Redheart has been shunted to a small town hospital. Every year, this town holds an event on the mountainside. This year promises to take everypony's breath away.
Nurse Redheart has been shunted off to a small-town hospital for being too nosy, and generally questioning the doctor's orders. In this new town, she gets to finally experience the yearly festival, where ponies from all over come to engage in activities of all kinds. Spitfire and Soarin have come to take part and show off their latest luge, but when an accident happens it unearths a secret best left hidden and long sought by those crazy enough to want to bring it out. Redheart has to find a way to save everypony from this new threat, but will she avoid it herself?
The silence of the early morning shattered like glass. Hooting broke through the early dawn down the empty streets as a cart, pulled by several stallions, clattered up the road toward the mountain.
Still in her bed, Nurse Redheart woke up to the sound of rattling wheels and shouting ponies. She groaned and rolled over, but not five minutes later there came a similar sound as the first, shouting as they went up the hill near her house. It was followed by another, then more. With an angry grunt, Redheart rolled out of bed and went to make herself some coffee.
“Blasted celebration. And why is my house so damn close to the bloody road they all use? I guess that’s what I get for such cheap rent.”
She set the coffee to percolating and sat down to look over the ponies’ records that she had been going over for the past few days. There hadn’t been much at the hospital that needed taken care of, so the three ponies currently in were all that needed help.
It was a far cry from her time at Ponyville General, but if you were noisy enough and asked too many questions, what you got instead of a raise was sent out to the middle of Luna-knows-where to work at some Podunk hospital. Just rewards for being helpful, apparently.
She heard a particularly loud screech from the street and went to peek out the blinds. She blinked at the rising sunlight and looked down.
On the road, there was a large family of ponies, all riding in a big cart.
“Probably come from Canterlot, I bet,” Redheart mumbled to herself.
She sighed to herself. Families from all over came to Goodstone for the annual cycling and cart festival. They liked it because there was a huge flat area for them to all show off their carts, and they built hills and other things for tricks, and rode down the mountainside.
The city survived on tourism, and the on season was amazing, but off-season was terrible for everyone, and the place was nearly dead. She’d have a lot more patients with the upcoming festival of carts, but she’d have to wait for them to all hurt themselves. Until then, she had to go talk to Dr. Hang about his patients’ medical needs. He had prescribed too much medicine for all of them and she thought they were likely to get addicted. She didn’t want to think about that being intentional.
She shook her head and prepared herself for the morning. Breakfast was eaten to the tune of rowdy yelling. She showered to the song of carts wheeling up the street, and she dressed to the music of screaming children. When her morning was complete, she stepped outside and onto that self-same street to see a crowd streaming up the hill.
“Good morning,” said Redheart to the ponies crowding uphill. They were always so intent on getting there early, but ponies would be trickling in after the initial rush all week. If this initial crowd was any indication, it was going to be quite the celebration.
She just wished she’d known her apartment was going to be so close to it.
Work wasn’t very busy when she arrived. The three ponies who had been there before, recovering, were doing just fine. They all had too many painkillers and other drugs, but that would have to wait until Dr. Hang took time to talk to her. He was in his office doing whatever it was he did in there, so Nurse Redheart went about her routine.
Beds were made, supplies were checked, floors were cleaned and tools prepared for the inevitable injuries that would flood the hospital when ponies inevitably hurt themselves at the Festival of Carts.
“Nurse Redheart!”
She turned to look at Dr. Hang as he trotted up to her. “Dr. Hang! Good morning.”
“Good morning, Nurse, I understand you had a question for me.”
“Yes, sir. I was looking over the files, and I saw that you had prescribed painkillers for all three patients?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Well, one has a broken rib, one has a fractured leg—”
“Right before the Rolling Rock, too. A shame.”
“Yes, well, the third only has a split hoof. Not even to the flesh. That one shouldn’t need painkillers, and the others were given enough to last them well past their expected recovery date. I think—”
“Nurse Redheart, please,” he said with a hoof on his forehead, “don’t keep second-guessing everything I do. I understand you want to be sure everypony is taken care of in the best way possible, but you can’t keep trying to undermine my decisions. It is a waste of everypony’s time.”
“But doctor—”
“Please, Redheart. I have work to do.” He turned away from her and walked back toward his office.
Fuming, Redheart went through the motions of the day. She did as she was told, delivered medicine, bandaged injuries, and washed wounds. When the day was over for her, she stormed out, still seething.
She could hear the Rolling Rock festival up the street. It was in full swing by this point, and there was music and partying going on. It was quite a spectacle, and one she didn’t look forward to listening to all night. She stopped by a restaurant on her way home, grabbed a quick bite, and was carrying the leftovers home in the dark when she bumped into somepony. Her leftovers fell to the ground and spilled in the dirt. She stared down at them, feeling nothing at all for several seconds before she looked up at the pony whom she had bumped into.
It was somepony here for the Rolling Rock festival, she was sure. He was filthy, dressed in older clothes that were covered in dirt, muck, and old food. His face was gaunt, and he had on a medical mask that covered his muzzle. He wheezed at her and shook his head.
“Sorry about that,” he said.
“It’s all right,” Redheart said with a heavy sigh, “accidents happen.” She bent down to pick up the box. Nothing had stayed inside, and it was all laying on the filthy street below. “Are you here for the festival?”
He nodded and coughed. “Yeah. Here for the festival.”
“And are you alright? That’s a nasty cough.”
“M’fine. Just, you know, got a cough.” He coughed again, a rough, nasty, hacking cough. Redheart was sure she heard something come up, but he didn’t spit, nor did he swallow.
“Have you had it checked out? That sounds really bad.”
“Yeah, well, can’t go see the doctor about it.” He scooted past her, refusing to meet her eyes any longer. “You have a good night, ma’am.”
“Wait!” Redheart called after him, but he had taken off up the hill, and she wasn’t feeling like chasing him at all. “Ugh…”
She stomped back home, leaving the strange man to his fate. He had on a mask, and he wasn’t willing to see the doctor about it, so if he wanted to get killed from complications due to something as small as a cough, that was his right. It was a foolish right to exercise, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She was just glad he was protecting others. She left him to enjoy the festival in what she was sure were his last few days as a living pony and went home.
At the festival, Spitfire was testing out her new bike. She came every year, eager to see what new toys and other machines ponies could come up with. This year, she was particularly interested in something called a ‘motorcycle’. It was supposed to be something like a bicycle, but you didn’t have to pedal! She was super stoked to see it.
She’d found the pony’s showcase where it was going to be shown off, but it was all covered by blankets and sheets. On the positive side, there were four of the covered devices she could see, which got here even more excited, but they were all still covered, so she couldn’t see any of them yet. He was waiting for some big reveal or something before he took them off. She stalked off, a mixture of excited and impatient, and looked for something else to do.
There were plenty of things to look at, like other cycles, pedal-powered carts, flying machines (which she didn’t need, but thought were cool ideas), and the carts built specifically for the Rolling Rock Races. She was going to take part in that herself this year. A sort of luge-type thing somepony had come up with some years back and it had stuck around ever since. There was actually a prize this year, despite it having been done for fun before! It was a good time.
She was wandering around when she bumped into somepony in the crowd. She smelled them before she could see them and was more than a little repulsed. When she turned her head to look, she wrinkled her nose up in disgust.
“Dude, excuse you,” Spitfire said, staring at the filthy stallion next to her. He coughed, and she covered her mouth at the same time she backed away from him. “Gross! Excuse you again!”
He mumbled at her, his medical mask appearing wet and ragged. She didn’t trust it to hold back any of his coughing. “Oh, my apologies, miss. I didn’t see you there.” His rheumy eyes looked at her, glittering wetly in the setting sun.
“Yeah, well, you probably shouldn’t be hanging out at a festival with a sickness like that. You’re gonna get everypony around you sick, you nasty old thing.” She wasn’t being very nice, but she didn’t care. Ponies that had no care for others got her goat, and she wasn’t going to hesitate to tell them so.
“Yes, yes. I know, I know. I’m looking for somepony.”
“Well, you should probably look for them elsewhere. Get lost, dude.” Spitfire left him where he was, shaking her head as she retreated. There was nothing worse than being sick at a party, and she didn’t want to hang around him any longer than she had to.
She left him there and went back to her own booth. Soarin was watching it for her. They’d brought their own luge-cart for the downhill contest. Custom-built, ignoring safety precautions, and built for nothing but speed, she was exceedingly proud of it. Whether or not it made it all the way down the track, she didn’t really care. She just wanted to prove to everypony that attended the Rolling Rock festival that she was the fastest, most reckless thing they had ever seen, and her cart was aiming to emphasize that. Soarin was talking to somepony about it when she walked up, and she butted into the conversation immediately.
She’d heard a comment on how fast they figured it could go. “We figure it’ll be faster than anything else here. May not make it down in one piece, but it’ll be leagues ahead of anypony else, I can guarantee you that!”
“Hey, Spitfire, welcome back! You get a peek at that mottocycle you’ve been so excited about?” Soarin asked.
“Motorcycle, Soarin, and no. They have it covered up until showtime Can’t say I blame ‘em.”
“Yeah, no. With something that amazing, I’d keep it a secret, too.”
“Do you think it’s faster than our luge-cart?”
“I doubt it.” Spitfire patted the front of the cart, which had been streamlined for maximum aerodynamics. “When this baby gets going downhill, nothin’ can stop her.”
The pony who had been interrupted perked up. “How fast was the maximum you’d gotten on it?”
Spitfire posed in front of it. “Goin’ straight, we hit speeds you can’t even imagine. Only a pegasus can drive this thing because there’s no stopping it, you have to just take off and let it crash. That’s why we named it ‘Spitpyre’, because all that’s left is a smoldering wreck.”
The pony ‘oooo’d’ appropriately, and Spitfire grinned. The motorcycle was one of the big draws of the show, but even though Spitfire wasn’t Equestria’s best mechanic, she was still a showpony, and she knew what audiences wanted to see. A technological marvel was one thing, but a show would draw more attention.
“Well, I look forward to seeing your show, Wonderbolts! I want to go investigate that mottocycle thing you mentioned,” the pony said.
“Good luck, kid. I hear it’s got a train engine built onto it, so let me know if you get a peek, eh? I want to know how they fit that in there,” Spitfire said.
“Yeah!” he said, and ran off. Spitfire relaxed once she no longer had an audience and heaved a sigh.
“You don’t seem to happy, Spitfire.”
“I’m just worried, is all. I bumped into this sick pony on the way back, and I really hope I don’t get ill.”
“Sick?”
“Yeah. Had on a medical mask, dirty clothes, and crusty eyes.” She shivered. “I hate it when ponies don’t take care of themselves. It’s even worse when they expose others to their illness.”
Soarin looked disgusted. “That’s nasty. I don’t need some pony coughing all over me or my food. In a crowd like this it’s even worse.” He reached under their table and plunked down a bottle of vitamins. “That’s why I always bring immune boosters with me every time we travel!” He opened the top and popped two of the pills into his mouth. “Y’wan’ some?”
Spitfire smiled patiently and held out a wing. “Yeah, better safe than sorry, I guess. I don’t need to get a cough before the big race tomorrow.”
“That’s the way I see it. Anything is better than nothing.”
“Yeah.” Spitfire popped two pills in her mouth and took a drink of water. “In the meantime, help me organize this, it looks terrible. We need everything to draw in customers. Appearances are half the show.” She shifted the Spitpyre around, Soarin helping her.
Redheart woke up the next morning to the sound of excited shouting again. She rolled out of bed and looked out her window. The crowd at the festival had crowd huge and she could hear the susurrus of the crowd up the hill, a mess of white noise trickling down to her house that had been the cause of her awakening. She stumbled to her kitchen and prepared breakfast, then dragged herself out the door to the office.
Upon arrival, she was greeted by Dr. Hang with a smile that didn’t inspire her with confidence.
“Good morning, Nurse,” he said.
“Good… morning, Doctor,” she answered, wary.
“I have a deal for you. How would you like to attend the Rolling Rock festival?”
