A Shadowing Plague

Plushtrap watched the firelight dance low beneath the large pot, heating up the water inside so he and his father could boil the half-spoiled vegetables they had managed to scrap together from their last skirmish outside of camp. He had learned long ago that it was best to not complain about the taste of any of the food they found, especially in times of famine when they had to search farther than usual to find food left behind during the evacuations. Anything they found on these trips was better than nothing. Food, water bottles, and any kind of tool were all things they took so they could ration it out for the group of survivors they had somehow managed to gather together to increase their chances of survival. Pulling his thin jacket tighter around himself, Plushtrap looked up as his older brothers piled more wood into the fire. He blinked a few times at them, remembering what they used to look like before this entire thing had started. Jack O’ Bonnie, the older of his two brothers, had grown his hair out long and tied it back into a messy ponytail so he wouldn’t have to resharpen one of his knives if he cut it. Nightmare Bonnie, the one Plushtrap was personally closer to had done so similarly, but he would trim it regularly to prevent it from becoming too long. He felt it was too ‘feminine’ for him, and was willing to have to resharpen his throwing knives every few weeks in order to keep it short enough to not be perceived as a woman by outsiders they came across outside of camp. Speaking of which, Plushtrap knew that eventually their group would have to split up, perhaps even splitting him and his brothers apart to make sure none of those they had found got themselves killed without his father’s direction. Much like he knew that in the morning he, his brothers, and his father would have to go back out in search of more food and weapons. They often split up during these trips, which always made Plushtrap worried that he’d have to come back without one of them, either killed by the infected or bitten and almost guaranteed death by it. Plushtrap had seen what the infection did to those bitten; Jack’s wife had been bitten by one of the infected and slipped away into madness as the disease took over her body. He missed her daily, always wondering what could have been if she had managed to escape the infected before the bite.

“So, what’s on the menu tonight, Springtrap?” Nightmare Bonnie’s voice pulled Plushtrap out of his thoughts, making him look up from the fire and towards the sounds of their hushed voices.

“Boiled onions, cabbage, and carrots.” Came the voice of his father’s reply, which Plushtrap looked in the direction of as he watched the olive green rabbit cut up the already spoiling vegetables into the pot.

“What about those potatoes I found in that garden off of Denwood?” Plushtrap asked, drumming his fingers on his thigh.

“Rationed out among those who were hungry today.” Springtrap replied, not looking up from what he was doing.

Plushtrap nodded silently. Those potatoes were the freshest thing they had found in weeks that hadn’t come from a can. It made sense that they had been the first pick for his father to hand out to everyone today while they, those who were more used to the germs, ate the more close-to-expired and nearly rotten foods.

“We’ll have to go back out tomorrow. Maybe take one of the rifles and go hunting in the deeper woods to get some venison.” Springtrap continued, finishing cutting up a carrot. “I’m sure everyone’s dying to eat something other than boiled vegetables and half-rotten fruit.”

Plushtrap nodded in agreement. He knew he was dying for some kind of meat; It had been nearly a month since his last meal with any kind of protein in it. His brothers nodded too as they sharpened their tools idly while sitting around the fire.

“Then it’s settled. We go hunting at dawn.” Springtrap said, his voice carrying a tone of authority that dared anyone to challenge him.

Plushtrap laid awake in his and Nightmare Bonnie’s tent, listening to the tawny owls hooting outside. Staring up at the roof of the tent, Plushtrap allowed his mind to wander back to the days when he was still in school. Such simple times those years had been, not having to worry about survival and the worst thing that could happen to him was having to do extra homework. But those times had long since passed. In the quiet hours of the night, Plushtrap often thought about his old life, those old friends that he wasn’t even sure were still alive anymore. Years had passed since the outbreak, and if their families hadn’t evacuated, then there was a good chance that they had long since passed from a mauling by the infected or having become infected themselves. Nobody had come back for the survivors, and frankly, Plushtrap believed they never would. They’d have to fight tooth and claw to keep a grip on survival, always halfway between starvation and death, until the inevitable came. As Plushtrap continued thinking, he sat up in his sleeping bag, looking over at Nightmare Bonnie, who was heavily asleep beside him. He stared for a few moments, hearing the gentle snoring that came from his brother before he crawled out of his sleeping bag and out of the tent. The gentle chorus of crickets and owls echoed through the sparse woods, fallen leaves crunching under his paws as he approached the dying embers of the fire. Sitting in front of it, Jack O’ Bonnie.

“Thinking of Jack O’ Chica again?” Plushtrap asked in a hushed tone, sitting down beside the fire colored rabbit.

“Yes,” Jack O’ Bonnie replied, sighing heavily. “I miss her a lot.”

“Well, as they say… the price for being loved so deeply is being missed so much.” Plushtrap commented, leaning into his brother’s side as Jack O’ Bonnie wrapped an arm around him. He nodded quietly.

“Can’t sleep?” Jack O’ Bonnie asked, his dandelion colored eyes gazing down at him.

“Yeah… can’t stop thinking long enough to fall asleep.” Plushtrap nodded, closing his eyes as he soaked in the warmth of his brother’s fur.

“Do you want me to make you some chamomile tea? We have a few more bags. Might help you sleep,” Jack O’ Bonnie recommended the only remedy he knew for insomnia, even if their supplies were limited.

“Ye—” Plushtrap was going to reply when he noticed a flicker of movement through the treeline just outside of camp. “Jack?”

Jack O’ Bonnie followed Plushtrap’s gaze to the trees, his gaze lingering on the spot where Plushtrap was staring. “What?” He questioned, glancing down at him for a moment before he looked back to the shadowy treeline.

“I saw movement.” Plushtrap said, his voice quiet, almost fearful.

Jack O’ Bonnie’s eyes widened slightly. “Get in the tent.” He commanded, removing his arm from around his brother. “Now.” He continued, standing up and grabbing a gun from against a bin they had.