The Rot and Ruin We Leave Behind

Prologue:
Dead Pony Walking

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 are mentioned 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. This rot is spreading faster than we could have anticipated. But we can't give up because the truth of our new world is all that matters. I am begging you…rise up and survive before it's too late.

Notes: I can't seem to stop suffering from brain rot. I've watched necropsy documentaries of horses and human autopsies for this! I just had to jump feet first into the MLP!Infection AU fandom because reasons. Mostly zombies. I love the zombie genre.

Tell me doctor, can you fix my brain? '
Cause everyone says I'm insane
Help me loosen this ball and chain
There's no use talking,
I'm a dead man walking
 I was thirsty and I wanted more
Then she burned me with the Rebels' soul
Tried to wall me in,
I should have known
There's no use talking,
I'm a dead man walking
-" Dead Man Walking" by City Wolf

Where do I even start? Any place seems as good as any.

It had started out like any other day. The weather was clearing up, thanks to the Pegasi and their scheduled weather rotations. The rains from the last few days that had kept most ponies cozy and sheltered in-home were finally gone, leaving behind only shallow puddles in their wake. They'd be gone by the afternoon, but the miniature ponds and lakes were an afterthought at best to most going about their day. The only time these watery obstacles were paid any mind was when somepony would have to halt themselves and alter their path before continuing their way.

Chores and errands and meet-ups were now on everypony's minds. They had all felt the need to shake off the last dregs of cabin fever that had a hold on them. Young colts and fillies were finally freed from the confines of their homes and families. They were more than happy to charge headlong onto the streets of Ponyville to meet up with their friends.

Who could blame their euphoria of freedom after days of confinement? Certainly not their parents.

Everything seemed fine. That's how it always starts, though—doesn't it? Right before disaster strikes, and shatters that warm feeling of security and normalcy. No matter how big or small that change may turn out to be, it will always affect somepony., Especially those leveled at Ground Zero, right in the path of the ripples.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Where was I? Ah, yes.

Blue skies. Shining sun. Carefree ponies.

Idyllic. Picturesque. Unprepared for what was to come.

I, sadly, was not one of those ponies, enjoying the bountiful weather. I was buried deep in the earth, trotting between my necropsy tables, the storage fridges, the shelves or cabinets that held the tools or materials I needed to perform my work.

The air inside was much cooler, especially this deep in the ground. I shudder to think what the hot sun beaming down on my fellow ponies above ground would do to the bodies I have here in my morgue. And I knew exactly how it could, too. I don't mind the cold that much, and my morgue was set at the perfect temperature to ensure that bodies don't continue the course of rot. It didn't completely eliminate the decay and merely delayed those effects, but at the very least I could work in relatively calm and peace and without hurry.

I was busy sewing up the body of an elderly pony, my necropsy having been completed.

Cause of death: terminal cancer. The metastasized tumors all along her pancreas were what had done her in, right along with multiple organ failure to cinch it all together. The deceased had come in the night before, right as I was getting ready to close up shop and head home. But when Sheriff Dust Cloud sticks a hoof in the door, there's little you can do to delay the inevitable. Plus, leaving the local authorities with nowhere to properly store a body is simply irresponsible.

When you're the town's only coroner, medical examiner, mortician, and funeral home director all rolled into one, work tends to pile up fast. I used to have an assistant to help with the workload—but that had been in the bigger cities I worked in previously. I was also not the only one doing all the jobs that several ponies should be doing when I worked there. Sadly, when I moved out here to the more rural countryside, I've come to find that not a lot of ponies from smaller Podunk towns can stomach the job for very long.

I once had a young stallion boasting about how he'd replace me in no time once he hit his stride. He went on and on that my lovely little funeral parlour and morgue would no longer be called something so unpleasant as ' Death Dealer's'. Personally, I feel it's apt. I deal with death so that others do not have to.

Once he came inside my morgue, however…let's just say his tune had changed when he had come face-to-face with his first real body. And by that, I mean that he had promptly ran out of my necropsy room puking up his morning meal within ten seconds flat. Ironically, it had been a rather gruesome display that had come in the night before, so I couldn't completely fault him on his reaction.

