Chapter Two:
Murphy's Law

Disclaimer: I don't own My Little Pony. Like, at all. It and all its respectable characters are © to Hasbro. However, all writing contents and semi-plots and original characters here are © to me; unless it is stated otherwise. All shows/ books/ video games/ songs that arementioned in this chapter are all © to their respective owners, I do not own them.

Summary: It began with two bodies, and then suddenly many more came to follow. I was there to witness the beginning of the end, where the dead won't rest, driven by the urge to devour the living. But we can't give up because the truth is all that matters. I am begging you…rise up before it's too late. Rise up before they can.


Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.
-Murphy's First Law


I was still reeling from all that Doctor Stone had relayed to me. What had happened today wasn't just an isolated incident. Other places in Equestria—from Fillydelphia to Las Pegasus—were cropping up more and more cases of the dead rising up to attack and devour the living. So far, it's been dusted up and thrown under the rug—but how many ponies and potentially other creatures within our borders—were being bitten in the process? How many have slunk home, to hearth and family and friends, to nurse their wounds? How many were succumbing to their seemingly innocuous bites, dying from the disease, and then rising up to further spread it?

How many more were ignoring this rising epidemic, pretending that it was completely handled? Just how many would die before the powers that be were willing to admit this will become a full-blown pandemic if they continued to do nothing beyond covering it up until it was too late?

I found myself rushing to the hospital, where I knew Far Fetch was—running towards the danger, a potential hot spot and ground zero for an infectious break out. Statistically speaking, any disease was more liable to spread like wildfire in any medical setting. Where else would ponies go to try and get help? But I had to try and isolate this, cut off the head of the snake, as it were, to protect as many ponies as possible.

The building was still intact as I approached. A nurse was strolling outside, pushing a patient in a wheelchair out front. My chest swelled and tightened as I breathed hard while I passed through the doors, eyes darting around the lobby entrance. I wasn't used to running. I'd forgotten how it felt.

There were ponies sitting in the waiting area, some wearing masks, others nursing injured front or back limbs or bellies. I couldn't help but sweep my eyes over each and every one of them, looking for anything resembling a bite wound. Any bandages, any signs of blood or mangy coats of fur.

I made a beeline for the front desk. The nurse on duty was taken aback by my haggard appearance as I fought for my words between pants.

"Ma'am—oh. Doctor Red Rush. This is…unexpected. Is-is everything all right? Do you need any help?"

"I—I need to—"

I inhaled deeply and held my breath for several seconds, then let it out slowly.

"I need to know where Deputy Far Fetch is. She was at my place earlier—"

"Oh! Well, you actually just missed Sheriff Dust Cloud—"

"No. No, I need to see Far Fetch. I…I have something for her." I thought quickly and then remembered the pastries in my saddlebag, untouched, uneaten. I used my magic to recall the box of pastries and winced at the state of them upon opening it, looking rather squashed and poorly. The nurse politely cleared her throat.

"She's…in room 3B, on the third floor. Visiting hours end in about an hour. Do you need any directions?"

I shook my head, returning the pastries into my saddlebag. I trotted away from the desk and hurried along to the staircase. My muscles sang with strain and effort as I climbed all three flights to the third floor and was grateful that Far Fetch's room wasn't far from the stairwell.

Her door was ajar, and I hesitated entering. I could hear the click-clack-clop of ponies' hooves making contact with the ground, voices rising and falling quietly in the distance. I flicked my ears forward, struggling to hear within Far Fetch's room. I could hear an EKG machine beeping inside, and the tinny sounds of a radio playing, but nothing else. I nudged the door open with a hoof and peeked inside.

Far Fetch was lying on the lone hospital bed, dressed in a typical hospital gown. The gloss of her feathers and fur had dulled considerably since this morning. Now there was only the shine of sweat covering her. Her fur was looking faded and…it was presenting similarly to mange. Patches were missing entirely, revealing the bare epidermis beneath, which wasn't looking much better than her fur. It was mottled and sickly, while her mane and tail hung limp and damp with sweat.

