GASP

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.

The next day would be a challenge.