“Well… I guess that would be fun. It’s loud, but I’ve never been.”
“Excellent, excellent!” He motioned for her to follow him. “So, I’m sure you can imagine all the injuries ponies will cause to themselves during the course of such a rowdy event. We always maintain a medical presence, and though I’m usually the pony on hoof, I can let you attend in my place.”
“As the go-to medical pony.”
“Yes, of course. You’ll have assistants from out of town who are part of the festival. They’ll be handling most things as they happen, but you are to be the liaison between them and our offices here for the major cases. You’ll need to be available, but you’ll have a front-row seat to all of the major events. Sound good?”
“I guess so.”
“Wonderful! Take this kit.” He passed her saddlebags filled with medical supplies, water, and a pager. “You can contact me with that, it’ll alert me you’re coming with an injury.” He fairly pushed her out the door, ushering her along. “Good luck, Nurse! Do try to enjoy yourself.”
Nurse Redheart found herself outside the office on the road leading up to the Rolling Rock festival without being quite aware of it. She couldn’t help feeling insulted that he had seemed so excited to get her out of the office. Either he was looking forward to not having to go himself, or he was pleased he wouldn’t have to hear her talking to him in the office.
“Whatever.” She hoofed her way up the hill, coming to the flat, and now crowded, plateau at the top. What had once been bare and empty, filled with nothing but rocks, was now filled with tents, booths, carts, and ponies. So many ponies. It wasn’t like she was a stranger to crowds, but these ponies were the kind of pony she usually avoided when walking around at night.
As she entered the fair grounds she was swamped by the heavy smell of sweaty ponies and dust.
There was so much dust.
The plateau wasn’t the cleanest thing on the best of days, but with the tramping of hundreds of hooves it was even worse. What little plant-life there had been on the rocky soil was dead by this point, and the dust was easily kicked up from underneath. Nopony really seemed to mind, and the dust was blown away by a nice, cool breeze, but it was going to get irritating very quickly.
Redheart made her way to a spot mentioned on the map of the fairgrounds where she found the medical booth. It had been set up by out-of-towners who had volunteered to come help out during the festival, and they welcomed her with jovial greetings.
“You must be Dr. Hang, right?” one overweight pony said.
“Oh, no, actually. I’m Dr. Hang’s assistance, Nurse Redheart. He didn’t…” Redheart chose her words carefully. “…have the freedom to come today, so he sent me.”
“Oh,” he said, “well that’s alright! You’re a sight for sore eyes, anyway! Are you excited for the races?”
Nurse Redheart looked around at the booth. There were plenty of supplies, and the only patient was a child with a scraped knee, so she picked a spot behind the counter and sat down. “Sort of. I’ve never been to an event like this one before.”
“Oh, dude, well, I hope you’re prepared to have your knees blown off in excitement! Today’s the first race, the cycling races, right, Wheeler?”
The other pony, a much smaller mare with a short mane, turned to look at them. She was excited about something. “The first part of the cycling races, yes. This is when the ‘motorcycle’ should be unveiled! Ohhhh, isn’t this exciting?”
“Yeah!” The stallion turned to look at Redheart. “Somepony has been hyping up this thing called a ‘motorcycle’. It’s supposed to have some sort of train engine attached to it, but it’s going to be about the size of a pony. I went to go have a look at it, and the size of the thing the sheet was covering was almost as small as me!”
“That’s still pretty big, Dunkel,” the mare said with a grin.
He sat up indignantly. “My point is that the motorcycle thing is just big enough for a single pony. I’m not sure where they’re going to put the engine, but they insist it isn’t magical.”
“Yeah, they say even an earth pony can use it!”
“Something that small, though? Won’t it be super hot, like the engine of the train?”
“How do you even make a furnace that small?”
“I dunno…”
“And without magic!”
The mare, Wheeler, shrugged. “Anyway, Redheart, you said?”
Redheart nodded. “Yes. I’m here to help however I can, and contact the hospital the moment something bad happens. I’ve been told something surely will happen.”
“Oh, yeah,” Wheeler said. “This kind of rough and crazy event, ponies stop paying attention to safety guidelines. In fact, it’s kind of a matter of pride to get injured doing a stunt. More’s the pity for us, eh?” She smiled ruefully.
“I bet. When’s the event supposed to start?”
“Well, if you look up there.” Dunkel pointed to the nearest mountainside. Redheart followed his hoof. “You’ll see the tracks? That’s where it’ll take place in about… two hours? If you want to walk over there and get familiar with it, Wheeler can give you a tour of the most likely accident spots.”
Redheart stood up. “I think I would like that.”
“Then c’mon, Red. Can I call you Red?” Wheeler asked
“That’s fine.”
“Then c’mon, Red. I’ll show you the accident spots.” Wheeler grabbed a first-aid saddlebag and slung it over her back and led the way toward the mountain.
The mountainside looked worse up close than it did from a distance. There were ponies of all sorts riding bicycles, scooters, and other contraptions Redheart suspected were of their own making all over the rocks, dirt piles, and hills.
There were sections that were flat with just hills here and there set up for tricks, and there were plenty of ponies on that, but the mountainside trails were steep and rocky. Wheeler led Redheart up and down the tracks, careful to avoid the trails themselves, and she pointed out the most likely places somepony would crash.
“This one’s the worst offender. Last year there were six accidents on this corner alone!” Wheeler pointed at a banked corner next to a dropoff into a rocky ravine.
“By Celestia, how is this allowed?”
Wheeler shrugged. “Ponies are expected to know the track when they ride this one. You sign a waiver that exempts the festival from responsibility if you hurt yourself during the races.”
Redheart crouched down and looked into the ravine. It wasn’t deep, but the rocks at the bottom were jagged. There was a scattering of gravel among the rocks that didn’t look natural.
“Those rocks don’t look natural, where did they come from?”
“Hmm?” Wheeler looked down. “Oh, that was the misguided attempt by the festival to make it safer. They dumped in a bunch of gravel to soften the landing, but all they did was cause an avalanche the next day when it rained. They haven’t touched it since. They’re afraid of bringing down the whole mountainside.”
“I understand. At least they tried.”
Something sparkled in the ravine, drawing Redheart’s eye. She squinted to get a better look but couldn’t identify what it was. Something was hidden underneath an outcropping of rock below, hidden under the overhanging stone.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?”
“Do you see that?”
“What?”
“Something sparkling down there.”
Wheeler stepped closer to the edge. “All kinds of metal falls down there, Red. It’s probably the broken remains of somepony’s bicycle.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“’course I’m right. Now c’mon, let’s go get our ‘front row seats’ to the bike races, eh? I can’t wait to see that motorcycle!”
Redheart let herself be led away from the ravine and followed Wheeler back down to the medical tent. Somepony had come by for a bit of sticking plaster, but there was otherwise nothing happening.
They chatted for a bit, with Wheeler and Dunkel showing Redheart where everything was kept, until it was almost time for the event to start. Dunkel was double-checking supplies in their saddlebags before it was time to head out.
“Okay, so we have enough bandages for any number of wounds, splints, oils, plaster, and medicine. I think we’re good. You good, Wheeler?”
Wheeler put her own saddlebags on her back and nodded. “All good! Redheart?”
Redheart had checked her bags before she had left the office, and they hadn’t left her back ever since. She nodded. “I got it. I even have a pager for the hospital, just in case.”
“We’ll probably need it. The Wonderbolts have a booth here, and they were showing off a gnarly luge,” Dunkel said. “Looks fast, but completely unsafe.”
“I saw that!” said Wheeler. “Pushing the boundaries of acceptable construction, but still technically legal. They said only a pegasus could use it because the rider will have to fly away to stop. Crazy stuff.”
“That’s terrible!” Redheart said.
“If by terrible you mean ‘awesome’!” Dunkel said.
The two ponies high-hoofed and left the booth. They put up a hoofwritten sign saying they were off at the bike races, and all medical matters should go there and look for the red cross.
Redheart thought it might be best for someone to stay behind, but she didn’t trust these two in matters of health as far as she could throw them, and seeing as they were both earth ponies, she didn’t think she’d toss them very far. She wanted to be where the action was, and if that meant leaving scraped knees to themselves, she’d do that.
She followed them to the bike trails where the crowd had gathered, got into position, and waited, watching.
Spitfire was at the top of the bike track with Soarin. Spitfire was here to watch, but Soarin was ready to ride down the track. She was giving him moral support.
“Alright, you’ve done this before, right?” she asked.
“Of course I have!”
“Are you gonna crash on the way down?”
“Of course not!”
“Are you gonna win?”
“…maybe?”
“Maybe?! What kind of weak-ass commitment is that?”
“I’m a flyer, not a biker! This is just for fun!”
Spitfire grabbed him by the cheeks and squeezed. “Son, we are Wonderbolts, and that means we don’t half-ass things! You will either win, or you will crash this bike in a glorious mess of twisted metal! Understood, soldier?”
Despite himself, Soarin saluted. “Yes, ma’am!”
She clapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit! I’ll be watching from above with the others, so do me proud!”
She flew up above to watch with all the other pegasi. Some had brought in clouds to recline on with their foals, while others were flitting back and forth, trying to find the best spot to watch in between all the trees and rocks. Spitfire was going to follow along above, so she stayed low, ready to fly along with them.
Soarin readied himself, wings twitching in anticipation. He lowered his goggles over his eyes.
The rules were rather loose for the race. Because there were three different types of ponies, almost anything was allowed. The only major rules were that you weren’t allowed to carry the bike with magic, or with your wings, and no intentional knocking any other pony off their bike.
Earth ponies had to pedal, of course, while pegasi could push with their wings, and some enterprising unicorns powered their bike with their magic, but the obstacles on the track, and the fact that every pony had to traverse them, kept it even.
A sudden hush came over the crowd. Soarin turned to look at what they were so excited about and saw the covered ‘motorbike’ being carried up the mountain by a group of pegasi. Soarin had to congratulate the creator on their showmanship. They knew how to work a crowd. Wait until everypony was gathered, then bring in the device.
Spitfire and Soarin found themselves both transfixed as the covered machine was lowered. A hush fell over the assembled bikers, waiting to see what they would be up against.
A pony, wearing a full face-covering helmet and bodysuit walked out of the woods nearby. Soarin thought it looked like a mare, but he couldn’t be sure. The pony’s horn glowed, and the sheet was drawn off to reveal…
…a bike with a weird box on the back.
“Is that it?” somepony said.
There were a few awkward chuckles, but nopony seemed impressed, until the driver climbed on it. The pony kicked at a pedal and suddenly there was a dull roar coming from the machine. Some ponies covered their ears, and others applauded. Soarin didn’t know what to think of it, but Spitfire was impressed.
“Now we get to see what it can do besides make noise,” she said.
The pony walked the motorbike to the starting line and waited. The ponies next to it looked at each other, but focused their attention downhill, waiting for the flag.
There was muttered confusion and a little bit of mention of the rules, but that all stopped when the flag mare hovered the flag out to the center. Her horn glowed from the side, but she, too, stared at the motorbike. She waited just a little bit too long before the countdown, and flung her head down as she swung it, signaling the start of the race!
To everypony’s surprise, the motorcycle didn’t start as fast as they’d expected. A unicorn-powered bicycle was the first one off the starting line, rocketing forward silently across the dirt. It was followed by everypony else, with the motorcycle stuck in the middle of the crowd.
Soarin wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it sure wasn’t that. He was easily outpacing it, racing ahead of the rest, chasing after the lead unicorn.
It was easy for him, being a Wonderbolt, he was physically fit enough that a simple bicycle race wasn’t enough to phase him too badly. His legs weren’t as good as his wings, but he needed to maintain his fitness somehow so that he could get away with eating so much.
He soon forgot about the motorcycle entirely and focused on hounding down the leaders. He was behind a few ponies: The unicorn, a pegasus using his wings to power his bike instead of his hooves, and a beefy earth pony on a simple and perfectly normal bicycle. He was just pedaling harder than everypony else to keep up.
