GASP

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.