Far Fetch's eyes were screwed shut, jaw clenched in a grimace, and I could just barely make out a soft, pained groaning now that I was closer. She was curled up tightly beneath the hospital blanket that covered her, but she had parts of it bunched between her rear legs to act as a cushion. I noticed the leg that had been bitten was outside the blanket and wrapped tightly with a new bandage. It was already stained red with her blood and…and with black too. Blackening blood that was turning to ooze within her veins and seeping from her wound.

Far Fetch's Cutie Mark—a boomerang and a pair of leeks on either side of it—looked oddly faded as well.

Just like Buck and Mare Doe's had been.

"Deputy?" I called out cautiously as I entered her suite.

She didn't move.

I cleared my throat and tried again more loudly.

That garnered a reaction. Far Fetch cracked an eye open. I could immediately see that her pupils were completely blown out. I could barely make out the hazel irises at all, they were nothing but a mere sliver of a ring bordering the pupil.

"Wh-who…who is that?"

"It's Red Rush. I wanted to come and check on you." A beat. "Would you…like a pastry? Fresh from Sugarcube Corner."

Far Fetch groaned and swung a wing over her face, shielding herself from the lights, the world, me.

"No," she whined, her voice a few octaves higher than usual. "S'too bright and my leg is killing me. C-could you…turn off the lights, please?"

I glanced at the wall and found the switch. A nod of the head and I snapped it down with my magic. The room went dark with a little click. Far Fetch sighed in relief, and her entire body seemed to relax.

"Thank you."

I glanced at the medical chart clipped to the end of her bed and I lifted it up to my face, the glow of my magic encasing it as I read the doctor's shorthand notes. I frowned the more I read. I checked the monitors Far Fetch was attached to, and the IV bags of fluids. Saline, antibiotics, a mild sedative for pain. It clearly wasn't working. I adjusted that to compensate Far Fetch's apparent pain, hoping to give her some relief. The nurses have already changed her bandages at least three times since her admission earlier this afternoon. Just a few short hours. This disease, this rot, was fast working. It was probably banking on spreading once its host expires—an unusual method, as most epidemical viruses typically prefer their hosts alive just long enough in order to spread and propagate before the host could expire.

"What're you doing here, Red Rush? You're supposed to be back at your place, working on those bodies. The Sheriff—"

"I've already spoken with the Sheriff, Far Fetch. I updated him on the bodies and of my findings. We've also spoken with Mayor Mare on the matter and hope to have a more solid plan going forward tonight at the emergency town meeting she's having. When I heard that you were here, I thought I'd pop by and check up on you."

"You don't do 'pop by' visits."

Even when she was in the throes of this mysterious illness, Far Fetch was still biting in her remark. I felt no ill will in her words this time around, however. I sighed as I set the medical chart back down and slowly approached the Pegasus's side, glancing at her leg.

"What has the doctor said about this?"

"Why are you really here?"

There was a slip of exhaustion in her voice now. She seemed to sag in on herself, sinking into the mattress. She shuffled one of her wings out from under the blanket and draped it over herself, and that too slumped once it settled.

"I…" I hesitated, trying to find the right words. It took me a few moments to weigh my options. "I believe…you're infected. With what the two ponies you brought in to my morgue have. You were bitten…and there seems to be a correlation between the two. That's my working theory. I spoke with a colleague of mine, and he seems to concur with my findings, based on his own…encounters."

Far Fetch didn't speak at first. I cleared my throat and stepped closer, eyeing the bandage on her leg. The stained mess was a little bigger now.

"It won't stop bleeding," she said tiredly. "It won't stop hurting."

I used my magic to undo the bandage, pausing whenever Far Fetch hissed or groaned in pain. I peeled the layers apart and bit back my own hiss of surprise at the mess that laid beneath the soiled bandages. The immediate surrounding tissue that circled the bite was swollen and inflamed, already turning black from necrosis. I could smell the rot from where I stood.

"I'm not a doctor but even I know that isn't good, is it?"

I shook my head and my eyes met hers. "I'm going to lose this leg, aren't I? Or is it worse than that?"

