was a safe distance away. Almost right away she slowed down, acutely aware of the difference in sound from the dirt road to the grass. The tiny stalks squelched under her hooves; they were soaked in dew and blackened at the edges. Her attempts at grazing early on had made her gag, even during the first month of night. She tried not to think about the state of what she was walking over now. Traversing a field was a very different experience to walking Ponyville’s empty streets. At first, every step across the dark expanse was an exercise in bravado. Cheerilee felt totally exposed, without even the illusion of safety that walls on both sides of her provided. Every time a squelch from the grass reached her ears, she cringed and returned to a painfully slow crawl for a few minutes more. But after nearly an hour of every landmark fading further and further away from her, she started to realize that being able to see in all directions was as much an advantage for her as it was for them. Out here, there were no corners for them to hide behind, no shadows for them to lurk in. The buildings to one side were far too distant to feel like a true threat, and as the fields to her left turned into rows of withered and decaying tomatoes, Cheerilee almost felt like laughing with relief. The monsters of the night had no reason to be out here. Even if one did manage to see or hear her, she would spot it from a mile away. As to what she would do if that actually happened... well, she resolved not to worry about that. This unfamiliar feeling of relative safety only grew as the river came into view. As the grassy plains beneath her hooves gave way to rows of deeply browned heads of lettuce, for the first time in months Cheerilee heard a sound from the natural world. Against all odds the river was still trickling, slowly but surely sending a steady stream of water towards Ponyville’s reservoir and down the frequent channels across the wilted and decaying farmland. To her delight the noise was just enough to mask her hoofteps, if she was careful, and despite her haste she allowed herself to come to a halt and look around. All was calm and quiet — not silent, just quiet. There was nopony else around as far as the eye could see. I could bring the foals here, Cheerilee thought, and realized to her astonishment that she was smiling. So long as they’re quiet, and they Pinkie Pie promise not to splash in the water... we could make a field trip of it. With a soft sigh, feeling a little more of the tension she was carrying slip away, Cheerilee stepped towards the river and leaned down to take a drink. Just before her lips touched the surface, she noticed that the moonlight wasn’t reflected off the water. Sharply, Cheerilee straightened up and hurried on her way. The river began to flow more swiftly as the ground curved upwards. Eventually a new dirt path came into being beside the waters, and even when the river began to curl more directly northwards to her destination Cheerilee chose to follow this instead. Sweet Apple Acres loomed up ahead, and in no time at all she was within its borders. What little security the river had provided evaporated instantly. The farmland beside the path turned from the untouched remains of berries and carrots to plants that a pony could conceivably hide behind, only a thin wooden fence on her left separating Cheerilee from the impenetrable shadows of the orchard. The smell of decaying and fermented apples grew stronger as she walked. She gagged, silently wondering whether it would be wiser to abandon the path entirely, when she rounded a corner and Sweet Apple Acres' main gate came into view. That's when Cheerilee stopped, staring. This was not the gate that she knew. Instead of the friendly and welcoming gap leading into the orchard, a wall of metal and wood barred the way. It seemed to be made from any number of materials, from roughly-cut logs to sheets of siding, miscellaneous planks, chicken wire, broken pipes, apparently anything the ponies responsible could get their hooves on. The more cluttered sections were cracked and splintered, as if they’d been broken down and repaired multiple times. The fence on the far side of the gate to where Cheerilee was standing had been torn up, and a new, similarly constructed fortification now cut much more sharply inwards across the orchard. Cheerilee’s heart skipped another beat as a word forced its way into her consciousness. Survivors. The teacher very nearly charged forward, but managed to hold herself back. She fidgeted in place, weighing her options before continuing. On one hoof, if other ponies (among them the Apple family, obviously) had managed to find a way to hold out against the Nightmare, it was imperative that she made contact with them. On the other hoof, she couldn’t just trot up and knock on the door. A fence like that was only used to keep things out, which meant that there were plenty of things around that needed to be kept out. Any sound that might attract any living ponies within would no doubt also bring a lot of unwanted attention. In fact, it was probably folly even to be this close. Cheerilee whinnied silently and almost stomped in frustration, leaning back one moment and forward the next. Another observation caused her to make up her mind. In front of the gate she could make out several dark shapes scattered in the road, the size of apples but the wrong shape. Unable to allay her curiosity any longer, Cheerilee crept forward to the gate, constantly looking around for signs that she was being watched. The tiny lumps came gradually into view, each one ragged and