The Killer Bunny of Caerbannog

[Pippi]

((Bunny Barlowe continued from A Rabbit In My Future))

Bunny was a little bit upset.

Hmm.

Hmm, no, that didn’t quite cut it, did it?

Let’s try again.

Bunny was really fucking pissed off.

Yeah, that worked better.

From a distance, you couldn’t tell that she was in such a bad mood. Heck, from a distance, there was a lot you couldn’t tell about Bunny Barlowe. She was seated on a large rock, just by the edge of one of the biggest tar pools. Her arms were neatly folded across her body. Her gaze was fixed on the sleek black surface of the pit in front of her. She looked poised, calm, composed, reflecting on life and her plans for the day.

As soon as you got close, however, that entire image changed. Her clothes were, for lack of a better term, gross as heck. There were rips in her t-shirt and her skirt and her tights, and a huge tear in the back of her hoody. There were bullet holes dotted all over her body, and there was mud caking the hem of her shirt, and her hoody, and her legs. Her shoes were almost entirely brown, with crooked lines running through it where it had dried and cracked in the sun. Her hair, normally so lovingly cared for and washed and loved, was matted and tangled and windswept.

Most notable, however, was the blood, a delightful mix of her own and other peoples. There were dried streaks of blood across her face and her hair, it was splattered across her chest and her arms, and there were long, shaky lines streaking down from the bullet holes covering her.

She looked a mess, and to cap it all off (heh), she’d lost her beloved paperboy cap days ago. By now it was probably resting in the middle of some danger zone.

Bunny fumed silently on her rock, scowling at the thick slurry a few feet away from her, thoughts of shoving Wendy into it running through her head. Wendy. Wendy gosh dang Fischer. There were a lot of things Bunny was angry about, but Wendy was right at the top of her list. The girl had somehow always managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and had done everything in her power to make Bunny’s life a misery. She’d turned Everett and Scarlett against her, she’d done something to make Miranda and Saachi leave the cabin (at least she was almost certain that had been Wendy’s doing), and she’d tried to shoot her and then burn the evidence.

She didn’t know who exactly had been shooting at her in the shipping yard, so she was assuming that was Wendy’s fault too.

Gosh. Poor Kitty. Either she had slowly, painfully bled out, alone and frightened, or Bunny’s unknown assailant had made their way up to the top of the shipping container and taken her out instead, which was the exact opposite of what Bunny had wanted to happen. Goddamnit. God hecking damnit.

Bunny seethed and ruminated, kicking a small rock into the tar pit, watching as it sank without a trace. There weren’t many people alive now, probably just over a handful, and she couldn’t think of anyone who was still alive that she actively cared about. All of her friends had been either early outs or, well… had been Kitty. And now, everyone else was either a Wendy or just… a person. A person she’d smiled and laughed with, maybe even flirted with or talked secrets with in class or at parties, but at the end of a day? Just another body that she wouldn’t miss if they disappeared off the face of the earth.

She made a small, disgruntled noise. Then, suddenly, as though somebody had flipped a switch, she moved, grabbing her bag and tearing it open. The inside was filled with mostly air and crumbs, now. There were a few slices of bread and half a bottle of water, in terms of rations. She’d lost the compass ages ago, and most of her first-aid kit had been used up. She’d gotten rid of the map, fat lot of good it had done her. That left just two things; her flashlight, and her glasses case.

She picked the flashlight up and turned it on. At least, she tried to. Nothing happened when she flicked the switch, and nothing continued to happen, even after she shook it and pointed it directly into her eyes, defying every rule of comedy possible. Really, she wasn’t all that surprised. She’d jumped through a closed window and down off of a shipping container. It was a miracle her legs hadn’t broken, rather than just her flashlight.

Bunny put the flashlight onto the rock next to her, and flipped open her glasses case. Yep. Same deal there. Her hated glasses were snapped in half, one lens completely shattered, tiny shards of glass littering the inside of the case.

She paused for a moment, thinking, looking up at the sky.

“Fuck it.”

Bunny slipped down off of the rock and cracked her knuckles. Then she leaned back, wound up, and with a yell of frustration, hurled her glasses into the black pool in front of her. Her flashlight followed suit before the sleek blue case had even disappeared into nothingness. Her bag went next, hurled underarm with both hands.

She looked at the first aid kit for a lot longer, biting her lip, before eventually slinging it away as well.

All of her bandages had already been used up. What use would a face mask be in a firefight?

Bunny turned back to the rock, and looked at her last surviving belongings. The bread only lasted a few seconds longer, before it was disappearing into her mouth. That left just two things. Her bottle of water, and her gun. She picked them both up, one in each hand.

She was going to be the last person standing. She was going to be the one making it off of the island. All of the people she cared about were dead, so she had no qualms about taking the last handful of people out if they stood in her way. If they decided to kill each other, or themselves, then great! It saved her the trouble! Just so long as they died, and she lived.

And that she was the one to put the gun to Wendy’s head and pull the trigger.

Bunny waltzed off, humming to herself.

((Bunny Barlowe, continued in Though Far Away, We're Still the Same))