I hesitated. "I don't know. You might have stood a chance if you had cut it off sooner, to fight whatever this is, but…"

"Then I'm a dead mare walking, aren't I? Same as those two ponies we brought to you." She shifted on the bed. "Do you know how to stop it?"

"Traumatic brain injury. Whatever this disease is, it's making the dead come back. Bites are confirmed to spread it, and there are other vectors of infection, most likely from any bodily fluid that comes into contact with you, such as saliva in the bite wounds or their blood coming into contact with any open wound you sustain or if you ingest it, somehow. But once you go for the head, it seems to stop them permanently. That Mare Doe, I had taken out nearly all her organs when she tried coming after me. I had to use one of my scalpels to put her down."

In fact, I hadn't left Death Dealers without it. It was in my saddlebag currently. It was small, but it would have to be mighty for me.

"This sounds like something straight out from a horror movie."

I nodded in agreement. I began looking around the room, opening cabinet doors and drawers, until I found what I was looking for. More bandages, tape, saline flush. I returned to Far Fetch's side and began cleaning her wound. I went slow and with care. Despite her reported pain, she hardy flinched as I worked.

"You'll need to be quarantined, to keep everyone safe. Once I finish this up, I'll find your doctor. Maybe we can fix this, maybe—maybe we can amputate. Maybe it's not too late."

"Red Rush—"

"We can contain this, but we have to move fast—"

"Red, stop." Far Fetch spat, and I clamped my mouth shut. "I'm a dead mare walking. And we both know that you're not the kind of pony that runs on 'maybes'. You deal with facts, same as me. I'm a danger to others. That's a fact."

"But I…" I stopped myself before she could and shook my head. Far Fetch and I weren't close, but I would admit, I've developed a bit of a liking to the Pegasus from the last year or so working with her. She didn't hesitate in her line of work. I admired her drive, her dedication to keeping Ponyville and its citizens safe whenever and wherever they could. The Princess and her friends couldn't be in multiple places at once, after all. Somepony else had to pick up the slack.

I dipped my head, closing my eyes. "You're right. I'll get Doctor Greymare in here and we'll go from there. Just…don't die just yet. Do you understand me?"

Far Fetch gave me a little wave with her hoof and a short laugh that I knew must've hurt to make, but she still tried, nonetheless. "I make no promises. But I'll try."

OoOoOoOoOoO

"Doctor Greymare! Doctor—excuse me, sorry—Doctor Greymare!"

I weaved between two nurses hurrying to one of their patients' rooms, and I could hear someone yelling for a crash cart. I shouted again. This time he heard me and stopped long enough so that I could catch up.

"Who is—ah. It's only you, Doctor Red Rush. I'm very sorry, but I'm too busy, we just had an influx of ponies hit us, and we're stretched thin as it is, so if you'll excuse me—"

I ignored the way he called me 'doctor'. I worked with the dead, not the living, but I still held a doctorate. I had to in my line of work. I also know that some ponies don't see it as the same thing, since I didn't save lives like medical doctors did. I merely dissected what was left of them.

"I need you to wait a moment, I have to speak to you on an urgent matter about Far Fetch," I said as I panted and took notice of the hallway. I found myself heading towards the emergency treatment wing, and there were more ponies now, more than I would have liked. I heard the passing comment as they passed me by about "some sick pony" from a train that had just pulled into Ponyville's station whilst attacking others. My blood turned to ice as I found myself distracted to hear them confirm what I was dreading.

"He looked so ill; I can't believe he wasn't wearing a mask or anything! Whatever he's got, I'm scared that I have it now too; he nearly tore my ear off with his teeth! HIS. TEETH. Who does that?!"

In my lapsing attention, I had lost track of Doctor Greymare. He seemed to have continued on his way as I was now noticing the blood and bandages, the chunks of flesh torn out of some ponies. The influx of patients that was beginning to fill emergency treatment wing of the hospital, and I was at the heart of things. I'd just stepped into the belly of the rotten beast.

A crowded train, limited space, panicking ponies—it spelled out the best recipe for the worst disaster. I found Doctor Greymare again, this time directing several nurses and a few of the junior doctors to the more critical patients. He caught sight of me, and he scowled.

