• It’s funny when you think about it. In a movie or TV show when a character would say or do something and we’d think, “That’s so absurd,” like in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, with the character – Anya a demon who had a fear of something so cute and fluffy. Looking back now though, it wasn’t. After the way things have changed, I’m starting to believe that anything can happen, that all those ‘crazy’ ideas in the movies aren’t that crazy at all.
    It all started four years ago, in March 2011, with the nuclear explosion in Japan and in the following months, another explosion in the U.S. The nuclear chemicals caused the genes of a creature to mutate. Then they all bred fast like they do. Really it should have been noticed. It should have been stopped. This should never have happened, but it did.
    There are only a few groups of us left. Only a few of us who can fight for ourselves, for our freedom. There’s no ‘main camp’ yet. We’re not that organised; there’s just too many of them to allow us to group. These beasts are almost impossible to kill – another effect of the nuclear radiation. You need to get them with a shot through one of their eyes. Like I said – it’s hard.
    We go out once a day if we can and try to meet up with others once a week. There are maybe four other groups in this area. It used to be eight or nine. We try to patrol with the others when we can – safety in numbers, more chance to protect ourselves and it’s easier to get a bullseye with more than two guns on the creature.
    Each time we go out we find more bodies. Flesh shredded off, eyes clawed out. We know who did this to them. We know it was the beasts.
    They used to be so fluffy, so cute. With their long floppy ears, cotton tails, twitching noses and long whiskers. I shudder now to think they were ever “cuddly”. Sure I knew a friend who had a ‘rogue’ bunny, a bunny with… personality, character. That was just one. It was nothing. This though, this is different.
    These gene adjusted bunnies, they don’t always eat us in one go. Sometimes they’ll capture people. They’ll use them to build burrows, knock down the old houses and restrain others.
    Just the other day, I was out with George. We were searching for food and I saw someone walking around. I was overjoyed to see someone alive, what with all the fatalities recently. We approached the person cautiously. As we approached, I saw the ‘person’ up close, he looked like my brother, with the dark hair and slim build, and I’d suppressed the urge to run and hug him. When we were face to face though I realised that this ‘person’ wawasn’t sn’t my brother, there wasn’t even a slight resemblance to him when we stood face to face. This person was… different to George and myself. In places the skin was torn away from the arms, with large gaping wounds. I could see the muscle and in some places the bone. The colour was gone from this ‘person’s’ face; dark shadows were under the eyes. This ‘person’ was a ‘working snack’ for the Bunnies.
    I’d grabbed George’s arm in a panic. If this ‘working snack’ was here, the Bunnies weren’t far behind. We ran back to camp and that night we moved.
    I’d been relieved that night. Not over the fact we’d gotten away but because it wasn’t my brother who I’d seen. The thread of hope that kept me going each day, that kept me fighting, that stopped me from giving up, was still there. It was a relief to still have the possibility of finding my brother. If I could find him maybe, just maybe I could have some humanity back. Maybe just maybe I’d be able to find the piece of me that was missing, if I could just find him.
    It scares the life out of me to think of being captured…again. I have a scar on my arm. Long and jagged. It’s from the early days. Back in December 2012; a few weeks after things started to noticeably change. I was captured and fed off, once or twice. I was kept in a pen or cage with others and I always heard the blood curdling screams as the Bunnies fed off others in the room. It was a living hell, not knowing when they’d come, not knowing who they’d feed off. I shake my head to clear it. This isn’t a fond memory of mine. I’d probably be dead like most of my family if George hadn’t found me. Even now, three years on, the scar is still prominent and I know it’s never going to go away. Whenever I look at it I can still remember what it felt like to have them put their nails in my skin and slowly rip it away. The scar reminds me of the unbearable pain and never ending fear I’d felt as they’d tormented me, tortured me. I struggle to sleep at night with the memories that haunt me.
    I don’t know why they’re doing this. I can only presume it’s because we caged them up and treated them like toys. Or maybe it’s because people tested things on them and treated them like vermin. Who knows?
    George means so much to me, he’s the other reason I get through each day. Before all this happened, before the attack I didn’t know him well he was a friend of my older brother and he used to come around to my house, but I never spoke to him. After he rescued me though, we grew closer. He watched over me and nursed me until I was strong enough to start to fight. He’s like another brother to me now he’s the reason I fight through each day. He means more than the world to me and I admire his strength. If he’d just abandoned me, I wouldn’t have made it far after the cages, and even now, without his rationale thinking and survival skills I doubt we’d have survived this long.
    I hear it then and I’m pulled out of my trance. The deep ‘thong’ of the attack bell chimes low and constant for a few minutes. It’s a system we set up, we have one man on guard in a tree a few streets down and they pull the emergency bell. It can be heard all over this little place. We don’t care if the Bunnies hear it. I look around and my mind kicks into action mode.
    “George get the other two ready. I’ll grab the guns.”
    I hear his mumbled reply.
    “We need to hurry and be ready, or else the worst will come and we’ll get caught,” I yell
    I run to the cupboard where we store the guns. I grab the rifle and hand guns. I push my hand gun into the waist band of my trousers and I put the rifle on its strap and over my shoulder. I tie my brown hair into a messy ponytail, to keep it out of my eyes and face. I run to the front of the rundown house and give the others their guns.