Soarin raced after them, struggling to keep up, and trying to pay attention to who was on what side of him as the stragglers raced up behind.
Spitfire was up above cheering Soarin on as they reached the first major curve of the race and all three of the ponies ahead of him banked easily around it. She watched him skid a little on it and shook her head. He always did that, and still hadn’t learned.
Spitfire turned her attention to the motorcycle she had been so interested in. It hand’t performed the most amazing start, but it was still running without any effort on the pony’s part. It just… moved.
The rider’s horn wasn’t glowing, nothing needed pushed, pulled, or twisted to make it go, it just went, letting off what looked like smoke behind it. Was it hot? Was there really a train’s engine in that tiny box? That was crazy to think about.
The motorcycle pony easily turned the corner, no mistakes, no fuss, and even managed to cut off somepony else. The pony that was cut off wiped out in a cloud of dirt and dust, and the motorcycle pony continued without even looking back.
While spitfire watched, the pony picked up speed. They raced down the hills, carrying themselves down hills, around rocks, between trees and through the single stream that trickled down the mountain. Spitfire kept up, flying overhead as she watched.
Soarin wasn’t doing so well.
He’d lost fourth place to another unicorn that was puttering along next to him. The pony was running another bicycle that just needed magic to go, which Soarin had always felt was a terrible bit of cheating.
He finally got his spot back when the unicorn lost his grip on his bicycle while going over the river. He couldn’t keep on his machine with the rattling of the rocks, and he fell into the water. Soarin had to stifle a laugh and just keep his focus. He had an opportunity to catch up when the pegasus ahead fishtailed on a patch of pine needles.
The earth pony roared ahead of him after the unicorn, and Soarin was catching up, when the motorcycle roared up behind him.
The sound was nearly enough to send him rolling on his ass. The BRRRRRRT of the engine sent a chill down his spine, and he had to spread his wings to keep his balance. He hadn’t flapped, so he had to pray the judges weren’t going to disqualify him. His tires hadn’t left the ground during it. He spared a glance to the side to look at the motorcycle and gritted his teeth.
The machine was running just like a unicorn machine, but the unicorn’s horn wasn’t lit up. There was no magic involved, and the pony was just focused entirely on the path ahead.
He really hoped the pony was a mare, because that suit was criminal. No matter what, though, the motorcycle was going to pass him. He was pedaling as hard as he could as they went over jumps, fell down small cliffs, and rode over small wooden bridges.
They were coming up on the deadly curve named The Bike-slide soon, and Soarin didn’t think he could deal with this unicorn at the same time he went through it. He’d have to brake if the unicorn didn’t, and that would cost him his lead. Was he willing to risk it?
Spitfire looked down from above. The Bike-slide was coming up, and the motorcycle, much to her delight, had caught up with the lead pack. The unicorn had broken away from the rest and roared ahead on the straight paths, having hit its stride after a short warm-up. Not too impressive, but an interesting concept, nonetheless.
She watched as the motorcycle reached fourth, running up alongside Soarin. She had to congratulate the pony on having guts, because they were forcing Soarin into making a choice.
If the unicorn was confident in taking the Bike-slide with Soarin next to them, they would be able to beat him in the straightaway, but they were betting on Soarin not crashing into them. They didn’t know Soarin wasn’t confident. Spitfire did. They were forcing him to make a choice.
Soarin knew it too, and he knew that if he let the motorcycle pass him he would never get back into position. He had to make the effort and be ready to accept the fall if when it came.
Soarin shook his head. No! Not when he fell, ‘IF’ he fell. It wasn’t guaranteed. He wasn’t confident about his ability to manage a curve like that, but he wasn’t incompetent, either! He licked his lips and pedaled faster, trying to keep pace.
Spitfire watched as Soarin leaned down. His wings were partway out to help him balance as he tried to stay neck and neck with the motorcycle.
The corner for the bike-slide came up ahead, and she watched with bated breath as they approached. The lead unicorn easily swept around the corner, the earth pony skidded around the tightest part, gaining a significant amount of ground with his physical prowess.
Immediately following came Soarin and the motorcycle. The motorcycle had slowed down for it, but Soarin had picked up speed. Spitfire pumped her hooves, biting her lip to keep herself from screeching orders at him. He needed to focus, and her yelling wouldn’t help.
The two ripped across the dusty track to the corner. It was barely a hump, and it was mostly loose scree covering the trail. It was always given a fresh coat of dirt, but that wouldn’t protect anypony from the flat curve, and the scree under the dirt was still a danger.
They hit the curve at high speed, Soarin on the inside, and the motorcycle on the outside. Their rear wheels skidded on the dirt, kicking up a spray of it and leaving a trail of ruined track behind them. They reached the halfway point and it was all looking good, when Soarin failed.
Spitfire slapped a hoof over her eyes. He always made that mistake there, and no matter how many times she’d warned him about it and he had practiced, in the actual race it always flew right out of his head. She’d have to give him a good dressing down about this afterward.
Soarin lost control of his bike and both tires skidded across the dirt. He slid into the motorcycle, which briefly gave him back a moment of control, but only long enough to fix his grip and prepare to fall. The two slammed together, he pushed the motorcycle into a slide as well, and the two machines slipped off the edge of the bike-slide and fell into the ravine below.
Soarin had enough presence of mind to grab the rider of the motorcycle. He tore her off her seat as they plummeted down into the chasm. She tried to catch her motorcycle with her magic, but only succeeded in holding it for a split second before she couldn’t hold on any longer. The machine fell into the ravine below, where it crashed into the rocks, twisting and shattering as it bounced down to the bottom.
The mare (now that he’d gripped her he was confident she was a mare) in his grip struggled and punched at the air.
“Celestia dammit! You had to try and challenge me, didn’t you?”
“Challenge you?”
“You were supposed to drop back if you couldn’t manage the curve! What in Tartarus is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how long that took to build?”
He’d saved her from falling and her first words were cursing him? Soarin had had better first encounters. At least she hadn’t hit him.
She punched him in the chin and he almost lost his grip.
Never mind then.
“Calm down! Let me get you on solid ground first!” Soarin said as he carried her back to the track. He watched all the other ponies race by, and sadly fluttered down to land. He set the mare down and gave her a quick nod. “Sorry about that. I thought I could handle it.”
“Thought you could handle it! You barely know how to pedal, much less take a corner!” She ripped her helmet off and shook out her mane. He found himself staring, but she seemed unfazed. She hurried back to the edge to look down at her motorcycle, twisted and broken down below. “Dammit…” She threw her helmet to the ground and started walking down the mountainside. Before she got too far away, she picked it up with her magic and it floated down after her.
Soarin was about to follow when Spitfire zipped down and grabbed him in a headlock. She rubbed a hoof on his helmet, pressing it against his head. “You damn fool! I told you to handle your weight properly on corners like that! You had the inside curve, you could have slowed down!”
Soarin reverted to barracks talk with his captain on him. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, ma’am!” He struggled to get out of her grip. “I got caught up in the moment!”
“And it cost you the race, and ruined that nifty motorcycle!” She let go and punched him in the leg. “I saw you grabbin’ at her. You’re gonna have to do a lot to get back in her good graces, there.”
Soarin looked at where the mare had walked downhill. “Yeah…”
“Buuuut, if you wanted to get somewhere, recovering her motorcycle would help.”
He looked up at her. “Chief?”
“I’ve been dying to get a closer look at it, and what better time than when it’s been ruined and fallen down a ravine, eh?”
“Do you think that’s okay, chief?”
Spitfire shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be? I don’t want to steal any of it, I just want to look at it. Besides, they’ll come down to pick up the pieces before long, anyway.”
“Well, if you think so. Let’s go ahead.”
She slapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit!” She looked around and up to make sure nopony was watching, then dove off the edge of the cliff. Soarin followed after her and they floated down to the wreckage of the motorcycle far down below.
They found the twisted wreck at the bottom of the chasm next to Soarin’s own broken bike. One had gotten messed up with the other, and it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Thankfully, the motorcycle’s engine was easy to find.
It was an amazing machine, even broken. It looked complicated, with fine, miniature parts that were all interconnected in a confusing way neither of the two could understand. It was unicorn work, plain as day.
It also seemed to be leaking some fluid. It had an acrid smell, stinging their nostrils with its scent.
“Celestia! What is that stuff!” Spitfire said, covering her nose with a wing.
Soarin did the same. “I don’t know, but it’s pretty rank. I was expecting coal, like they use in the Friendship Express, but that is most definitely not coal!”
“No, it’s something else entirely. I would say that’s what powers it, though. That’s new and strange. Certainly worth something. I wonder if the unicorn is selling it?”
“She should. She’d earn a lot if it can power a machine like this. I suspect that’s what today’s show was for. Show ponies what the machine can do, and how it can do it on a scale much smaller than the train.”
Soarin picked up his own bike, extricating it from the motorcycle. “Aw, dangit. I liked this bike.”
“Maybe that will teach you to be more careful with it in the future. I warned you about that curve.”
“What’s what?” He followed her gaze. There was a small cave next to them, just up the wall of the chasm a bit. A rock that had been slightly out of place had been pushed completely aside by the falling bikes, revealing a small cave.
Spitfire flew up and peeked inside. “Hey, it’s a little cave, and there’s stuff in here! Come look!”
Soarin hovered up next to her and peeked inside. Within the cave were several bottles. Old, by the look of them. Covered in dust and filled with different-colored liquids.
“What are they?” Spitfire asked.
“How should I know!”
“It was a rhetorical question, Soarin. Maybe they’re booze?” She reached in and picked one up.
“Don’t touch them!”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t know where they’ve been!”
Spitfire gave him a flat look and pointed at the dust-filled hole they had been in for probably several years.
“I mean they might be fragile and dangerous!”
Spitfire pulled at the stopper on one of them. It didn’t budge. “Huh. Properly sealed, too. That means whatever’s in here is probably as potent as it was when whomever put them here left them.” She looked at Soarin. “I think they’re booze!”
Soarin tilted his head. “I dunno, chief. They don’t look like the normal type of bottle you’d put booze in. They’re too small, and they look strange.”
“Oh, come on. Beggars can’t be choosers. I bet it’s homebrewed, whatever it is. And that means it’s strong!”
Spitfire went back to trying to pull the stopper out. It wiggled a bit, then finally came out with a loud POP. She immediately sniffed the top, then wrinkled her nose and gasped.
“Holy, moley! If it ever was booze, it’s not any longer! This shit is nasty!” She held it out to Soarin. “Smell that.”
Soarin leaned over and gave it a sniff. He recoiled and coughed. “Oh, Celestia’s ass, what the hell? If Tartarus had a smell, that would be it, for sure.”
“Luna’s tits! I wonder what it was supposed to be?” Spitfire sniffed it again.
“Not booze. Just plug it up and let’s go find somepony to take a look at it. Maybe it’s valuable.”
“Good idea. We can maybe get enough to replace your bike from selling it.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You earned it. Truly.”
The two of them put the bottle back inside the hole and covered it up with the chipped slab of rock. Once they were gone, the sound of heavy fits of wet, raspy coughing filled the air from just down the rocky pit. A filthy, ragged pony with a medical mask covering his mouth came out from behind a rock and walked over to the hole.
He ignored the broken bikes, the dribbling liquid from the engine, and everything else, but he pushed the rock out of the way and reached inside to draw out the bottle Spitfire had opened. He hugged it lovingly to his chest.
“You could not make it, my friend, and I assume that means you have passed, but thank you for leaving me this. I hope and pray you have finally found peace, and I will endeavor to do the same. I know not how long my suffering must continue, but I will try my best to see that it is brief.” He took the bottle, opened it, and drank down the contents in one gulp.
As soon as the liquid went down his throat, the dirty stallion’s cough disappeared. He inhaled slowly, his chest expanding with air, then exhaled, letting it out in a quiet hiss. There wasn’t a single cough or hiccup in his breathing, and he smiled.
“I think this means it will be very brief, thank you, my friend.”