"I find it incredibly ghoulish that you're prowling through my hospital, coming after my patients before it's even their time! Don't you have anything better to do, hmm? Don't you already have a dead body to play with?"

I ignored his barbed words. Sniping back at him wasn't important. What was happening all around us, on the other hand…that was.

"How many of these ponies were bitten?!" I demanded, and that pulled him up short at first. He looked me over the rims of his glasses, brow furrowing in puzzlement.

"How did you…?"

"The incident that led to Far Fetch being bitten—these ponies that were bitten—" I hesitated, then pulled out my video camera from my saddlebag and floated it over to Doctor Greymare. He caught it in his own magic and pulled it closer to him. "Just watch—Sheriff Dust Cloud brought me two bodies this morning. I had gotten more than halfway done in my necropsy of a Mare Doe, who was bitten by the Buck Doe they'd brought in with her—and she came back to life, after I had taken out half her organs."

I watched as his expression faded from mild annoyance to shock and horror as he watched the screen. When his gaze met mine once more, I could see he understood what I was trying to tell him. He swept his eyes over the ward, at the bustling arrival of ponies—most, if not all, were sporting a bite wound or injury of some sort—in a new terrifying light.

"If what you're saying is true, if what you're showing me is true, then…then these ponies…they're all infected from their bites wounds. From the pony that…"

I nodded. "Mayor Mare is holding an emergency town hall meeting tonight, but we need to quarantine these ponies first and we have to do it now. Any pony that was bled on or bitten—it doesn't matter—if we don't contain this now, they'll die, then they'll get back up, and they'll come after us."


There was a reason that ponies listened to me when I spoke on certain specialized topics. Why they believed me. I'm not one for playing pranks on others. I don't lie or conflate matters. I don't participate in tricks and pranks. And I am especially not the type of pony to trip others up when it came to safety protocols.

Just a few years ago, I was the one who identified a debilitating spread of necrotizing fasciitis at the hospital. Not as quickly or widely spread as this new rot seemed to be, but enough that it drove the doctors mad trying to figure out what was happening to newly admitted patients who were pockmarked with holes in their bodies. When I say that my word has weight, I don't exaggerate. I don't cry "Timber Wolf" at the drop of the hat.

It was why Doctor Greymare believed me when I raised the alarm now just as he did back then. It was why Mayor Mare understood my urgency on this rapidly rising issue the same as before. It was why Sheriff Dust Cloud trusted me on my word alone, because the weight of my findings outweighed the doubt. And I typically came with receipts to back my findings.

The ponies we were attempting to herd into quarantine on the other side of the third floor did not believe, understand, or trust this. They dug in their hooves. They demanded answers. They refused to obey. They were panicked and worried, and that was a breeding ground for hysteria and disaster.

Doctor Greymare, Nurse Redheart, and several other nurses and physicians were trying to placate the patients who had been bitten in the train debacle. The more critical patients were in surgery and would have to be moved to quarantine for recovery. I could understand their reluctance. They were scared. They wanted to go home. They were on the verge of panicking. It was beginning to turn into bedlam, if it hasn't already.

There weren't enough rooms, and some patients were being treated in the hallways if they couldn't be inside the quarantine wing itself, and that wasn't helping the situation at all. It was a safety risk that even I couldn't overcome, no matter how I pleaded to get them all inside. All I could do at this point was to do what I could, try to send those who hadn't been bitten or bled on away. They were walking, talking contaminators that posed even more risks if dismissed too quickly.

I was right there in the thick of it, helping the doctors and nurses in trying to move the patients. It wasn't something I had planned on, but the hospital staff were shorthanded, and I only stayed out of obligation to see this through. I may not work with live patients, but I was familiar enough that I could be welcomed into the fold. "Every little bit helps, and you're as good a helping hoof we can ask for at the moment," Doctor Greymare had told me.