(A simple home accident had been the cause of death: the deceased had fallen, cracked his head on his coffee table which resulted in an intracranial hematoma that led to a brain herniation. Due to him having been knocked unconscious and unable to seek medical attention, the combined buildup of blood in the skull plus the increased pressure from that led to his expiration. His visiting family had found him, nearly a week later. A number of critters had gotten into his home and gnawed away at the delicacy of ruinous and rotten flesh. The family ended up going with cremation and the service had been much smaller and easier that way. Even with my magic, I had my limits in how I can clean and pretty up a body that badly desiccated.)

My would-be helper did not deign to return to my place of business that day, or ever again. When I notice him in public, he makes it a habit to pretend not to notice me. A personal best, if I do say so myself. No one has topped that record yet, but it's only a matter of time.

It's the little things like that that brighten up my day.

I know what many ponies must think of me and my work. They see what I do as macabre, grotesque, unnatural.

Ponies don't like to think about death and dying. They have the luxury to judge and jabber away while they dance around the subject or avoid it in its entirety. Even as a hypothetical, conversation revolving around the subject is enough to pucker lips shut and for gazes to pointedly look away, and for the participants to quickly find another topic to discuss.

It isn't until death is staring them straight in the muzzle that they are forced to reconcile and have the hard talk that most pretend doesn't exist.

I digress on the matter.

It was a bright and sunny day, unblemished, when the dead came knocking on my morgue's door again. The body in question being escorted to my humble establishment by Sheriff Dust Cloud and his deputies turned out to be two bodies.

I was still buried under all my gear, gloved hooves still bearing stagnant blood and viscera that was more tacky sludge than liquid. The elderly pony would still need to be outwardly prepared for any funeral rites, but my examinations had come to an end. I had my report to finish, and shortly after that, I could carry on with the family and getting them settled for funeral services later in the week.

So much to do, and not enough time in the day to do it.

My horn glowed as I sighed and stripped using my magic, leaving the elderly pony alone on the metal slab for a moment as I buzzed the good Sheriff in through the front doors. When I was working downstairs, I locked my doors up to make sure no one comes in and vandalizes my casket display room. It took exactly one time for that to happen, resulting in me upgrading my security processes for my business.

I turned off the soft music I had playing, the speakers falling silent as I continued stripping of my gear.

Half a minute later, the Sheriff was bustling the morgue doors open, barking orders to his deputies. I was already slinging my completed patient back onto the sliding slab where I stored all bodies, in whatever stage of progress they were in. I currently had two others, not including the elderly pony. They were supposed to be on my roster today, but Sheriff Dust Cloud had insisted I do the necropsy on the old lady first.

I finished stripping myself of my scrubs and with hardly a thought, jerked my head in the direction of the disposal hamper. The soiled clothing neatly crumpled inside, and the lid clamped shut without fanfare.

"You're busting my haunches here, Sheriff. First the old lady, now these two?"

I was annoyed. No…no wait. I wasn't annoyed. I was aggravated. I was already behind schedule. I had two families hounding me, demanding answers on when they could arrange to say goodbye to their loved ones before committing them into the earth's embrace for their final resting place. I was busy surmising that I would have another late night when I noticed something.

The two deputies that Sheriff Dust Cloud had brought along…they weren't as chatty as they usually were. There were no little friendly quips of banter, no awkward or corny jokes to be had. They were stiff, jittery. Spooked.

It immediately set me on edge as I watched them bring the two body bags inside and lay them on two of the three slabs I had. The Sheriff crowded me as I moved to unzip one of them. He immediately stopped me with a hoof to my shoulder and a shake of his head.

"Not that one, not yet. This one, right here. I want to know about this one first."

I tilted my head to peer up at the Sheriff, frowning deeply. "A body's a body. What difference does it make which one I start on first?"

I have seen homicides and suicides. I've seen accidental deaths and purposeful ones. I have been present to many a crime scene to exam a body where it had been found when foul play was suspected. Murder and mayhem and cover-ups, wild animal attacks, natural disasters, and more. I have even once had to deal with a serial killer out in Manehatten once. That had been quite the thrill…in hindsight. Suffice to say, I have seen a plethora of ways one can meet their end. What was more to add to the list?

And yet, what came out of Sheriff Dust Cloud's mouth still found a way to shock me.

"I want this one examined first because he had his mouth clamped around that one's throat when we got on scene."

When it came to death, there were hardly any surprises. Sometimes, it was difficult to suss out a direct cause, but it was only a matter of time. I always found my answers. All it took was a keen eye and some good old fashioned detective work.