“He took the rest of the bottles and fitted them into a wooden case he had been carrying with him. Each bottle got its own carefully-padded shelf, and he slung it up onto his back, where he then stood, the wooden case hanging off his side. He carried it up and out of the ravine, making his way back to the festival.
At the festival, Redheart was relieved to see the recovery Soarin and the motorcycle mare had managed. It was a terrible shame about the motorcycle itself, but machines could be repaired. Ponies were a lot more difficult to fix. They required time, and care, and splints, bandages, poultices, and everything else. Not to mention the mental requirements involved in curing a pony, and the speed with which you had to get to them. Motorcycles could languish at the bottom of ravines for weeks on end without getting any worse, and you could pick up from there. It was no contest really.
All that had happened with the race were several skinned knees and hooves, and a single sprain. Most of the contestants had come out of it just fine. Wheeler and Dunkel had been impressed with how clean this festival had been so far, so Redheart wasn’t going to look at the gift askance.
They applauded as the last rider came across the line, well behind the others, and Redheart finished giving him a once-over. He was fine. Didn’t even need a bandage at all. He had just been slow.
“So now that they’re all good, we can return to the booth, right?”
“Well, I kind of want to watch the awards ceremony. That unicorn did a damn good job,” Wheeler said.
Redheart gave her a flat look. “We have a job to do, Wheeler.”
“I know, but surely a few more minutes couldn’t hurt?”
Redheart rolled her eyes. “You can stay. Now that the worst is over, I’ll return to the booth. I’ll see you there.”
“You’re the best, Red!” Wheeler tried to give her a hug, but Redheart was already on her way back.
She shook her head at the irresponsible behavior of her two companions. Sure, they were only volunteers who knew first aid, but they had volunteered to take care of the festival-goers, and that sometimes meant foregoing their own pleasure.
As Redheart made her way back in, she saw a set of familiar dirty clothes. It was the homeless pony she’d bumped into on her way up to the festival. He had his mask off and was making his way to the crowd at the bottom of the bike race. She shook her head again. Ponies that didn’t care about the well-being of other ponies were her biggest pet-peeve, but she couldn’t go harangue him about it. He was allowed. She’d just expect more cases of the flu or whatever he had to come into the hospital over the next few days.
She returned to the booth in the festival grounds and waited for any problems to present themselves. Now that the bike track was clear, she expected ponies to try their own luck at it. That would likely result in some accidents.
The crowd at the awards was big. It was crowded as ponies gathered around to watch. The driver of the motorcycle was there without her helmet. Her pure white horn was glistening and had clearly been polished, despite her not having won. She’d even had time to do her mane, and she carried her white helmet beside her in her magic. Her bodysuit was on and had been cleaned of dirt and dust, and she stood out among those watching the awards.
The dirty pony sidled up next to her and nudged her in the side.
“Miss, how are you today?”
She didn’t even look at him. “Fine, thanks.”
“You put on a good show.”
“Thanks.”
“I can he-he-he-“ He broke down into a fit of coughing as he tried to speak to her. The ponies around him pulled away, including the white mare, and tried to clear away from him. He held up a hoof. “Wai-hay-hayt!” he coughed out. “Plea-hease!”
Everypony around him looked disgusted. Even the pony carrying the medals up to the winner spared him a glance he was so loud.
He dropped to the ground and removed the wooden case he was carrying. He pulled out another bottle and ripped the stopper out. He downed the contents and inhaled, then exhaled again. Steam exited his nostrils and mouth, but he paid it no mind.
“Please, ponies, let me tell you a story! I must! I need to! It’s a story like none you’ve ever heard before!”
“What do you want, old man?”
“Seriously, did you have to come dressed like that?”
“I think I can smell him. Gross.”
“No, you don’t understand. It’s a tale of lost treasure, that I’m carrying with me now!” He insisted.
“Treasure, huh?”
“Well, whaddya got, old man?”
“I’m interested, sure.”
The ponies gathered around him, looking at the box on his back to try and see what he was holding. If he truly had treasure like he said, then they might get some of it. If he didn’t, then they wouldn’t be out much of their time. The medals had been distributed anyway, so there was no real reason to look at the contestants.
For their part, though, the contestants were more than a little miffed. Their thunder had been stolen by someone claiming to have found a treasure. At least, some of the crowd had stopped paying attention to them. A good portion hadn’t heard what he was saying and had chosen to ignore him. He looked around, pleased at the group he’d gathered, and spoke.
“Myself and my old colleague, who has unfortunately passed on, came here every year. We worked in the hills nearby, searching for answers we never did find. We came with the gold rush and thought we’d found it here, but we were mistaken. Our lives were spent hunting through it, and before we died, we promised we would find whatever treasure the mountain had to offer, and find it we did!”
“What we found was not the golden treasure we thought it was, but instead we found a treasure, a magic, a POWER, if you will, that is more impressive than anything else, and today, I want to share it with all of you!”
“I am dying, you see. I have lived a life that is wasteful and terrible, consumed by my-“ He doubled over, coughing, and drank another bottle. “By my single-minded hunt. What we found was created with our own two hooves, and here it is!” His breathed in, the crowd waiting for him to finish, then he fell over.
The wooden container on his back cracked open as he fell on it. The glass bottles broke, spilling their contents all over the ground. Clouds of strange mist floated upward, and the ponies all backed away.
“Is he dead?”
“Did he just die before finishing?”
“Someone get a doctor!”
Wheeler and Dunkel were on the scene almost instantly, having been halfway paying attention to the awards and to the strange old stallion selling his story of some treasure.
“What happened?” Dunkel asked.
“I don’t know! He just fell over while he was talking!”
“He was drinking, I don’t know if it’s alcohol, but he was chugging those bottles to fix his cough.”
Wheeler checked his pulse. “He’s got no pulse. Heart stopped. No breathing, either, but he’s taken in a full breath. Lungs are full.”
“Of fluid?”
“Can’t tell. Going to perform CPR.”
Dunkel removes the pack from him and opened his shirt while Wheeler prepared to perform compressions. She pumped at his chest, and she felt something snap, but kept going, but no air was coming out.
“Something’s wrong, he’s not exhaling. I’m pushing and pushing, but there’s no air moving out of his lungs!”
“Push harder!”
“I’m pushing as hard as I can! I already broke a rib or two!”
“Try mouth to mouth!”
“Do we have a mask?”
Dunkel rummaged through the first-aid kit and came up with a plastic mouth-guard. He passed it to Wheeler who slapped it onto the stallion’s mouth. She put her mouth to her end and breathed in, then pumped on his chest. She repeated the motion, breathing, then pumping on his chest, but no air seemed to be coming back out of him. He wasn’t farting, exhaling, or even wheezing.
“Something’s wrong with him. He’s not leaking air anywhere. He takes it in, but it’s not coming out!”
“That’s impossible!”
“But it’s happening!”
Dunkel got closer to look. The stallion’s chest and stomach looked grossly deformed. They were swollen and distended, sticking out unnaturally far.
“Water retention?”
“That’s… not water.”
Ponies started to back away, but it was too late.
The stallion exploded.
There was a BANG, and gore and viscera splattered over Dunkel and Wheeler. Ponies all around them screamed, and Dunkel vomited. Wheeler was too dumbstruck to do anything.
Somepony shouted “Sweet mother of Celestia.”
The crowd scattered in a panic. More ponies could be heard vomiting, and there was the sound of crying.
Wheeler tasted blood. It probably wasn’t hers. She spat. She stood up, knees weak. She could smell something. Something awful. It smelled like rotting meat and little bit of something else she couldn’t identify. She walked over to Dunkel and put a hoof on his back. He was doubled over, retching.
She was going to have to get tested. This was too much blood, and whatever the pony had was in his blood, and she’d probably swallowed some of it.
“We… we need to go talk to Redheart, Dunkel. We also need to contact the authorities about this, get it cordoned off… and we need to bathe.”
Wheeler forced herself to walk. She put one hoof in front of the other, not bothering to check if Dunkel was following. She made her way down to the medical tent, where she found Redheart.
“Luna’s ass, Wheeler! What in heaven’s name happened to you?”
“No… no time to talk. Need police and more doctors. Quickly.”
Redheart left her alone and sent out a page to Dr. Hang. She brought towels and warm water, along with several rags to clean off the worst of it. Dunkel eventually arrived, dragging himself along. The two ponies were cleaned, covered, and then sitting in shock, waiting for the police to arrive.
They related their story, of hearing the stallion jabbering on about some treasure right before he collapsed and exploded, and the police went about cleaning it up. The first race of the festival had ended poorly, and there wasn’t much celebration. The motorcycle was a bust, though neat, and the pony explosion had put a damper on a lot of things.
Not to mention, Redheart thought, now that Dunkel and Wheeler are out of commission, I’m going to be the only medical staff for the festival.
She immediately felt bad for thinking it. Somepony had died and here she was complaining about how their death was going to make more work for her. Completely unprofessional.
Redheart stuck around until night fell, and although there were still ponies partying, despite the gory explosion, she wasn’t required to hang around all night. Ponies could take care of themselves with the mediocre first-aid supplies on the table or go to the hospital if necessary. She abandoned them to their partying and returned home.
Redheart woke up the next morning to her pager freaking out. It was still dark outside, but she was receiving message after message from Dr. Hang calling her in.
She pulled on her uniform and hurried over there to find Dr. Hang in a panic.
“Ah, Redheart, there you are, finally!”
“What wrong, Doctor?”
“We have a big problem here, nurse. You were at the festival yesterday, correct?”
“You sent me there yourself, yes. I was there when the accident happened, if that’s what you were wondering.”
“Good, I need you to come here and take a look at these two ponies. They were just admitted not two hours ago. Came straight from the festival because of some illness.” Dr. Hang led her to a room with two ponies, side by side in beds next to each other.
The first thing Redheart noticed was the ashen color of their lips. They were breathing steady, but they appeared listless. One of them was reaching out for the glass of water on the bedside table, but he didn’t seem interested in actually picking it up. He was tapping at it, but nothing else.
“What do you make of it, Redheart? I heard about the accident and I wanted your opinion. The description of the accident was nothing I had ever heard of before, and I was concerned. Are these two going to go the same way?”
Redheart looked at the two and shrugged. “I couldn’t say, Doctor. I wasn’t there when it happened. Dunkel and Wheeler, the two ponies I had been working with were the ones there. They should have come here, actually. Are they in one of the rooms?”
“They’re here, yes. Do you want me to bring them here?”
“Yes, please do, if they’re up to it. They saw it first-hoof.”
Dr. Hang sent for the two other ponies to come by the room and observe. They weren’t doing so well themselves, unfortunately. Dunkel frequently got distracted staring off into space, while Wheeler was constantly swaying where she stood. She was clearly still shaken up about the whole ordeal.
Redheart put a hoof around the mare. “Wheeler, are you doing okay?”
Wheeler shook her head. “I’ve seen a lot of blood, but I ain’t never seen a pony ‘splode like that.”
“I can only imagine,” Redheart said reassuringly. “But to prevent further incidents, I need you to tell me what you remember of the pony who exploded. Did he look like these two?”
Wheeler looked at the two ponies in bed and shook her head. “No, these guys aren’t like that guy. He was different. Much different.”
“Different how?”
“These guys aren’t happy or excited about anything. That stallion, he was talking like nobody’s business before he died. He was trying to sell something, or explain something, and he thought it was important, but before he could finish he just… just…” Wheeler blinked rapidly and retched.
“I know, I know. It’s fine, Wheeler. Thank you.”
“So it’s not the same thing,” Dr. Hang sighed in relief. “I was worried there would be some sort of pandemic coming out of it. Not having first-hoof experience of it, I feared the worst. Thank you, nurse.”
“Well, I think it’s too early to begin claiming there won’t be.”
“…you’re right!” Dr. Hang rushed off and came back with a medical mask on. “As medical professionals, we must take every precaution, nurse. I need you back at that festival as fast as you can and keep an eye out for anything strange! This is an emergency until proven otherwise, understood?”
