A Fragile Hope

Note: This is a continuation of The Year Before. You can read the other sections here:

The Year Before

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As the sun dipped below the horizon, we prepared to leave. Jon adjusted his pack, checking his supplies with practiced efficiency. I watched silently, my mind racing. He worked at strange machine that I couldn't understand. It was loud and stank. But he seemed to think that we needed it.

“You never told me why you're helping me,” I said suddenly. After a pause, I added, "You said that trusting got people killed."

He paused, glancing at me. “It’s better if we don’t get too personal,” he said. “Histories make it harder to let go.”  

He went back to his task of securing the cage to the machine.

I didn’t press them.  

Instead, I said, “Thank you. For helping me.”  

He shrugged, but their expression softened. “Don’t thank me yet. We haven’t done anything but survive so far.”  

Once he seemed satisfied with our preparations he knelt down in front of me and said "I'm going to pick you up and put you on the bike. I'll be riding it behind you. It will go fast. You need to hold on."

I nodded, but didn't really understand what he was telling me. He gently scooped me up and put me onto the machine. It vibrated beneath me, like an angry, living thing. He got on behind me. Pointing, he showed me where I could hold on. 

Then the machine roared into life and I could no longer hear anything above it. We soared across the landscape, faster then I could have ever imagined possible. I clung to the machine with my ears flapping behind me. It didn't take long to cover the distance. Then we back at the place where he found me.

I didn't recognize it. A small field with wild grass and flowers on the edge of a human settlement. But after a few moments of looking, I was able to find my trail of white stones. I pointed them out and explained that this was how I found my way in the darkness. 

The night was still and suffocating, the air heavy with a metallic tang that burned my throat. We moved quickly, Jon leading with a small flashlight that cast a narrow beam ahead. I followed, my ears straining for any sound out of place.  

Each step brought us closer to the burrow, and my heart beat faster with both hope and dread.  

“They’ll come,” I said quietly, more to myself than the human. “They’ll follow me.”  

“They’d better,” Jon muttered.  

As we approached the ridge, I froze. A faint rustling reached my ears, too soft for the human to notice. My fur bristled, and I turned toward the sound, searching the shadows.  

“What is it?” the human whispered.  

“Something’s watching us,” I said.  

The human drew a weapon—a small, sleek object that gleamed faintly in the light. They didn’t question my warning.  

He scanned the darkness with the beam of light, but nothing seemed out of place.

"Let's go," he said.

I nodded.

The entrance to the burrow was just as I had left it: hidden beneath a mound of loose earth and rocks. I pushed aside the covering, revealing the narrow tunnel leading below. The human hesitated, their shoulders tense.  

“Stay here,” I said. “I’ll get them.”  

“Be quick,” he replied, scanning again with his light. 

I descended into the burrow. The air was thick and stale, carrying the faint, familiar scent of my family. As I entered the main chamber, dozens of eyes turned toward me. The rabbits stirred, their movements nervous. Some of the older ones stepped forward, their noses twitching as they sniffed the human scent that clung to me.  

“It’s me,” I said softly. “Don’t be afraid.”  

They recognized my voice and relaxed slightly, though their gazes remained wary. I knelt, meeting the eyes of the youngest among them. “We’re leaving,” I said. “All of us. Follow me.”  

As I began herding the rabbits toward the surface, a low growl echoed through the tunnel. My heart sank. I hurried them up to the night air.

“What's wrong?” Jon whispered.  

“Predators,” I said. “They’ve found us.”  

The growling grew louder, joined by the sound of claws scraping against stone. Jon raised their weapon, their movements swift and deliberate.  

“Get them into the cage,” he said. “I’ll hold them off.”  

“No!” I protested. “You can’t—”  

“Go!” Jon snapped, their voice sharp with authority.  

I hesitated, torn between loyalty and survival, but the human’s glare left no room for argument. I turned and began leading my family over to the cage, the younger rabbits scrambling close to me.  

I opened the door to the cage and began to urge them inside. They didn't trust it. The rabbits clustered around me, their movements frantic. Behind us, the sounds of struggle echoed from the burrow.  

"Please, get inside. It's safer there," I begged.

I turned back, my heart pounding.  

Moments later, Jon emerged, their clothing torn and bloodied. His weapon was gone, but their eyes were fierce.  

“Move!” he shouted, herding us forward.  

Finally, the rabbits moved. We herded them into the cage and I latched the door behind them. They were locked in. I felt a pressure inside my chest. Could I trust Jon not to hurt them?

Jon picked up one end of the cage and dragged it behind him. I pushed it from behind, but didn't feel that I was really helping. I felt frantic and useless.

Hours later, we stopped in a sheltered hollow. The machine waited within the brush near by. The rabbits huddled together, their fear slowly giving way to exhaustion.  

The human collapsed against a tree, their breathing ragged. “You’re insane, you know that?” he said, their voice tinged with both exasperation and admiration.  

“Thank you,” I said quietly. 

They waved a hand dismissively but didn’t argue.  

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, I allowed myself a small spark of hope. We had survived, but the journey was far from over. The world was still a dangerous, broken place.  

But for now, we had each other.