I went through the motions. The deputies stood about in my morgue by the door, looking quite uncomfortable as I began to prepare myself and the bodies. I redressed in fresh scrubs from head to hoof, a face shield dropping into place last as I went to unzip the first body. Sheriff Dust Cloud was busy jiggling a hoof up and down on the flooring and I shot him a look.

He stopped, and it was peacefully quiet for about a minute as the zipper ran down the track to unveil the gruesome mess beneath. The tapping noise resumed shortly after I peeled back the body bag's cover.

"I'm capable of handling this myself, if you'd be so kind as to leave and let me work."

Sheriff Dust Cloud said nothing, and instead only grunted back.

It wasn't just his deputies that were so wound up, I noticed. The Sheriff was also on edge.

"Just get this hurried along, will you? I want to know what… this thing…is."

My brow furrowed at his choice of words and instead of pressing the matter, I instead decided to see it for myself.

The pony in question that lay on my slab was young, male, Earth Pony. Roughly in his early twenties. Coat, a rusty golden colour, with a deep black mane and tail. Some of the feathering along his fetlocks were tinged with black as well, as though they'd been lightly toasted from a distance. Cutie Mark: three reeds in what I could only assume sticking out of water. He would have made somepony a handsome partner…if it wasn't for the deeply emaciated state of his entire body.

His eyes were sunken in deep in the sockets, and his lips peeled up so high and tight, his teeth and gums were exposed. I found bits of raw flesh and fur caught between his teeth and inside his mouth (presumably from the other victim). I found he had large chunks of his own flesh missing along his body to reveal parts of the ribcage, as if they had been torn violently from him by...something. I made note to come back to that and moved on. Blood was crusting around his mouth, muzzle, neck, and chest. He was missing huge patches of his own fur; I would have chalked it up to mange, but without definitive testing, I couldn't conclusively say. Speculation had its merits, but only the truth was what mattered.

Buck Doe's skin was stretched so tightly over his body, I could see nearly all the contours of his bones beneath. Muscle mass was greatly diminished, leading to the severely emaciated frame, likely due to starvation, and I could also definitively say he was suffering from severe malnutrition on top of that. Whatever he had been through, I could ascertain that it must have been hell. When I asked for an estimated time of death, they had declared the second body dead on arrival, between the hours of 0700 and 0800.

The Sheriff stiffly told me to keep going.

Miffed, I did as he asked, but not before putting a big question mark under Buck Doe's name and beside the "ETD" marker beneath that.

I returned to Buck Doe's side and began my examinations of the lacerations that decorated his flanks, his shoulders, his neck. Small twigs and brambles were tangled in his mane, mud staining his legs. Wherever he'd been, personal hygiene hadn't been possible. I took swabs of all particulates I could find, and after meticulously labeling each of them, I set them aside. I would have to send them off to the lab out in Manehatten. I had little lab equipment here and could only run basic testing, including any magical tests I could conduct. Anything more advanced, I was out of luck. I would run what I could here, but the rest I could only assume would need those higher grade testing.

I hypothesized on the nature of all wounds I was finding and marked each one accordingly in my paperwork and on the whiteboard, so that the law ponies could keep following along.

I also narrated all of this aloud, both for the Sheriff and deputies' sake, as well as for recording purposes. I always have an audio recorder and a video camera set up in my morgue. Once I had scrubbed in, I had turned both on with a flick of my horn. They were both especially helpful when I had to give testimony on any court cases and could show evidence of my findings. My third failsafe was a still camera. I took my time picking over the body and taking photographs as I continued my external investigation. No more music for me today.

At first, I would have chalked up the lacerations most likely due to a predator attack. Some were oozing pus, untreated and swollen from inflammation. Those were also swabbed, tagged, and labeled accordingly. I theorized further on these injuries, but the closer I examined the body, the more my speculations turned away from that. A bite wound on his rear right ankle caught my eye. I moved to inspect it and used my magic to lift it up in the air to get a better angle. Blackened ichor oozed from the site, staining the deceased's golden fur. I frowned and took another swab, swiping up the viscous material and carefully storing it within a test tube and marked that for further testing. Blood didn't turn black like this. Not unless it was under certain conditions and even then, it was...more than strange.