Nurse Redheart nodded and went to get her own medical mask. Until she understood what was going on, Dr. Hang was right. She had to assume the worst was coming. She got herself a cup of coffee and filled a thermos with it, then headed back out to the festival. She would be ready!
Spitfire woke with the sun and was out of bed and doing her daily exercises before Soarin was even so much as stirring. She wasn’t captain of the Wonderbolts for no reason, after all. When it came to physical fitness, she didn’t allow any member to be a slouch, and that went double for herself. If she couldn’t lead by example, she didn’t deserve to lead, so she maintained her own discipline double that of her teammates. Soarin would get his wake-up call soon enough, after she was ready.
When she returned to the hotel after a short flight, she found Soarin up and about already, much to her surprise. He was in the bathroom with the water running, and she yelled in at him.
“You up and ready for some exercise there, Soarin?” There wasn’t an immediate response, so she knocked again. “Soarin, you really should have waited until after morning warmups to shower. You’re just gonna get sweaty.”
The water shut off and Soarin opened the door a crack. He looked out at her with bleary eyes and sniffed.
“I don’t think I should be doing much today, Chief. The crowd gave me the sniffles.”
“You got the sniffles from a single day of the festival?” She said in disbelief. “Didn’t I tell you to take precautions?”
“Yeah, and I did, but it wasn’t enough. Sorry, Chief.”
“Ugh, who’s gonna be my wingpony after the luge? For that matter, who’s gonna lug the luge up the mountain for me?’
Soarin gives her a weak smile. “Sorry, Chief. I’ll guess you’ll have to carry it yourself.”
Spitfire feigns hurt. “Oh! My poor back! Woe is me!” She laughs and pats him on the head patronizingly. “You stay here as long as you think you want to, Soarin. I’ll manage the luge and tell you all about it if you can’t come. But if you do, remember it’s at three in the afternoon. And wear a mask so you don’t get anypony else sick, okay?”
“Will do, Chief. I’ll make it, I promise. Won’t let a little cold keep me from coming to see the death cart in action!”
“Health first, Soarin. Sleep in, get some rest, and remember to drink plenty of fluids.” She gave him a wave and leaped out the open window. Her wings opened, and she took off into the air, flying up toward the festival, and the Wonderbolts’ tent.
The festival wasn’t quite going this early in the morning. With the sun barely risen and most ponies having been out partying the night before, it was still quiet and somber. There were a few scattered figures here and there, and some energetic ponies were out on the tracks. Spitfire could see a couple ponies practicing on the luge track, and some hanging about the bike trail.
Out of curiosity, Spitfire looked down into the chasm where Soarin’s bike had dropped. She should have picked it up the night before, but she didn’t want to disturb the crash site, for fear of accidentally stealing some of the motorcycle parts that had gotten twisted up.
The bikes were both gone. She expected there would be a message on the Wonderbolts’ table when she arrived. There was identification on every bike for just such occasions. Maybe they’d even dropped the hunk of metal off. That would save her some trouble.
She hovered for a moment, surveying the scene, and noticed in alarm that somepony had disturbed the rock the bottles had been hidden behind!
She zipped down to land and looked inside the hole. It was empty. Bare of anything and everything. She cursed inwardly. Somepony else must have found it when cleaning up and taken them. It wasn’t a huge deal, she had more money than she knew what to do with, but it would have been cool. They hadn’t made it to anyone about the bottles because of the death last night. Everypony was involved in taking care of loved ones and problems to worry about somepony asking about bottles of possible alcohol.
Spitfire could smell something. It was a similar scent to the bottle when she had popped the stopped, but it was a bit stronger. She sniffed the air hard, following the smell, and when she turned around there was somepony standing right behind her!
She leaped into the air with a startled yelp!
“Geeze, you scared the hell outta me! Can I help you?”
The pony stood there, wheezing. It was a stallion, and he didn’t look okay. He was breathing hard through his mouth and had trickles of snot running from his nose. He looked up at her and opened his mouth as if to speak, but he said nothing. He turned away and tottered unsteadily away down the chasm.
“Hey!” she called after him. “Are you okay?” She hovered along above him. “Hey! Are you sick? Lost? Do you need help?” He didn’t respond to anything she was saying, just wandered away, sneezing every so often.
Spitfire left him and flew back up and out of the chasm. She found the medical tent and landed in front just as the nurse arrived.
Redheart jumped as Spitfire landed in front of her. “Oh, goodness! You scared me!”
“Sorry, doc, but there’s a problem. Somepony is down in the chasm, and he didn’t look too good.”
“Oh, no! Injured?”
Spitfire shook her head. “He didn’t look injured. He looked sick and confused. He might be infectious, so I came to let you know he was down there.”
Nurse Redheart picked up the saddlebag she had just set down and slung it back over herself. “Take me to him. I’ll see what I can do. If he’s delirious he won’t know what he’s doing, and he’ll need help.”
“Will do, Doc. Come on!” Spitfire took off and led the way, just ahead of Redheart as she ran along underneath her.
While the two of them were rushing toward the unknown, Soarin was finally dragging himself out of bed. He wasn’t feeling any better, but he wasn’t going to miss Spitfire’s performance in the luge for anything. He shivered and got himself a jacket, then made his way downstairs, walking instead of flying.
In the lobby he stopped at the front desk.
“Excuse me,” he asked the concierge, “do you have any medical masks? I’m feeling sick and still want to go to the festival.”
“Oh, certainly, sir.” The mare passed him a mask over the counter. “It’s always good to see someone take their health and everypony else’s seriously.”
“Yeah, I’d stay inside if I could, but this comes once a year, and my captain is taking part in the luge today. Can’t miss that.”
“Oh, no, of course not! Take care of yourself, sir!”
“I’ll try.”
He stepped out of the hotel and looked up the dauntingly large hill, then sighed and began the trek up to the top, where the fun times waited.
Spitfire and Redheart were working their way to the chasm. They found the spot where the bike accident had happened and Spitfire flew down, but she couldn’t find anypony down there. Nopony was sick, screaming, coughing, or even wandering in that confused daze Spitfire had seen.
“He wandered off, dammit. He was sick and delirious, and he wandered off. I knew I should have grabbed him when I had the chance,” said Spitfire.
“If you’d have grabbed him you might have caught what he had. We don’t know that he’s in danger, maybe there was someone else looking out for him.”
“He was alone when he bumped into me. He didn’t even say anything. I think it’s worse than you’re imagining, Nurse.”
“I try to imagine the best possible scenario, Spitfire.”
“You know me, eh? Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Everypony knows the Wonderbolts.”
“Yeah, but now the leader of the Wonderbolts has abandoned somepony to the wilds of the mountains.”
Redheart peered off the side of the chasm and looked at the ground far below. She squinted as she saw something in the dirt, and she pointed. “Wait, what’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“There’s something in the dirt down there. Can you carry me down?”
Spitfire looked at where she was pointing but couldn’t see anything out of place. She shrugged, then picked her up and carried her down. “I don’t know what you’re looking at, but sure. Is it a bad thing you’re seeing?”
“I hope not, but I’m sure it’s something. It may even help us find this wayward stallion you mentioned.”
Spitfire dropped Redheart on the ground. Redheart walked over to a rock and leaned in to look at a dark splotch on it. She reached into her saddlebags and pulled out a pair of rubber gloves and slipped them on, then reached out and dabbed at the dark spots.
“What is it?”
“It’s not blood, thankfully. Possibly bile or vomit?” She sniffed it, then recoiled. “Woo! Definitely bile! He’s sick, that’s for sure. Or whoever was down here is surely quite sick.” She looked around at the bottom of the chasm and the small passages passing through it. “You said he was walking around down here?”
“Yeah, wandering around like he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He seemed interested in me, but he didn’t say anything to me.”
“Can you fly up and have a look? He may still be nearby, down one of the passages. I’ll see if I can’t find more bile.”
“Will do, Doc.”
Spitfire flew up above and peered around, fluttering above the passages and myriad cracks in the mountain, hunting for any sign of the meandering pony. She kept an eye on Redheart, not wanting to lose track of her, too.
Redheart walked about in small, ever-widening circles, hunting for more signs of effluvia on the rocks. She was pleased and simultaneously worried when she discovered more of it on the rock wall of the chasm nearby. She followed it, keeping an eye on Spitfire above, and kept going deeper and deeper into the rocks. She passed under rock bridges, overhangs, and past fallen boulder and through crags until she came to a small cave.
“I think I found out why you couldn’t find him, Spitfire!”
Spitfire zipped down to land next to her and looked at the cave. “Damn. That would explain it. You think he’s in there?”
Redheart pointed to a small splash of bile nearby. “I’d be willing to bet on it.” She pulled out masks and gloves for them both and slipped her own on. “Will you come inside with me to help?”
Spitfire grimaced, but nodded and took the items, pulling them over her muzzle and hooves. “Yeah, okay. I just hope he doesn’t get too fighty.”
“I’m not sure what he’s sick with, but if he’s choking up bile like this, he’s not going to be in the best of health. He will be weak.”
“If you say so, Doc.”
Redheart made her way inside the cave, looking out for any signs of movement. The further in they got, the louder the sound of breathing became. Somepony was rasping out a weak breath inside, and Redheart followed it. The dim light showed her a small path, though she couldn’t see any more bile, but she smelled something the deeper in she got.
“Hello? Are you in here?”
There was no response, but she could hear the clop and scrape of hooves inside. The illumination inside the cave was low, but she stoically made her way further inside.
“Sir, please. I just want to help. I’ve seen the emissions you left outside. Please come out, and I can get you some help, you can get your illness fixed, and you’ll be fine. I promise.”
Spitfire remained quiet, letting Redheart do all the talking. There wasn’t much she could say, but not knowing how the stallion was going to react kept her wary. Something had seemed off about him when she had seen him before, and the poor nurse didn’t look like she could take care of herself if a fight broke out.
There was the sound of hooves on rock, a scraping sound of stone on stone, and out of the darkness flew a silent stallion’s body.
He landed on Redheart, and Spitfire was on him in a flash. Her own hooves pulled the stallion off Redheart, wings beating to drag him into the air where he wasn’t going to have a grip. She hovered in place above Redheart while the other mare pulled herself off the ground. The stallion was swinging his hooves and gnashing his teeth, spittle and bile dripping down his muzzle.
Redheart rolled away and collected herself, then stood and turned to look. “Oh, dear Celestia. You poor thing.”
“Poor thing—” spitfire grunted at the stallion’s struggling “—indeed! Seems like there’s a lot of life left in him yet!”
“For now. I think that whatever he’s got, it’s driven him into a crazed frenzy. I’m not sure he’s in his right mind.”
“Well, whatever’s wrong with him, can we take him somewhere? I don’t know how long I can hold him!”
“Yes! Yes, of course! Bring him outside!” Redheart led the way, digging through her saddlebag, while Spitfire dragged a raging, frothing pony out of the cave entrance. “Now hold him still.”
“This is as still as he’s getting, Doc!”
“Okay, I’ll manage.”
Redheart approached the two. Spitfire’s wings were beating frantically and erratically as she carried the extra weight flailing in her hooves. The stallion was trying to get out of her grip, but she had him tight in her Wonderbolt grip. Redheart took out a needle, filled it with a strange fluid, then held down the pony’s right hoof. She sank the needle into his leg, injected the fluid into him, then pulled away, depositing the used needle in her bag.
“Now we wait.”
“Yeah, okay. Nnnf! How long?” As soon as she said it the stallion calmed down. His flailing stopped, his body relaxed, and he went limp in her hooves. She gently placed him on the ground when she was sure he wasn’t going to keep fighting back, and landed.
“Got him knocked out?”
“Yes. That’ll last a good few hours, I think. Enough time to get him to the hospital, checked in, and restrained,” said Redheart as she pulled out her pager. She sent a message to the hospital and Dr. Hang to send her an emergency carriage. She put the pager back in her bag and turned to Spitfire. “Can I get you to help me and this fellow up to the medical tent? Him first.”