And yet I felt lost in trying to speak with the patients. I didn't want to deceive them. The truth was more important than a white lie to make them feel better—and yet I understood that the lie would be of more comfort to their fragile peace of mind.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

I was busy treating a young mare with severe bruising from the initial stampede that had occurred from the sick pony that had started all this. I went over her history as thoroughly and quickly as I could, checking her over to ensure that she only had just the bruising. I was satisfied and relieved to find no bite marks, no signs of blood. I told her she was cleared to leave and attached a hospital band—a bright, eye-searing orange—that confirmed her as "safe". I sent her on her way, glad that I could release even just one pony. She was only one less body to account for, one less pony to worry about. Those with white bands were marked as "potential carrier" if they showed signs of lacerations, blood, and other vectors of possible infection. Black bands were marked as "confirmed" for any bites or open wounds that may have been bled or drooled on.

The din in the hallway hadn't lessened by very much. If anything, I could have sworn it was getting louder, which wasn't serving me or the headache I could feel coming on, very well. I was used to the relative quietness of my morgue. When I turned to view the crowd of bodies pressing against one another, trying to move back or forth, seemed endless. I knew there were many more inside the quarantine wing itself. The protests hadn't quieted down much, either.

A sudden crack of thunder suddenly boomed in the air all around us, startling everypony into blissful silence. Heads turned to find Sheriff Dust Cloud at the back of the pack in the crowded hallway. Deputy Frizzy Pop stood at his side, his horn aglow. A thunder spell to quiet the masses. I would have applauded the creativity, but now wasn't exactly the time.

"Now that's enough, damn it! Shut your traps and open your ears! Listen to the doctors! This is for your own safety! Y'all might be sick and we need to find out who is who!"

He gave pause when he noticed me in the thick of it. He gave a jerk of his head, indicating for me to come along. I faltered, looking at all the faces that stood between myself and the law ponies. All the blood and bandages, the distress they all seemed to share as one hive mind.

I began moving at the Sheriff's second prompt. The crowd parted around me, some glowering at my passing, others simply watching with a mixture of fear and apprehension. Once I reached them, the two law ponies flanked me. I cast one last look on the ward, at the patients, at the medical health care workers.

"Had a feeling you'd be here," the Sheriff said, drawing my attention. I began stripping of my PPE and flung it into the nearest disposal bin once I was free.

"I was checking on Far Fetch when I heard about what happened at the train station, when they started admitting ponies to the emergency treatment wing," I admitted. "Far Fetch doesn't have long. If we had amputated her leg immediately, she might have stood a chance—"

"You don't know for sure if that'd work or not." Sheriff Dust Cloud pointed out gruffly. Far Fetch was right about me. I just can't work with 'maybes' all that well. It was false hope that shouldn't be given out so carelessly.

"No. You're right. I don't know that, but it'd give us a clearer and more definitive avenue of information to work with. But whatever this disease is, it works fast, if we're to judge the time it's taken to put Far Fetch out of commission. We're racing against a series of ticking time bombs that is potentially in all those ponies back there."

That made Sheriff Dust Cloud's expression darken, and he growled low under his breath. I could practically hear him grinding his teeth. Deputy Frizzy Pop shuddered on the other side of me. We passed through a few doors and hallways, and I recognized that we were heading back towards Far Fetch's room. She still needed to be quarantined too. I can't believe I let myself forget that. It was why I had come here in the first place, why I had gone in search for Doctor Greymare in the first place!

"Should we really be leaving them behind, sir? What if the physicians n-need help?"

"Are you volunteering to go back?"

"W-What? No! But I just…I don't—it doesn't sit right, with all that's happening, and I just don't know what else we could be doing to help—and I-I just—!"

The deputy ground to halt and started breathing hard and erratically, eyes bugging out and looking ready to burst into tears. He started nervously jiggling a front hoof, ears pinned against his head. The Sheriff and I stopped as well. I watched him and I realized just how young he really was. Barely older than a colt.

"Deputy, I need you to calm down. Panicking like this ain't helping nopony."

Deputy Frizzy Pop sniffled, and squeezed his eyes shut as he nodded sharply. "I-I know. S-sorry, sir."

We continued on our way to Far Fetch's room. The rest of the hallways were deafening in their ambient silence. There was only a skeleton crew of one at the nurse's station we passed before we could see the door to Room 3B.

A shiver rolled down my spine, and I was the first to stop short. I was the first to notice what was up ahead.