And yet, a part of me was tickled, deep down, and this felt…familiar somehow. But the more I tried to dig at it, the more it eluded me and my efforts. I finally decided that now wasn't the time to pursue that avenue of mysteries. I could look into it later. Currently, I had more important things to complete.

"This bite wound…it doesn't look like from any Timber Wolves I've ever encountered," I said, musing mostly to myself.

"We've already ruled that out," Sheriff Dust Cloud grunted.

"You don't get the final say, Sheriff. I do," I reminded him, shooting the stallion a pointed look. I returned to my task at hand, ignoring the scowl he threw back at me. "The bite radius isn't from any predator I know of. It's much too small for a Timber Wolf's, even a juvenile. It looks like…"

My teeth clacked together as I shut my mouth. My heart fluttered as the realization dawned on me. I craned my neck to look more clearly at the Sheriff. "This looks like a bite wound from…from another pony."

The expression on the Sheriff darkened. His deputies fidgeted, clearly avoiding my searing gaze.

"Go over what happened with these two, if you can. Please, if you will."

"Buck Doe over there was found on the edge of the EverFree Forest by a few eyewitnesses. They allege that he was delirious and aggressive. They attempted in helping him, but he expired before he could even be moved off to the clinic, let alone calmed down." Sheriff Dust Cloud nodded toward the second, unopened body bag. "Mare Doe volunteered to stay with the body until help arrived. That's when he allegedly got right back up and tore out her throat with his teeth. The eyewitnesses arrived on scene with us to see all that. When we tried prying him off, he attempted to attack us. Took a sharp rock to the dome to put him down."

"I'm sorry, but could you repeat that; you had to do what?"

I stomped a hoof as I turned to face the three law ponies, taken aback. It was a rare occurrence when our very own Ponyville Sheriff Department resorted to violence to resolve any conflict, let alone end a life. It was rare that they got involved in anything. Over the last few years, our troubles and woes had largely been handled by Princess Twilight Sparkle and her friends. From Discord to Tirek to giant Bugbears and hordes of Changelings, this place had become quite the hub for something I like to call "crazy times".

The history of Equestria, however, was nothing short on that in all its entirety.

"We…couldn't restrain him. Not like what we'd usually do when somepony's getting aggressive. There…there ain't nothing natural about any of this," said the roan Unicorn beside Sheriff Dust Cloud. He was new to the department, and I'd only ever exchanged a handful of words with him. I believe his name was Frizzy Pop. He looked entirely too agitated, eyes darting nervously at the Buck Doe on my table. I could see him shaking from across the room where I stood.

Newbies. You sometimes had to chuck them into the deep end and hopefully, they learned to tread water and swim, or else they'd sink. There was hardly any room for an in-between.

I turned back to examine the skull, rotating the head as carefully as I could with my magic. I found the aforementioned blow to the skull. I swept back the mane and frowned as I leaned in closer, seeing that it had pierced through the frontal lobe—

"Don't get too close!"

I was startled at the sudden shout and turned back to face the Sheriff and his deputies. The pearly-grey Pegasus had her wings flared out, pale emerald eyes wide and fearful. Her name was Far Fetch, if I recalled correctly. That was when I noticed the bloody bandage on her rear leg, just above the fetlock. She was keeping it lifted up off the ground, and I could see the flecks of red staining the white bandage.

Again, I felt that tickle in the back of my mind, that trifling little scratching that would dart away before I could grasp and hold onto it. And, once again, I had to stifle it back.

"I need to continue my inspection, please. Don't make me kick you all out."

It was unusual for the Sheriff to be so involved in my examinations like this. When a body was brought to me, it was usually left at that. Law enforcement rarely stayed on the premises during my work. 'Spooked' no longer seemed an appropriate term to describe them. 'Terrified' was more suitable—like they were staring straight into the maw of a full-grown Ursa Major.

They wanted more. They needed more. And yet they weren't wholly prepared to face whatever may come their way.

That something began to tug even harder within me, and this time it was telling me that something big and something so very, very wrong was coming.

I could understand Sheriff Dust Cloud's and his deputies' nervousness.

However, I had standards and couldn't afford to continue being distracted.

I eventually managed to herd the three law ponies out of my morgue when they began getting antsy and uppity, and returned to work. It was at times like these that I wished I had an assistant—one who wouldn't run away and puke their guts out. But I had always made do with the tools I'd had on hand.