“Sure thing, Doc. Be right back for you.” Spitfire picked up the limp stallion and dragged him through the air up and out of the chasm. She soon came back for Redheart, and she was dropped off at the medical tent.
“Thank you, Spitfire.”
Redheart adjusted her gloves and mask and began to give the stallion a regular checkup while he was comatose. He was nude, which wasn’t unusual, but his hooves were scuffed and split, as though he wasn’t running on good ground. Either that or he was harming his hooves with pointless exertion. Either one was a possibility during this festival.
Spitfire cleared her throat. “You still need me, Doc?”
Redheart turned, blushing at having forgotten the other mare was there. “I’m sorry, Spitfire, I got caught up in my work.” She smiled and shook her head. “No, I will be fine when the emergency carriage gets here. We’ll get him to the hospital, so you can go focus on your luge.”
Spitfire smiled wide. “Excellent! I’ll leave you to it, Doc! I know he’s in good hooves.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so! Later, Doc!”
Spitfire leaped into the air and took off for her own tent. Redheart waved a hoof and watched her go, then went back to her examination of the patient.
He was sick, that much was clear, and there was some minor bloating, but for the amount of bile that was coming up, he wasn’t nearly as bloated or swollen as she had expected. His lymph nodes were normal, his tongue was normal, everything was normal.
She fanned a hoof in front of her masked muzzle.
Everything except his breath. His breath was terrible. Somewhere far beyond where it should be. It smelled like he had something of a mixture between halitosis and a dead fish in his stomach. The odd thing was that it didn’t just stink when he breathed out, it was rancid even when he wasn’t breathing, so the culprit likely lay with something he had eaten.
If he had eaten something, it had been laced with poison of some kind. He was acting like he was rabid, but he had no external bite marks. No swelling from snake bites or insect bites, no fang marks from coyotes that might have been in the area. There was nothing. No, whatever was making him act this way was in his stomach.
The ambulance arrived with a squeal and a siren, and Redheart gave them the information she’d collected. The paramedics nodded as they worked to strap him to the gurney and lifted him into the ambulance. She told them he wasn’t critical, but he should get his stomach pumped right away, and she climbed into the back. She looked back at the empty medical tent as they drove off and silently promised them she would be back as soon as she could. The doors closed, and they were off.
Soarin watched the ambulance race by one way, then the other way as he climbed the hill to the festival. Someone had gotten themselves injured, it seemed. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he hoped the luge hadn’t started without him. Spitfire would kill him if he missed her amazing performance. He could afford to be dead after that, like that poor, injured fellow off to the hospital. It was a drag being sick during the festival, he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he got injured during it.
He finally hove up to the plateau and smiled weakly at the crowds bustling about on top of it. They looked like they were having a good time, but the hill where the luge was going to take place was blessedly empty of lugers. There were ponies up there, planting flags, markers, and other things, but nopony had started, and there was no crowd.
Soarin wandered over to it and stood at the bottom. His jacket and mask made him more inconspicuous than normal, and nopony recognized him as one of the Wonderbolts, thankfully. He looked out for Spitfire and saw her up near the top, hovering above the track, carrying her luge—Spitpyre. He waved, she didn’t see him.
He sat down to wait, instead, watching her carefully. She raced back and forth between ponies, here and there, seemingly arguing with somepony about something. It looked like they relented, and she went to the starting line with the others, waiting for the race to begin.
A crowd began gathering around him. Ponies trickling in from all sides starting crowding in around him, pushing, shoving, and working to get a good seat. Soarin wasn’t sure what time it was, but if they were starting to take their seats, it was only a short while before it would all begin. He was glad for that. He’d been sitting here so long his ass was starting to get numb, as well as his hooves.
His hooves…?
Hooves shouldn’t be going numb. That was bad. Something was wrong with him. He turned and stared around. Ponies’ faces were blurry. His eyes were running and rheumy. He pushed his way through the crowd, trying to be polite.
“I’m sorry, excuse me,” he mumbled, sounding more like mumbling than anything else.
He made his way to the medical tent. The crowd mostly ignored him, more concerned with seeing the luge event than worrying about the stumbling stallion that bumped into them. For all they knew he was drunk this early in the day, or he was on drugs. They were here to see spectacular crashes and amazing tricks performed by awesome ponies like Spitfire.
There was nopony at the medical tent when he arrived. No messages or anything were left behind, just an empty booth. That was irresponsible of them. He made a mental note to send a very stern letter to them when they got back. This was a hazard to everypony’s health. He stumbled away and back to the crowd. He could barely see straight. His vision was swimming in front of his eyes, but that mess was the best place to be. Somepony would see him and help him, surely.
Spitfire would see him and help him.
Wait… no she wouldn’t. He was disguised. He couldn’t be seen in a disguise. He needed to be identified, not to mention it was really hot outside. He stripped off his jacket and his mask.
“Spitfire, are you here?” he yelled, but unknown to him it sounded like a rasping warble. It made his throat hurt, but he needed help, so he kept doing it.
Once he entered the crowd, he felt better about himself. This was where he needed to be while he was sick. He felt an obstruction on his hoof and yanked on it. He didn’t bother looking, but it came off whatever it was caught on, and he could walk again.
“Hiigaaaaw! Ah weeeguh—” he said as he broke down into a series of coughing.
It felt like something was obstructing his breathing. He coughed harder, trying to bring it up. If he could just spit he’d feel so much better. He swished his tongue around his mouth, trying to work up some saliva, then spat. It hit a pony, who looked at him, disgusted. He didn’t care. He kept shoving his way to the front of the crowd, looking for Spitfire.
When he got near the front of the crowd, he could see her, up at the top of the hill. She was getting into line for the luge along with three other ponies. The long street downhill waited for her, with him at the bottom. He would have to wait until she got here before he could get help. That wasn’t going to work.
“Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello.” He mumbled. To everypony else it was a series of grunting coughs. The ponies next to him pulled away. He wasn’t well. He couldn’t wait for her to come down, he needed to get to her.
Soarin flapped his wings, but he was too weak to get himself to take off. He started trying to climb over the barrier between everypony and the track. He got to the top before some ponies stopped him.
“Hey! They’re starting the race, you can’t go in there!” Ponies in security shirts came over, grabbing him and pulling him back down. “Sir, we need you to step back from the track, please. If you try that again, we will be forced to eject you from the premises.”
Soarin stared at them gormlessly. To him, they’d been mumbling a formless series of groans and deep tones that meant nothing. He blinked at them, then coughed. One of the security ponies covered his face, the other just stared him down.
“You’re sick, sir. Please go to the medical tent for help,” he said.
“Agun. Nobonnghere.” Soarin pointed up the hill. “Zbi—zbi—zbi—zbi—zbi—!” He broke down into a series of coughs.
“This guy’s not okay. Can you run over to the medical tent and get a nurse?” the guard said. His companion nodded and ran off while the first one knelt down and put a hoof over Soarin’s withers. “Easy there, buddy. You’ll be fine. Breathe with me.”
Soarin didn’t feel fine. He was having trouble breathing. Blackness was creeping in at the edges of his vision, and the panic of his sickness was making him breathe harder out of fear. He still couldn’t get that thing in his throat up. He could feel it, creeping at the back of his throat and obstructing his breath, but he couldn’t break it loose. He coughed again, forcefully.
Spitfire was at the top of the hill looking down. Her turn was coming up, and she was ready! This was the culmination of a year’s worth of work, making the fastest, most awesome luge-cart possible. Ponies would see it rip down the track, and when she got to the bottom she’d just crash the whole thing, flying away to safety! It would be the most amazing thing they’d ever seen!
She looked up into the sky above the track, looking for Soarin. She couldn’t find him among the pegasi up above. If he wasn’t here, that meant he wasn’t feeling very good, and whatever bug he caught had gotten to him pretty hard. She felt bad he was going to miss it, but she couldn’t stay and babysit him. She was feeling fine. She sat on the luge and waited.
When her turn came, she waited as the time was counted down, then pushed off! She was off down the track like a shot, easily pulling into the lead! Just like she’d expected, she took first place and she held it, barely keeping herself steady on some of the curves. She could feel the track under her and could feel the wheels of her cart struggling to hold on. It was exhilarating!
Soarin heard the sound of the race starting and pointed up the track again. “Gu-hoff-hoff-hoff!” he coughed out. He tried to stand up and moved for the fence again. The guard blocked him.
“Sir, please stay away from the track, you’re delirious.”
His helper came running back. “There’s nopony at the medical tent.”
“What?”
“There’s nopony there! It’s empty!”
“What kind of organization do we have at this festival? Celestia’s ass!” Nearby mothers covered their foal’s ears. He ignored them. “We need to get this guy to the hospital, you know where it is?”
The stallion nodded. “Just down the hill, not too far.”
“Can you take this—”
A gasp interrupted him. Soarin had broken free and with a struggle of his hooves and wings, had leaped over the fence and into the track.
“Zbi-goh!” he coughed as Spitfire came racing down the final curve at him.
Spitfire saw somepony climb over the fence and wave at her and was shocked to see it was Soarin! She had no brakes on her cart, just her wings and hooves! She was on her back and couldn’t turn over in time, so she just did what she had planned and jumped off the cart early, letting it tear down the track. Soarin watched her go, confused and lost, until the cart hit him.
He felt his legs snap as it collided with his hooves. He went tumbling end over end, and both wings flared with pain. His right side stung, and his mouth went numb as he rolled and tumbled to a halt. He inhaled and it hurt, but only for a moment. The clog in his throat was gone, and he exhaled freely, and kept exhaling, as everything went dark.
Spitfire was inconsolable. She was crying freely as she stood next to her friend and co-worker, his broken body lying in a heap at the end of the track. She cradled his head even as ponies kept trying to pull her away.
“What the hell is wrong with you! You stupid, stupid stallion!” she sobbed. “You don’t just run into an active track! What the hell! You should know better! Why? Why? Why-hy-hyyyyy!”
The other contestants had stopped further up the track, blocked by other ponies in the crowd. Everypony was gathered a respectful distance, watching, and waiting. Sirens were eventually heard in the distance as the ambulance trekkedit’s way up the hill.
What nopony commented on was the faint haze of green that was leaking out of Soarin. His final death rattle had gone on for a strangely long time, past even when his heart stopped. Spitfire was sobbing too much to notice, and ponies around didn’t know what to say. With one of the Wonderbolts dead, what can you say?
Nurse Redheart arrived on the scene with the ambulance, having heard the call when she was at the hospital. She came on scene to find ponies standing around the crumpled and bloody body of Soarin, lying at the base of the luge track. She had on a fresh mask and hoof-covers and rushed over to the Wonderbolts.
“What happened?” she asked as she began checking him over. She could tell he was already well past the point of recovery, but the questions would help friends and family.
“He—” Spitfire hiccuped. “He wa—was in the track when I c-came down! I don’t know why! He knew better! What makes a pony do something stupid like that?”
Redheart checked his heart and found nothing, but she was aware he was still exhaling. She pressed an ear to his chest. “That is a good question, miss. How long since the accident?”
“Maybe ten or fifteen minutes, at the—the most?” Spitfire sniffed.
Redheart motioned to the ambulance and they brought out a sheet to cover him. She looked at Spitfire carefully. “Was he acting strangely before the accident?”
“He was sick. He had a bit of a cold. I didn’t think it was so bad as to m—make him delirious.” She wasn’t sniffling as much. The questions were helping her focus elsewhere for now.
“Do you know why he wasn’t flying?”
“I thought it was because of his cold.” She took a moment to think. “But I’ve never had a cold so bad it stopped me from flying.”
“Most pegasi aren’t hindered by a simple cold. I think he was sick with something else,” said Redheart.
Spitfire looked at her bloody hooves. She raised a hoof to her mouth but stopped when she realized the blood would get on her muzzle. “Oh…”
Redheart nodded. “I’d like you to come with me to the hospital, if you please, since you were the one most exposed to him.”
“O—okay.” She whispered, “Do you really think it’s contagious?” She tilted her head toward the crowd, standing a respectful distance away.