misshapen, and her stomach lurched as she realized what she was looking at. Even so, she made her way all the way up to the gate and examined them closely before coming to any conclusions. Lying twisted and shriveled in the middle of the road were half a dozen chunks of desiccated meat. Bait, Cheerilee quickly decided, choosing to believe that the animal or pony who had provided these had died naturally and painlessly. Bait that nopony’s taken. That’s a good sign... I think. Satisfied that she wasn’t about to be ambushed by any waiting monsters, she turned her attention to the gate. There was a clear divide down the middle of it, bound by a heavy chain, with no clear means of unlocking it. She fretted for another minute; every moment she wasted here was one taken from her mission of reaching the hospital. Inspiration struck. Cheerilee eyed one of the dried clumps of flesh on the road. Provided it was light enough to not make noise, she could throw one or two of these back over the fence. That would signal to whoever was on the inside that somepony out there was alive and thinking, however long it took for them to find it. With no time to lose, trying very hard not to think about what she was doing, she reached out towards one of the blackening shapes on the road. The moment Cheerilee picked up the lump, however, this plan fell apart. The meat collapsed in on itself, dissolving in her hoof into a bright pink mass with the consistency of a thick broth that dripped in putrid chunks back to the road. She dropped it and automatically stifled a gasp, biting her lip to keep from wincing as she wiped her hoof on the ground. All at once an all-too-familiar smell hit her, the nauseating scent of syrup laced with rust. Her eyes widened again. Among the slime and flakes of dried skin, partially dissolved by the liquid mass around it, was a small, perfectly spherical shape. Everything trembled. Everything came to a halt. Unable to stop herself, Cheerilee kicked over another of the horrifying lumps. It dripped as it fell onto its side and cracked open, spilling partially liquified contents out of a decaying husk. A tiny white shape could be seen, apparently having been crammed into what had once been solid flesh, before a tide of foamy innards smothered it again. Cheerilee backed up. She breathed deeply, and then tried very hard not to breathe at all. She reached the grass and wiped her hoof again, this time more thoroughly. Another flash of pink caught her eye. She looked up. Tied around one corner of the fence was a frayed pink bow. As stiffly and as silently as possible, she turned northward and ran. --- For the most part, all she could remember were noises. “If we do nothing, she’ll die.” Twilight Sparkle had said those words first, directly to a pony in a doctor’s coat but loud enough for all to hear. After that the words had persisted, though Cheerilee wasn’t sure whether she’d heard others repeating them or if she’d simply been reassuring herself, time and time again, as the night dragged on and on. It had all seemed so reasonable. For the longest time, there was only whispering. The others in the library had remained surprisingly calm, under the circumstances. Lyra had been moved to the far corner of the room and Spike, the little dragon who lived with Twilight Sparkle, had brought down a blue blanket from upstairs to cover her with. Cheerilee stayed with the foals near the stairs, leaving only glimpses of the injured pony visible through the forest of legs separating them. More smoke periodically erupted from the table in the middle of the room, which was starting to turn the air sour, and the ponies around it muttered constantly to one another. They worked as carefully and painstakingly as ever, but there was an urgency in their hushed discussions that hadn’t been there before, a tension stretching across the room and keeping everypony in the library on edge. Cheerilee had tried to carry on with her story at first, but it was clear that nopony’s heart was in it any more, not even her own. It was better that the doctors had no distractions, anyway. With finality Twilight Sparkle’s horn lit up, and everything fell silent. Cheerilee counted the mare’s hoofsteps as she turned and walked towards Lyra — one, two, ten muffled clops of hooves against wood, then nothing. Twilight tried to speak, but somepony stopped her. There was nothing that needed to be said. In the middle of the room, there was a soft click as a tiny shape coalesced and was placed into an empty container. In the pause that followed, Cheerilee gestured for her students to gather close to her. “Make a wish,” she said. Countless eyes stared up at her; all she could make out clearly among the flickering shadows were their eyes, wide and shining. Cheerilee smiled at them. It seemed to come naturally. “Lyra needs our help right now. The doctors are doing all they can, and they need all the help they can get. I want you all to close your eyes and wish as hard as you can for Lyra to get well again.” Nopony questioned this, not even the ones who were old enough to know better. As one the foals closed their eyes, some mouthing words to themselves, others pursing their lips in expressions of extreme concentration. Cheerilee caught a few adults nearby following suit, and she couldn’t help but grin as she closed her eyes as well. Minutes ticked by. All the visible clocks in the library had been stopped, each showing a different time, so there was no way of knowing how long they sat in silence. There was nothing but the sound of ponies trying to breathe quietly, the faint hum of magic, and