    George’s younger brothers take the guns and run up the worn stairs to get a good position. I run the other way, outside and sit in a bush that gives me a good view of both sides of the street. I sit and wait, rifle raised.

    Then I hear the thud, grunt and snort of the Bunnies as they hop down the street. I freeze; the fear roots me to the spot and makes my hair stand on end. I can’t get caught again; I wouldn’t be able to survive living in continuous fear, with the heart wrenching pain of flesh being slowly torn away from bone. I wouldn’t be able to survive listening to the blood curdling screams of people in so much pain they can barely breathe, every day when I get up and every night as I go to bed. I start to breathe rapidly and I feel my heart beat faster.

    Then I see him. Standing in my line of vision is my brother, with his dark hair and blue eyes. Relief floods into me and tears start to form. Then I catch sight of his arms, of the many scars that match my singular one. I muffle a sob, as I silently fall to pieces. The last thing I was holding on to,the one hope that I was sure I had; is taken right away from me in a split second.


    

    “March, March. Left right left,” I grunt to those behind me.
    I hold the leashes of our ‘working snacks’ tightly. I wasn’t going to let one give away our presence like last time. The low chime of the bell they insist on sounding rings through the streets. I snort in displeasure.
    “Faster, before they leave,” I snort in anger.
    We march faster down the street. As we approach a set of run down houses I slow. I look through the gardens keeping an eye out for anything suspicious.
    In a bush in one garden I see the glimmer of the weapons they own, and I hear a distorted sound. I thump my foot on the ground twice to warn the others of the upcoming danger.
    I let the ‘working snacks’ off the leash to go and drag out the Vermin. I hear struggling and shots but I know I have more numbers then the Vermin. After a few minutes my ‘men’ drag out four Vermin. I smile. There’s one girl with brown hair somehow placed on her head and three guys. They look well ‘meated’ too.
    I watch as they squirm in the grasp of the ‘working snacks’. I twitch my nose in delight.
    “Tonight we’ll taste the flesh of the Vermin who’ve survived this long,” I call out to my mob of followers.
    I hear them squeal in delight and I step towards the girl.
    I put my paw to her arm and dig my nails in. I feel the muscle contract as I slowly place my claws further into her skin. I feel it as the skin tears. I slowly pull the skin back and my ears p***k as I hear her blood curdling screams of pain. I pull quickly and my whiskers twitch as I hear the flesh break clean. Greedily I eat it. Enjoying the taste of this ‘new’ blood.
    I sit on my hind legs and wait for the crowd to silence. I rise slowly as the crowd bows down.
    “Tonight we shall feast on the brains of Vermin!” I yell.
    The crowd squeals in delight and I wait for them to quieten again. Once they’ve silenced, I continue.
    “We have conquered yet another resistance. This means they are fading and growing weak. We have nearly seized this town,” I hear more squeals but I continue over the hullabaloo. “Once we are done here, we can start interbreeding with the ‘working snacks’ and eventually, have a race far more superior than either of our predecessors. Then we can expand and help others like us; eventually ending Vermin kind, freeing ourselves from the fear and terror of what happened to our ancestors.”

    I listen intently for a moment as the crowd goes wild. I turn to continue eating my Vermin, savouring each piece of fresh flesh that I eat.