Redheart kept her face neutral. “I certainly hope not.”
Even as she said that, Spitfire coughed. Redheart’s head snapped to the mare and her brow furrowed.
“Did you feel like you were getting sick?”
Spitfire shook her head, face going pale.
“Quickly, come back to—”
Another pony in the crowd coughed, then another, and another. Soon most of the crowd was coughing and it was only getting worse as the epidemic traveled through the swarm of ponies surrounding Soarin’s corpse. Redheart was the only one unaffected. She looked to the paramedics holding Soarin’s body, as the saw the slight mist escaping from him.
“Burn that body!” Redheart yelled.
The two ponies holding him looked at her from under their own masks. They looked at Soarin’s corpse, then back at her like she was crazy.
“That body is contagious! Get rid of it!” Redheart realized her mistake the moment she yelled. Ponies all around them were silent for only a moment before mass panic set into the crowd.
Ponies screamed as every one of them tried to escape. Pegasi up above flew even higher and took off in all directions. Unicorns set up barriers far too late, and earth ponies trampled over them in their mad rush to get away. Redheart cursed herself.
“Take that body back to the hospital, do not let anyone expose themselves to it without proper protection, but Dr. Hang was right, we have an epidemic on our hands. Onset was instantaneous.” She turned to Spitfire. “Think you can fly?”
“I… guess so?” She coughed.
“Take me back to the hospital, quickly. Fly over the crowd, I need to try to figure out what’s wrong with you.”
Spitfire nodded and picked her up, carrying Redheart over the mad crowd toward the red and white building in the distance. They could watch as ponies were trying to leave down by the road downhill, only for there to be cart accidents that ended up blocking the road, and fights breaking out in the streets as ponies all blamed each other for their sickness and mistakes. In trying to stop it, Redheart had opened her big mouth and made it even worse. She just hoped she could figure out what the illness was that had caused Soarin to go crazy and kill himself before it was too late.
The hospital wasn’t much better than the fairgrounds. While the plateau was a swamp of lawless fear and fighting, the hospital was well on its way there. Ponies were swarming the from doors, which were still open, but guarded by a large orderly with a makeshift truncheon. Spitfire landed out front and Redheart pushed her way to the doors, with ponies grabbing at her and pleading with her for help.
“Hold it! ID,” the security guard asked.”
Nurse Redheart presented her ID and waited while he checked she was, actually, a nurse. When he was satisfied, she entered and then Spitfire was stopped.
“No guests.”
“She’s not a guest.”
“Can’t favor any one pony over anypony else. She’ll have to wait outside with the rest.
“I need her.”
“I don’t care if you’re friends, she’s not a nurse, we’re already full, she stays outside.”
Nurse Redheart wracked her brain. She couldn’t work with just anypony. They were all panicked and didn’t know what was going on. She and Soarin were friends, and whatever affected Soarin hadn’t affected Spitfire. She was either resistant, or immune, and she needed that! She looked at Spitfire, who was making a circle with her hoof.
Redheart brightened as she got it. “She knew patient zero.”
“Who?”
“Patient zero? The one who started the epidemic?”
“The what?”
Redheart motioned at the crowd outside. “This? The pony who started all this sickness?”
“So?”
“So, if she knew the pony who started it, and was close to them, why isn’t she sick?”
“Hey, yeah. That’s a good question,” he said. He jabbed a hoof into Spitfire’s chest. “Why ain’t you sick?”
“How am I supposed to know? That’s what we’re here to find out,” she said, swatting his hoof away.
“You got some plan to eliminate ponykind from Equestria? Take it over for the pegasi?”
Redheart’s face dropped. “…what.” The crowd outside was murmuring, and Redheart and Spitfire weren’t sure if it was with him or against him. “Are you serious?”
“I’m serious about protecting ponies, yeah.”
“I need to study her, find out why she’s not sick, so I can synthesize an antidote for the sickness rampaging through town. I don’t need you to protect ponies from her, she’s not dangerous.”
“No,” he said, shoving Spitfire away from the door, “she’s not dangerous yet. Once we’re all weakened, then she’ll be dangerous.”
“So let me fix it so we’re not weak!”
“I’m not letting her in. Not without Dr. Hang’s approval.” The crowd outside cheered him.
“Oh, fer Celestia’s sake!” Spitfire yelled. She stepped forward and the orderly raised his club. She ducked in at him and he swung it, but she caught it with her wings, then used her hooves to yank one of his forelegs sideways. He lost his balance, she pushed him over to the ground, then punched him in the temple. He went out like a light. “Come on, Doc, let’s go get me checked out.”
The crowd outside was silent as the two walked inside the building, then swarmed in after them, screaming for help, forgetting the orderly and the fight that had just happened.
Redheart led Spitfire down the crowded halls. She brought her to a room filled with medical supplies and other tools, all meant for medical purposes Spitfire didn’t understand, but Redheart clearly did.
Redheart fussed about, grabbing needles, gauze, cotton balls, baggies, and many other things. She began to use them, one at a time, on Spitfire. She drew blood, she took a saliva sample, scraped her cheek with a toothpick and took a skin sample, asked her to pee in a cup, and many other things.
During her work, some ponies came banging on the door. Redheart went to check the window, but she ignored it when she saw it wasn’t a doctor, but some random ponies looking for help with their illness.
“I’m doing this for their own damn good, and all they’re doing it making it worse,” said Redheart.
“Ponies are out for themselves. They don’t realize the effort it takes to make them safe,” Spitfire said, but ended it with a cough.
“Getting worse?”
“Slowly but surely. Guess I’m not immune.”
“You might not be, but if you’re resistant, I might be able to work with that, nonetheless.”
“You think you can stop whatever it is?”
“I don’t know, but I know what we need to try.”
“Think you can make a cure soon?”
“Oh… I can’t make the cure.”
“What? But you said—”
“I said you can help us find the cure.” Redheart packed every sample she’d taken from Spitfire into a cooler. She filled it up with ice and forced it shut, then slung it around her neck.
“You’re going to leave and take that elsewhere, where there isn’t a swarm of ponies pounding at the doors,” Spitfire said.
“Yes, but not after we get you to Dr. Hang. If he can find any time to work with you, he might be able to make a cure.”
Spitfire breathed in, then slowly exhaled. Accepting death was difficult, but she had suspected she wouldn’t survive the illness. Anything that could kill somepony as hardy as Soarin wasn’t going to let her survive. “Alright. Let’s go find your Dr. Hang.”
“I am sorry, Spitfire. I couldn’t tell you the truth until I knew I had your samples in hoof.”
“No, I get it. It makes sense. For everypony else, let’s get this done.”
The pounding on the door interrupted them.
“I’m still not sure how we’re going to get this done,” Redheart said.
Spitfire found the emergency exit at the back. She cracked it open, and was immediately pushed back in by some other ponies barreled into the room, coughing and hacking.
“Please, *cough* help!”
“We can’t—” the other pony, who Redheart recognized as Dunkel, tried to speak, but devolved into a fit of coughing. He choked up green-tinged blood, and more green mist leaked out of his nostrils.
“Dunkel!” Redheart made sure her mask was firmly in place before she approached. She tried to avoid the blood, but she came closer. “Dunkel, where’s Dr. Hang?”
Dunkel looked up at her with bleary eyes. “The doc… *cough*” he pointed upwards. “Three… Wheeler…” He made an explosion noise, then coughed again. He fell on his side, despite the help from the other coughing pony.
Redheart could hear other hoofsteps inside the fire escape. Spitfire turned to her and grabbed her roughly by the hoof. She yanked her through the door and pushed her down the stairs.
“Wait, what about Dunkel? And Dr. Hang?”
“Listen, Doc, you can’t save them at this point. Dunkel’s already coughing up blood, his friend is dead, and died near your doctor. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a goner, and if he isn’t yet, he will be soon. It’s not a safe place to perform research, in any case. We gotta get you outta town, and that means we gotta get outta the building.”
“But I could—”
“You can NOT help them, you can NOT save them, and you can NOT save anypony else from this by sacrificing yourself. Get to safety, okay? I’m not wasting my life on anything less than the rescue of Equestria!”
Redheart shut up. Spitfire was right, she had to make sure a possible cure was made as soon as possible. She and her cargo were more important than anypony else.
Hoofsteps could be heard from above, as well as angry voices and a little bit of coughing. Hoofsteps sounded, and they sounded fast. Whomever was coming down the steps was fast, and they were being chased by other, less-hurried hoofsteps, but a lot of coughing.
“Hurry up, Doc, we got company,” said Spitfire.
“I know, I know! It’s hard with this box.”
“It’s gonna get harder if you don’t speed up.”
There was the sound of fighting, hoof striking flesh, then the sound of a beam. Redheart knew that sound! That was Dr. Hang’s surgery laser!
“Dr. Hang!” she yelled excitedly up the stairs. Spitfire tried to shush her, but it was too late. There was the sound of more beam slicing, then silence.
“Nurse?” His voice was hoarse, but it was Dr. Hang, sure enough.
Redheart climbed back up the stairs, but Spitfire pushed her back and stepped in front, leading the way back up. “Doctor, you’re alive!”
Dr. Hang’s hoofsteps limped down the steps. His left forehoof was injured, broken, then realigned, and his surgical mask was damp with strange fluids and blood, but he was alive, and he wasn’t coughing.
“Of course… I’m alive… I’m a doctor, not a petty… orderly.” He tapped his horn. “Surgery can be used to… harm as well as heal, when madness… takes hold. Where are… you off to, with somepony who is clearly… infected?” Dr. Hang’s horn flashed, and he scanned Spitfire. He shook his head.
“She’s infected, but she’s showing no signs of the disease save a mild cough. I think she is immune or resistant. She may even survive it! I took samples and am trying to deliver them to a hospital less… under siege.”
Dr. Hang tried to scan Redheart, but Spitfire kept pushing into the way. “Excuse… me, miss yellow.”
Spitfire just stared down at him.
“It’s alright, Spitfire, I’m not sick.”
“He’s got a nasty look in his eyes, Doc.”
“Doc? She’s not a… doctor. She’s… barely a nurse. We’re in the country, yellow, and… I get the dregs.”
“What’s that make you, then?”
“A pioneer of surgery! Too far above the others to be bothered. I can excise the source of this, but I’m not letting anypony else escape the city, only to drag the disease across the country.” He tried to grab the cooler from Redheart’s back with his magic. She held on and backed away.
“Doctor, no! Stop!”
He held on, almost lifting her off her hooves. “Give me the… samples, NURSE,” he said disdainfully.
That was when Redheart saw it. He wasn’t hoarse, he was holding back his cough. Every time he was pausing in speech, his chest was heaving. He was hiding his sickness! It had him as surely as it had Dunkel!
Dunkel’s body crashed down onto Dr. Hang. Dunkel thrashed on top of Dr. Hang, coughing and wheezing. He waved a hoof but didn’t speak, coughing up blood on top him. Dr. Hang’s horn lit up, and there was a sizzling sound. Spitfire pushed Redheart down the stairs insistently.
“Go! Go! Go!”
They raced down the steps, much faster than before. Dr. Hang’s surgical laser followed them, scorching the steps and slicing through the railing. He nicked Spitfire’s wing and she folded them in tighter, sticking to the outside edge of the steps.
“You can’t leave! You’ll… kill Equestria you stupid mare! You’re carrying… it, all over you…!”
They didn’t listen. They burst out of the fire escape into the wide-open air, and Spitfire wasted no time in picking up Redheart and taking off. Redheart struggled to keep her mask on, protecting herself from the surrounding sickness. As they took to the air, they could see the chaos that was unfolding around the hospital.
There were fires everywhere. Ponies were rioting in the streets. Groups were fighting in front of the hospital, downtown, and especially up on the plateau. The police couldn’t contain them, and at the rate they were going, it was only a matter of time before the entire hospital was destroyed from the inside out. Bodies were laying in the street, injured or dead, they couldn’t tell, but ponies were paying no attention to them, save for a few who were crying over their loved ones. They, too, were soon lost in the chaos, trampled or worse
“Dear Celestia,” said Redheart.