clatter after clatter as little white shapes were dropped onto a growing pile of medicine in the middle of the room. A loud cough broke sharply through the stillness, causing a flurry of heads to turn to turn towards the far corner of the room. Cheerilee opened her eyes without meaning to, catching a glimpse of a green mane rising up from beneath a blue blanket. More ponies in the middle of the room stood up, cutting off her view completely. She heard Lyra take a deep breath, which turned into a long, powerful yawn, as if she were just waking up from a deep sleep. The mare spoke. “I feel something.” Then she coughed again, and this time she didn’t stop. Her choking got louder and more ragged, as though something were expanding inside her throat — there was a thud as she steadied herself against the wall — and the noises turned to harsh, wet retching. That’s when Cheerilee shut her eyes tight and wished as hard as she could, for real this time, that everything was going to be okay. As much as Cheerilee tried to recollect those moments — and she did try, whether she wanted to or not — she was never certain whether she had imagined the sound of something soft and wet hitting the floor before Lyra began to scream. There had been shouting. She recalled hearing the sound of her own voice — “Close your eyes!” — but she couldn’t remember saying anything. She was certain that she’d spent those first moments moving amongst her students, shutting opening eyes, turning frightened faces back towards her, but she remembered none of this. She’d been half-sobbing. “Don’t look. Please, just don’t, don’t look.” Had she looked? She must have done. Even when her eyes were closed, all she could see were flashes of green, and blue, and pink. The screaming echoed. It filled the room from all sides at once, and while Cheerilee could shut her students’ eyes, there was nothing that could drive away the noise. This wasn’t what pain was supposed to sound like. This was raw, and guttural, and it never diminished even when it was being forced through liquid. And above all else, it just didn’t stop. It jolted and quivered as the mare’s body thrashed again and again against the floor, and it halted every few seconds only for the length of a ragged gasp for air that was almost as painful as the scream itself. Mere minutes in another voice joined her, screaming almost in unison, and although this cry was more natural and not interrupted by shaking and internal fluids, it carried just as much agony and sorrow. Cheerilee cowered. At some point she’d grabbed a pair of the smaller foals and desperately pressed them close to her; she still wasn’t certain who they’d been. Her eyes were clenched firmly shut. A smell began to creep up on her, and her first thought had been that somepony had eaten too much candy and thrown up again, and she’d already begun to map out her route to the supply closet before reality came back and struck her once again. It was only the secure warmth of the foals against her breast that had prevented her from losing control of her own body right then and there. It didn’t stop. Somehow, it just didn’t stop. So much time passed — ten minutes? Twenty? — just spent trembling in place, listening to the same sounds crash through her over and over again, before either of the screaming ponies showed any signs of slowing down. Even then, she didn’t fade; she simply sounded as though she were shouting from further and further away, and then, further and further underwater. The other voice never stopped. Even when Lyra’s flailings came to a limp halt, even when her cries became so weak and so muted that they might not have been there at all, the pony who stood over her never faltered in her sorrowful wailing. It was around then that other ponies started to move. That’s when Cheerilee found the strength to open her eyes. There was nothing coherent, only snapshots. Her students, clustered around her like foals to a mother. All of them were deathly pale. None of them would look straight at her. More ponies looking around, as if waiting for somepony to tell them what to do. Twilight Sparkle against a wall, white as snow and trembling like a leaf. A pile of pills among toppled equipment on an abandoned table. There was Lyra. She looked like she was sleeping. Bright pink drool dripped from her lips. A blue blanket covered the lower half of her body, stained in many colours. “Don’t look,” Cheerilee repeated, only partly to her students. In front of her, a cream-coloured mare with a striped mane. Her face was dark and matted with tears. She was still screaming. Two ponies were at her sides, one supporting her, the other trying to hold her down. She ignored them both. Other ponies were talking. Somewhere to Cheerilee’s left, a mare was speaking in a shaky voice. “We should never have come here. This isn’t right. No cure could be worth this much pain.” At the same time, a stallion on Cheerilee’s right was shaking his head. “We’re worse than they are now,” he was saying. “They never do this to each other. We’re the real evil. It’s us who’s the killers.” Cheerilee Pain. almost Killers. screamed. As quickly as it had begun, everything died down again. Ponies started to move, then stopped. The events that had just transpired were still echoing, far louder than anypony could bear to deal with. Eventually the wailing pony collapsed, breaking down into sobs and shaky repetitions of Lyra’s name. The ponies who had been crying swallowed their tears. Slowly, the room descended back into silence. And all that could be heard was a steady, persistent knocking at the library door.