When I had worked out in Manehatten, I recall that most of my tools had ended up being literal tools that a construction worker would utilize. There was nothing state-of-the-art for somepony who operated solely on bodies would require to perform their trade in a more civilized manner.

At least here in my own place of business, I could acquire the tools I needed on my own budget, rather than relying on the good fortune of Manehatten's city budgeting. When it came to the handling of ponies after they expire, it almost felt like a taboo to submit a request for supplies.

The mystery of Buck Doe continued.

Once I had the Sheriff and his two deputies out of my necropsy theatre, I could finally renew my work.

At 1203, I made my first incisions. I had been tempted to do this while the law ponies were still here—but the thought of having even one of them puke in my morgue was somehow more unappealing than the literal blood and guts.

I began to peel back the first few layers of fur and skin, revealing the glistening muscles and ribcage beneath. While the blood seemed to have turned black and tacky, I could still identify the organs and they were where they should be. I did note, however, that the blackened staining had tainted what little musculature structure Buck Doe had left. I worked to remove the ribcage, snapping bones, and setting them aside, and from there I could further my examination of the organs properly. I carefully placed them in separate metal dishes, took samples from each of them for later testing, and continued notating my progress.

From the whiteboard to my pads of paperwork, to my audio recorder to my video camera—everything was being documented. I couldn't afford to let anything go amiss. This felt much too important to dismiss. I could feel the pressure mounting my backside, the weight of an unknown presence that demanded my full attention. This didn't feel like a normal necropsy. Nothing about any of this told me it was normal. I still carried on. I had a duty to. No one would believe this unless I did.

I continued to speak, assuring that I wasn't misheard and tasted each word before speaking. There was a method to my madness, and all these redundancies were necessary.

I finally got to Buck Doe's heart, carefully excising it from his chest cavity with tailored precision. A warm, cherry-red glow that was my magic encompassed the organ and I allowed myself a few moments of reflection.

How many times have I had the heart of somepony deceased within my grasp? To have it aloft, as though I was on the cusp of reciting a play?

I weighed the organ, keeping to my clinical approach. Once that was complete, I gave it another examination, and upon finding nothing, set it aside in another metal dish. It immediately seemed to collapse in on itself, and that same blackened ichor oozed from the severed arteries. I made note of this to both my audio recording and the camera.

It took me a while longer to complete my necropsy of Buck Doe. I had made sure to document Buck Doe's Cutie Mark for the Sheriff, although I realized much later on, I hadn't done the same courtesy for Mare Doe before kicking the law ponies out. I somewhat regret that, but their identities were hardly my scope of focus. How they expired and why was my goal to find out. I did make a note to do so, however, for their own records, when they stopped by next time.

Sheriff Dust Cloud could take it from there when I was done with my work.

Mare Doe was largely intact. Her pale blue fur almost appeared white at certain angles, delicate as ice crystals, while her mane and tail were reminiscent of the deep blue of arctic waters. Her Cutie Mark was a flurry of snowflakes. There was no emaciation, tears, or lacerations to her body. She was as healthy as any pony could be. The only signs of determinable distress that I could find was her throat having been torn out.

Buck Doe had fresh blood and chunks of flesh and fur stuck in his teeth, which tracked with what the law ponies had reported. Mare Doe's face was locked in an expression of terror and shock. I began my examination for Mare Doe in earnest. I worked through my external inspection, taking note of everything aloud, continuing through my routine.

By 1330, I made my first incisions for Mare Doe. I cracked her ribcage open after splitting her flesh apart and began removing her organs for examination. Buck Doe's were already in refrigeration, tagged and bagged. I was meticulous and methodical. I had to be. I couldn't afford mistakes. Once again, I had the feeling that this…this was much too important to allow any room for mistakes.

Perhaps it was my intense focus in dictating my theories for posterity's sake. Perhaps it was my focus diverted from the body itself and on the menial tasks outside of it. Perhaps I just wasn't paying enough attention.

Any of these were possible.

I do know that I didn't notice Mare Doe twitching, not at first. I was carefully marking my whiteboard of Mare Doe's lacking external and internal injuries, excluding her trachea and esophagus, the muscles and ligaments, the damage done to her vocal cords. Even if she had survived this, the surgeries and recovery would have been immense. Mare Doe had had a small build-up in her heart that alluded to high cholesterol levels, which could lead to a heart attack in the future, nothing a simple change in diet and menial exercise could stave off—but otherwise, she was a picture of health.