“If she were here, we might be able to control this, but I don’t know if an alicorn would be immune to this. I’m not sure I want to find out. Let’s get you out of he—”
Spitfire was struck by a hoof in the face, and she tumbled down some distance before she caught herself. Redheart shrieked as she clung to the cooler.When they recovered, they looked around for the source of the attack, and only just caught the attacker in time to dodge out of the way. Feathers flew as her wing was hit, but she stayed up. Some pegasus was flying at them.
“What are you doing!” screamed Redheart. “Stop it! You’ll kill us!”
“You’re not going to bring that disease out of there! I saw you coming out of the hospital. You’re sick!” the pegasus mare said.
“I’m not sick!” Redheart yelled, as Spitfire dodged heavily to the side.
“Of course you’d say that. Nopony wants to get sick, but in the interests of protecting Equestria from an outbreak, we can’t let you leave.”
Spitfire looked around, deftly swooping out of the way as the pegasus clumsily tried to hit her. There were pegasi everywhere attacking anypony who tried to fly out of the city. They weren’t kidding when they said they were trying to prevent an outbreak, but the dropping pegasi were falling into the crowd where they disappeared like anypony else. They were consigning them to death, rather than helping.
The mare whistled and several more pegasi turned to look. They saw she was having trouble and flew over, ready to help keep Spitfire down.
“You realize I’m the captain of the Wonderbolts, right?”
“I know. It pains me to do this, ma’am, but in the interests of Equestria, you need to stay down. Wait for help to come.”
“This is help! I have here a nurse who can create a cure!”
She paused in her attacks, but the other pegasi shouted at her when they arrived. “Don’t stop! No exceptions! We need to keep them all contained as much as we can until help arrives!”
“Who did you send for help, huh?” Spitfire yelled.
“Fastest pony I know, Blitzer Bolt.”
“Is he a Wonderbolt?”
“…no, ma’am, he isn’t, but you’re no exception. Please wait until help arrives.”
“Ponies are dying down there!”
“And even more will die if we let this spread. Please just wait.”
Redheart reached up and patted Spitfire’s forehoof. “Take me down, it’s fine.”
“But—!”
“Spitfire please, we’ll think of something. Maybe they’re right and help will come in time.”
Spitfire grumbled but slowly descended. They didn’t attack again, thankfully, but now Redheart and Spitfire were down on the ground, in behind the hospital, waiting.
When they landed, Redheart took the cooler off her back and held it out to Spitfire. “Here. They can’t possibly stop you alone. Carrying me, you’d have to protect me, but if you take this and go, you’ll get somewhere they can look at it.”
“But I’m carrying the disease, it’s not safe!”
“But if you wait here, nothing will be safe. We’ll both die, and no one will have the means to make a cure.”
“What if I die while traveling. We don’t know when it will kill me,” said Spitfire. “I could be carrying it over a forest and drop dead with no warning. Or I’ll get delirious like Soarin and never deliver it. It’s too dangerous to entrust it to me.”
“But we must get it out of the city!”
Spitfire went silent in thought for a moment. She and Redheart both spent some time in silence, thinking.
“If you were to fly low down the way to the road out of town…”
“Then you’d have a hell of a walk.”
“We could just try flying when we got there?”
“It’s a bit of a waste of time, but okay. It’s a start.”
Spitfire picked up Redheart again and they flew low out of the buildings and down the streets. The streets were crowded, but once they got past the hospital, the streets were far less packed. They made their way down the hill into the main part of town, the eyes of the pegasi above stuck on them. They’d almost made it through the buildings there when somepony leaped out of a window and landed on Spitfire!
“You’re a pegasus, carry me out! Forget her! Take me to safety!”
“What the hell, let go a’ me!”
Redheart screamed as Spitfire’s flight dipped and wobbled. It wasn’t as far up as before, but it was still enough to injure here if she fell, not to mention how much damage it could do to the cooler!
“Spitfire, land! Land!” she yelled.
Spitfire obliged, fluttering down to the ground as she fought off the crazy earth pony that had jumped on her. Ponies all around, suffering from different stages of the illness or just trying to escape, spared them only a brief glance before most of them focused back on their own business of fleeing the city or looting nearby buildings.
“No, no, no! Fly back up! Get me out of here!” the earth pony shouted, and she yanked on Spitfire’s ears so hard they started bleeding. Spitfire dropped Redheart on the pavement, then bucked and spun, trying to dislodge the pony attacking her. Redheart stumbled, but righted herself, and looked back at the two fighting.
The earth pony had a hoof around Spitfire’s neck, and Spitfire was slamming her into the wall of a nearby building as she tried to force her to let go. The earth pony had a strong grip, however, and wasn’t willing to release her prize, she kept yelling “Up! Up!” while Spitfire gagged.
“Take me away, please!” the earth pony shrieked, then looked at Redheart. “You’re a doctor?” She released Spitfire and ran at Redheart. “Help me, please! I don’t want to die!”
The sparse crowd around the battle all turned and looked at Redheart when they heard that. Murmurs of “Help me!”, “Please, doctor!”, “Save my foal!”, and everything else were whispered and shouted in equal amounts as the crowd turned to Redheart, begging for their lives.
Free from her attacker, Spitfire flew up and over the crowd, homing in on Redheart. She flew down and reached out to grab her, but was struck in the head by a rock.
“She’s trying to steal the doctor for herself! Some elite force!”
“Damn Wonderbolts don’t care about the little guy!”
“Get her!”
Spitfire fought back, wings, hooves, and teeth lashing out as the crowd surrounded her. Redheart cried out in dismay as her friend was beaten, but there were still ponies intent on begging her for help. Their faces pressed toward her, but they weren’t attacking her, yet. She couldn’t tell them the truth, they wouldn’t believe her, and they would turn on her just as quickly as they turned on Spitfire if they knew what her plans were. Instead, she just took one last look at the cloud of yellow that was Spitfire, now tinged by red, then turned and galloped away, vision blurry from tears.
The crowd immediately turned angry. The few she pushed past were too bewildered and confused to attack her immediately, but angry shouting quickly picked up behind her as she bolted downhill.
“She’s not a doctor at all!”
“She’s a shitty one, if she is! She’s leaving us!”
“Don’t let her leave, we need help!”
“Stop her! Stop her!”
Cold fear gripped her as she ran wildly through the streets. There was constant shouting behind her as she ran, and every new street she reached ponies heard the calls and saw her hat, then new ones joined in the chase. She took her hat off and threw it away, hoping that might help, but with a crowd already having seen her for what she was, it was too late. Everywhere she went new ponies heard the calls for her blood, and they joined up, following her.
She didn’t know the city well enough to make a good and easy escape, but she knew how the streets worked. She ran this way and that, up and down hills, trying to lose the crowd. Many of the crowd got lost. Those who weren’t residents of the city got lost or tired from the up and downhill battle, but she didn’t lose all of them. Unfortunately, Redheart herself couldn’t handle so many hills for so long, and before long her legs were weak and tired. She panted, huffing to a stop after one particularly grueling set of stairs, and looked down at the crowd following her.
Some of the ponies had died during the chase. The illness having advanced far too quickly for them. She began to wonder if she might just outlast them all, but that hope was dashed when she saw some of the group following her with their own masks on.
If they were sick, were they trying to get help for loved ones, or were they just out for blood?
One of them threw something at her and she took that as her answer. They were hooligans, just out for blood in the midst of a crisis. She continued running, legs burning.
She squeezed through an alley, having come back up a lot of the hill, and burst out the other side into what was unfortunately the main body of the rioters from the festival.
There was chanting, and marching, and they all seemed to be moving in one direction. They were speaking, and coughing, but it was indecipherable and confused. Unfortunately, the moment they saw Redheart they all turned on her, sniffed the air, and grabbed her. She cried out and screamed, but nopony paid any attention.
The crowd clutched at her, pulling her this way and that, and she fought them tooth and hoof. They pulled at her mask, her cooler, her tail, and her limbs, but there were too many of them, and they were as uncoordinated as could be. Coughing tore them apart, and hooves that seemed about to tug away her last bastion of safety were replaced by new ones that had to start over. She adjusted her mask, yanked the cooler, and crawled overtop them even as they tried to hold on.
But despite her minor successes, she was still coasting along of top of an unruly, unhealthy mob. Half of it seemed to be making its way downhill, and the other half, pushing back, seemed to be trying to work its way up the hill. It was fighting against itself, though not violently, confused, and almost seeming scared, but certainly after her.
Redheart managed to stand up, balancing on the heads and backs of several ponies. She stared around her, looking for the nearest edge of the crowd, but even as she looked, she found the nearest edge far away. She had been pulled toward the center of the mass, where she could see the bloodied and injured bodies of several ponies, trampled underneath the scared hooves of others. She felt a tug on her tail and worked her way away, kicking hooves as she balanced across the undulating crowd. She almost felt like she was making progress when a stray hoof yanked one of hers, and she went down.
“No, help!” she cried. But all that closed over her head as she dropped into the mass of bodies was the phlegm and snot-covered face of a pony; panicked and scared and looking for somepony that could help him feel better somehow.
“Help me!” he pleaded.
He pulled at the cooler she was clutching to her chest, and she yanked back, then kicked. Her hoof struck his face and he recoiled, disappearing into the bodies. A hoof hit her in the back of the head, then the side. She fell down, hugging the cooler to her chest as hooves and bodies pressed and stamped in all at once. She curled up, trying her best to protect her head and the cooler with her legs, but she couldn’t get up. In the middle of the mass, she wasn’t going to be able to recover.
Hooves struck her all over. Sharp, pointed limbs scraped, scratched, and tore at her mane, tail, and back. One of her hooves was at her mask, keeping it firmly against her mouth, and the other was tightly wrapped around the cooler, pulling it in against her body. She needed to protect it, but how was she supposed to save herself and it?
Above the roar of the crowd came another roar. The crowd all stopped moving for a moment, the hooves blessedly still. It allowed Redheart a moment to collect herself and stand up, but then the whole body of the crowd surged in one direction. The roar came again, and the crowd was pushed to the side. Redheart saw a pink light shoving the crowd apart, and the roar came closer. She staggered, and a wheel rolled up in front of her. She looked up to see a white-helmeted figure drawing up in front of her. Magic grabbed her by the back of her neck and dragged her onto the back of the bike, and then the roaring came again. The machine she was on pulled ahead, and the crowd screamed as it crashed over the dead bodies of those beneath them.
“You’re not in a very good spot, girl,” the unicorn mare yelled back.
It took Redheart a minute to understand the statement was directed at her. She adjusted her mask and double-checked she still had her cooler and it was intact, then looked at her rescuer.
It was somepony dressed in a full-body suit, wearing a large helment over her head with her horn sticking out the top. She was riding on a bicycle, but there was a heavily-damaged thing on the back the loud noise (and a lot of smoke) was issuing from.
“I…” Redheart said, which was drowned out in the screaming of the smoking machine. She yelled. “I’m alive! Thank you!”
“Saw them grab you! Had to help!”
The crowd—filled with sick pegasi, trampling earth ponies, and dangerous unicorns—was trying to follow them. Most of the crowd stopped to cough, their lungs unable to keep up with their bodies, and they fell to the stampede. The machine she was on was easily able to outdistance them, and before long, Redheart and her rescuer were well downhill and on their way out of the city. Mercifully, the pegasi above let them go. They probably assumed anypony walking out of town that was sick would die before they could get to another city. She didn’t question it. She was just glad to leave.
She turned back to look at the city above as the hills gave way to flat plains. A sickly cloud rose above the city. The dead bodies issuing forth poisoned air that hung over Goodstone, thick, and visible now that she was out of it. There was no conversation as they traveled. The roar of the engine wouldn’t allow it, but Redheart allowed herself to feel safe. If anypony could stop this illness, it would be her. She just hoped everypony wouldn’t be dead before help could come.
She wrapped her hooves around her unknown rescuer and allowed herself to cry.