"Stop. Stop, don't move any closer. Sheriff!" My throat tightened, and my voice cut out, strained and hoarse.

Thankfully, the pair seemed to have heard me and they too halted. They turned to look at me, but my focus was on what was just ahead of them, trailing into the room besides Far Fetch's. I could hear something that wasn't familiar to the hospital ambience. I moved slowly, careful to not let my hooves clack so noisily on the linoleum flooring. I motioned for the two law ponies to step aside, and they followed my lead.

I crept toward the amorphous shape that stained the floors, my heart thrumming against the backs of my ribs in a rapid staccato rhythm. I could smell the rot the closer I got. The curtain was blocking part of the open door, but I could something moving in the sliver of space that wasn't covered.

Quiet as a mouse, I had my magic peel the curtain back. Slowly, slowly.

I saw tails first, then hind hooves, a puddle of something trailing from out of the room and under the bodies within. A familiar bandaged leg, stained completely black now, the fur a faded and unkempt pearly-grey with large patches that seemed to have fallen off at random. Someone else's hooves now, fur pale lilac in colour. Feathers, a hospital gown slipping off the one on top.

And then there was nothing but red, red, RED.

It was everywhere, staining everything. On the floors, the bed, the medical equipment, on the messily tossed hospital blankets and on some of the machines, even a jagged line of what I knew to be an arterial blood spray that painted the walls and part of the ceiling.

I could see everything now.

Far Fetch, hunched over another pony, wings limply dangling down her sides. Her head dipped down and I could hear the squelch of flesh being peeled and torn and chewed. Far Fetch was growling, gnawing away at what was left of her neighbor's chest cavity. Rib bones jutted upwards like spires, split apart and reaching for the sky. The other pony's blood was bright as rubies in some patches, mottling to an unsavory burgundy or dull brick or old rust in others. If I tilted my head just enough, I could even catch glimpses of the lilac pony's face. Blood seeped into the fur along her lips and muzzle, eyes wide and glassy and staring into nothing, the grimace of terror contorting her frozen face.

"What is it? Red Rush, what is—oh. Oh, no—no, no, NO! What's she doing?! Far Fetch!"

I was startled from my frozen statuesque position, and everything else came back into perspective. I jerked my head to find Deputy Frizzy Pop standing close, much too close.

Far Fetch—what was left of her, could we even say it was her anymore?—lifted her head and turned her face towards us. Her corneas were clouded over, just like Mare Doe's had been. Her bloodied lips pulled back into a snarl and unsteadily, she got up to her hooves.

She was not as clumsy as Mare Doe. She staggered, yes—but she had more ambulatory control. Far Fetch lurched, teeth flashing with bits of gristle stuck between them and a low moan rose up from her throat. Her wings twitched and spasmed, but they were otherwise useless, it seemed. She couldn't fly, or at least, that's what I hoped to be true.

If the dead could fly or use magic like they could when they were still alive, then we as the living would be completely fucked.

"What's wrong with her, why's she eating that other pony?!"

I began backing away, and my hind hoof struck the deputy. Contact with him jumpstarted something in me and I whirled, heaving my shoulder into his chest. I shoved at him, pushing him back. I was arguably smaller, but I had more momentum in the moment, and he went stumbling. "Move! Get back! Get away from her or you'll end up in her mouth too!"

The deputy dug his hooves in, head shaking back and forth as he stared, wide-eyed and terrified, at the thing that was once his fellow law pony. He nearly tripped over his own legs until I deemed us far away enough. Far Fetch hissed as she stumbled out of the other pony's hospital room. We reached the Sheriff and we backed away together, the click of our hooves sounding off like cannon fire.

I found myself morbidly entranced by the sight of what used to be Far Fetch. Another one to study. I pulled out my video camera from my saddlebags, and began to record as it floated between myself and Far Fetch.

"Deputy Far Fetch seems to have expired; I estimate time of death at perhaps an hour ago, at the most. The pupils are already presenting with no reaction to the light and are beginning to grow milky in appearance. Her wound, the left hind leg, was from a bite that was sustained nearly twelve hours ago between the hours of 0700 and 0800—"

"Red Rush, what in Celestia's name do you think you're doing?! Get behind us!"