It was the thumping noise that drew my attention.

Hoof against metal wasn't exactly a subtle sound. And Mare Doe was quite clumsy, as though she was a newborn foal attempting to figure out her limbs. Her jaw hinged open, and a wet gargling arose from it, while her torn-out jugular sprayed clotting blood outwards. When I turned to confront the noise, I saw that her eyes were pale and milky, and yet, they were solely focused on me.

My magic sputtered and fizzled out, and my clipboard fell to the ground in shock.

How? How could she see me when it seemed quite clear that her eyes were no longer of use? Perhaps Mare Doe could smell me, sense me, somehow.

Her back legs fumbled uselessly behind her, and they were what tipped her right off of my necropsy table and onto the ground. I winced at the loud and pronounced splattering sound that followed. Her chest cavity sagged, concaving due to the lack of organs inside. I couldn't help but spare a glance at Buck Doe, wondering if he too would suddenly come to life, but he remained inactive.

Only Mare Doe struggled to move, trying to crawl toward me, tension snapping her jaw open and closed. I stared at her, a mixture of wonder, horror, and morbid fascination overtaking me. Her blood, now cooled after hours of stagnation, oozed like syrup from her neck wound, dribbling over her once pristine-looking mint-green fur. A wheeze struggled out of her, and the corpse continued its struggles to move closer to me. I took a step back and then another, and another. I had to wonder in the midst of all this…how was she able to create noise when her jugular was gaping open and her lungs taken out of her chest?

That feeling of familiarity was sharper this go around, more poignant and insistent.

Why did this feel familiar? I don't recall anything like this ever happening to me, or to anypony else that I knew. The dead can't walk. And yet, here I was, staring into the face of a pony who was doing just that.

"Mare…Mare Doe is moving," I said aloud, continuing my backwards stepping. My magic alit my horn once more, as I used the spell to recall my fallen paperwork and quill. It began scribbling away at my behest. I moved slowly, deliberately. One hoof after the other. I used my magic to disconnect my camera from its tripod and swung it around to face the approaching Mare Doe.

"She was brought in with Buck Doe. Buck Doe was allegedly the cause of death for Mare Doe. Sher—Sheriff Dust Cloud and his deputies brought in both Buck and Mare Doe for examination based on several eyewitnesses on the edge of the EverFree Forest. Eyewitnesses alleged on site to having first encountered Buck Doe when he exited the EverFree Forest, acting delirious and hostile before passing away. I hypothesize he died due to his various infected wounds, starvation, malnutrition, and dehydration—but until further testing, I am not confident in listing any of these as the first cause of death."

I continued to step backwards, feeling out my path and giving my peripheral a few glances. Otherwise, I kept my gaze locked on Mare Doe. I continued my narration for my audio recorder, my video camera. The scribbling of the quill was working feverishly.

"Mare Doe stayed with Buck Doe after he expired earlier today—that is, between the hours of 0700 and 0800—and shortly after, he allegedly reanimated and tore out Mare Doe's throat. Sheriff Dust Cloud and his deputies had to resort to a blow to the skull, traumatic penetration of the frontal lobe, just above the orbital wing of the sphenoid. After careful examination, I am confident in attesting that Mare Doe did indeed have her throat torn open by Buck Doe's mouth, as I've visually matched fur fibers trapped in Buck Doe's teeth to that of Mare Doe. Both ponies arrived in my morgue around 0930."

I could feel my own throat tightening, even as I spoke. I swallowed past the hard lump and continued speaking. My video camera was still recording. So was my audio recorder. Good. If things did go sideways…at least they'd have proof of my findings.

"I've completed my examination of Buck Doe first, and began on Mare Doe roughly two hours or so ago. Vital organs have been extracted, including her lungs and heart. This is…unprecedented, to say the least. Mare Doe is…she is currently crawling after me on the floor. I don't know her intent, but I can only surmise none of it to be good.

The corpse tried to lift itself up higher, perhaps even to get her rear legs beneath her. It didn't work, and Mare Doe sprawled along the tiled flooring. Her intestines—still entrenched in Mare Doe's abdomen—began to slither and slide out of her open cavity.

A part of me was regretting having kicked out the law ponies right about now. Another part was regretting not having hired a suitable assistant. I had to stuff all regrets deep, deep down. I whipped my head toward my tray of tools and focused on the one I wanted: a rather sharp scalpel I was particularly fond of that could slice through just about anything that wasn't made of bone. I swung it forward, eyes once more locking onto the corpse crawling after me.

Milky eyes watched after me, jaws spasming open and closed, a raspy sound eking out of Mare Doe's mouth while a mixture of red and blackened blood continued spewing from her gaping throat. Suddenly, my mouth was cotton dry and forming words was a herculean effort, but I finally managed to pull words from the ether.

"Mare…Mare Doe is crawling after me. Her eyes don't appear to be working, as they've become too clouded for functional use, and yet they're locked onto me. Her intestines are dragging behind her now, and I…she's…dead. She's supposed to be dead, and yet…"

How does one explain this without sounding insane? Even with videographic evidence, there will always be a dissenting doubter calling 'fake'.

Bloody drool dribbled down Mare Doe's chin as she continued to pull herself after me. Her front hooves were struggling for purchase. Coupling that with her intestines dragging on the ground beneath and behind her, it was most likely the saving grace that kept her from reaching me any quicker.

"Somehow, Mare Doe appears to have reanimated, despite having been dead for several hours and missing several vital organs, per my previous statement. Her only visible wound is that from her throat, where her trachea, esophagus, and a part of her carotid have been violently ripped out. Cause of death appears to be most likely exsanguination. What little blood that has remained in her body has largely turned black and has the consistency of tar or sap."

I swallowed thickly, as if I could taste that vile black blood in my own mouth. Mare Doe continued to rasp and crawled after me as I looped around my empty table. I could see a few loops of entrails caught on the edge of one table, a bloody slime trail left in her wake. Mare Doe seemed to also have trouble rounding the corners, and perhaps that was a saving grace. It gave me time to think.

"In conclusion, Mare Doe appears driven to come after me."

Mare Doe was still dead. She was still a corpse. I felt a morbid sense of curiousity seep in through the panic.

"I…I don't think if I used any sedatives or paralytics, it would have much effect. I cannot, in good faith, attest that Mare Doe is…is alive at all. She appears to be…reanimated, yes. But not alive. Given that, per my earlier statement, I have removed several vital organs, it is absolutely impossible that she's still among the living."

If I let her get ahold of me, what would happen, I wonder? Judging by how snappy her jaws were, and how she died, it would not end well for me. Call it a gut feeling or instinct. I wasn't ready to go that far to find out.

That thought brought me to a standstill. How Mare Doe had died…

I went over the facts. Buck Doe had had his jaws locked around Mare Doe's throat by the time the Sheriff and his deputies had arrived on site. Before that, Buck Doe had come out of the EverFree Forest, allegedly confused, violent before passing away, most likely due to his various injuries and diminished physical and mental health. And yet, he had seemingly come back to life to tear Mare Doe's throat out.

It always came back to that. Buck Doe had reanimated after dying.

The slap of Mare Doe's hooves against the tile floor echoed like cannon fire in the enclosed space. I continued to loop around my necropsy tables, allowing myself some breathing room. I glanced at Buck Doe, still lying on his side, his innards exposed and hollow. It had taken a blow to the skull, to the brain to stop him. A blow to the brain…

I swerved my scalpel once more between myself and Mare Doe. She kept snapping her jaws and continued dragging herself along on her front hooves. The muscles in her exposed throat tightened, relaxed, tightened. She was determined to come to me. I squared myself, head lowering, horn at the ready. I leveled my scalpel more readily, brandishing its blade squarely in the face of Mare Doe. She appeared unbothered by the blade and kept pulling herself forward.

I huffed, nostrils flaring as I uttered a barely audible apology, and with intent in my spell, I slammed the blade through Mare Doe's skull, right through one of her eye sockets.

For a second time that day, Mare Doe died.

Additional Notes: A necropsy is performed on animals while an autopsy is exclusive to human beings. I'll admit, I've been reading George A. Romero's The Living Dead novel, so hooray, zombies! Can't go wrong with learning from the father of zombie media! Also, those in the medical field tend to go by military time, so for example, "1300" means "1PM", "2000" means "8PM", etc…

Twenty-four hours in a day, the math is easy to figure out!