"We need this information!" I shouted vehemently back over my shoulder. The Pegasus lunged, lost her footing, and unsteadily gained it back. Her wings, thankfully, helped in no way. If anything, they were a hindrance. Her hind hooves stomped on the longer flight feathers as they dragged on the floor and trailed underneath her, tugging them out as the rest of her body was propelled forward.

"You're going to get yourself killed!" Sheriff Dust Cloud barked from behind me.

"F-Far Fetch—she can't be dead. We just saw her a few hours ago, sh-she shouldn't—she's supposed to get better. That's why we came here!"

From the corner of my eye, I saw the deputy inching closer, body shaking. The nurse manning the nurse's station shrieked somewhere behind me, perhaps coming to see what all the fuss was about.

"What is wrong with that pony?!" I heard her cry. Too terrified to get close enough. Good. That fear was good for her. It might keep her alive longer.

I ignored them all and continued talking, my voice rising in pitch so it could be heard by my camera.

"Deputy Far Fetch is steadier on her limbs than Mare Doe was, likely due to my necropsy proceedings for Mare Doe, although Far Fetch's wings seem to be ultimately useless. She appears just as driven as Mare Doe, however, to come after me—us. Anything alive. She was devouring another pony, but when presented with a fresh meal, she abandoned her first. Hypothesis: the other pony she killed may also rise but due to the mangled state Far Fetch left them in, they too will struggle with ambulatory movement."

I didn't see him step forward. I'd allowed myself to be solely focused by what was in front of me, that I hadn't noticed him beside me.

Deputy Frizzy Pop, still trembling, stepped toward Far Fetch. I could see the trail his tears had left on the fur of his face, while still shaking his head. The Sheriff barked at him to get back as well. I could hear the crack in his voice. He wasn't just angry. He was scared.

"Sh-she's just sick, she's sick and she needs help! Why isn't anypony helping her?!"

He flinched away when his former partner got too close.

"Get back here, deputy! That's an order!"

"Deputy, he's right, you need to get away from her, she's not Far Fetch anymore, she's not safe!" I said, joining in on the pleading. I tried to recall him with my magic, but he countered my spell with his own. I recoiled at the backlash with a hiss, white and painful stars dancing across my vision, like I had been physically hit. I blinked rapidly to clear my eyes.

When it did, I was horrified to see he was closer to Far Fetch than moments ago.

"Why?! Why can't help her?! Can't we just tie her down, and find a way to fix this?"

"Deputy, she's dead. It's not Far Fetch anymore! Step away, please, before she—!"

My warning came a second too late. His attention hadn't been on her, and that's when she sprang for a second try at a new meal. Far Fetch's bloody mouth found another mouthful of flesh to fill it. Deputy Frizzy Pop's eyes bulged. He struggled, pulling his body one way, and Far Fetch another. It only made the damage worse. She'd taken a sizable chunk of his shoulder with her, and he screamed as he scrabbled and fell on his side. He kicked his legs in a panic, trying to pull himself back up.

I tried to step in, but the Sheriff was suddenly there, herding me away with his head and neck. All I could do was watch as Far Fetch swallowed her pound of flesh and leapt at the deputy to sink her teeth into his throat. His scream cut off suddenly and I was pushed around a corner and ended up on my rump, leaning against the counter by the nurse's station. The nurse was sobbing on the other side, having ducked down herself behind her desk.

The sound around me seemed to fade and I recalled my camera back to my side, ending the recording. I hit the rewind. Stop. Play. Watched the event again. And again. And again.

Someone hooked their leg around mine and hauled me back up. Sheriff Dust Cloud was glowering at me, but I had a feeling he wasn't actually angry with me.

"What in the hell did I just watch?"

I swallowed, suddenly tasting bile at the back of my throat.

"Murphy's First Law in action, Sheriff." I said at last, finding my voice again. He stared flintily at me. "Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong."

That's when we heard the screams. This time, they were coming from the way we had just left. Back from the quarantine wing full of ponies.