Vermin - An Original Short Story by K H Simmons

Part 1 of 3

When they came, they didn’t wipe us out. They didn’t have to. All they had to do was get rid of enough of us that the fight went out of us. Why waste valuable effort and resources polishing us off once we no longer posed a threat? I don’t claim to understand the way they think, because they are on a whole other level to us. What I do know, is that to them we are vermin, less than vermin. However, like all vermin if we’re out of sight we’re out of mind. Sure, they lay traps and take precautions to make sure we don’t bother them. Other than that, we simply don’t matter. As long as we stay that way, that’s how we survive.

I’m not a fighter. Sure, I’ve thought about it, who hasn’t? They took our home, killed our families and left us in the rubble. Fighting is a death wish though. I’m a survivor and I’d like to keep it that way.

It’s not easy, being vermin. We scrounge together a living from the remains of our once great civilisation. We run at the first sign of trouble, it’s the only thing we can do. They have technology that is way beyond ours even when we had a fully functioning civilisation. They wiped out our defences in a matter of minutes. Now we keep whatever weapons we can find, more out of habit than anything else. I guess they help people feel safe at night. The sad fact is, if they decide that they want this godforsaken place we call home, they can take it. And if we are seen to be an infestation of it, they’ll exterminate us.

My people aren’t happy with the arrangement. I can’t blame them. None of us has a choice though. We survive like this, or we die. Unless I’m missing some vital details, there is no other way.

So it is that as daybreak comes, the base comes to life. It was once a garden centre. Home, such as it is, is in the farm shop, the only part of the building with all four walls still standing and the roof intact. The shelves make for room dividers, giving my people a meagre amount of privacy. It did nothing for the sound proofing though. I knew exactly who was getting cosy at night and who was sneaking outside to their secret stash of cigarettes. It was something you got used to.

Groans of life emit from heaps of blankets on the floor as people stir. My breath mists as I sigh and stretch my aching legs. I have to set an example, so even though I’m tired and would give anything to curl back up in my blankets, I stand up and clap my hands.

‘Come on people, we’ve got eight hours of daylight, let’s make the most of it!’ I say with far more enthusiasm than I feel.
The timer was running. People are slower than I would have liked, but this existence did that to you. Every day is a workday, only there are no cushty nine-to-five office jobs anymore. Here everyone works to earn their keep. If you aren’t out scavenging you are building, repairing, sewing or cooking.

Most of the time we might not have to worry about the invaders, but we still have to consider other people. Other groups who might not be as well organised or who think fighting for their lives is easier than working. That meant defences, watch duty, scouts. Not even the kids get a break. I feel bad for them. No one wants to see a child have this kind of life. Most likely this is the only life they’ll ever know. Their school now is the school of survival. They learn how to hunt, how to stay quiet and unseen. They’re paired with adults to teach them how to cook, how to purify the water, how to make a fire. They don’t complain about it for the most part. Most of them don’t know any different, they were either born after the invasion, or can’t remember that time.

It’s around three when Carla and Alexei get back. They’ve been gone for five days, travelling miles to trade with another group of survivors who are set up in the city. We provide them with food, and they provide us with medicines, it’s a good deal just a risky one. Carla and Alexei have to set up camp where they can and hope that the invaders don’t find them. Moving at night is a death wish, so at this time of year it’s even harder for them. We need the medicines though; it’s getting colder and I know we have to prepare for the worst.

They enter through the greenhouse. Once made of glass, now most of its walls are made out of makeshift plastic sheets which does little to protect the plant beds from the cold. All at once there is a rush of noise as people greet Carla and Alexei. However, it soon becomes clear that celebrations are not in order. Their trolley which had been packed with food stuff when they left, is still half full. Only a couple of bottles of pills are nestled amongst them.

‘What happened?’ I ask, pushing my way through to them.

‘Invaders,’ Alexei says, hanging his head. A murmur travels through the gathered crowd. It won’t do to make them scared. Hope is a valuable resource; one we can’t afford to lose. I lead Carla and Alexei through into the little back room that comes off the farm shop, it acts as our storeroom.

‘Are you OK?’ I ask. Both of them seem fine. It takes me a moment to realise what he means.

‘All of them?’ I stare at them both.

‘Sadif, Hannah and Jacob made it,’ Carla answers.

‘Just them three?’ I gasp. ‘What about the escape tunnels?’

‘That’s just it. They weren’t there to claim the territory, they were hunting them,’ Alexei says. His words hang in the air like a blanket of ice. I look to Carla; she nods to confirm what her partner says is true.

‘They’ve never hunted us before,’ I say. ‘What’s changed?’

‘Sadif said they were squealing the whole time. They think they were doing it for fun,’ Carla replies.

I shudder. The first time you hear an invader squeal, you might mistake it for a child squealing with delight or perhaps some kind of animal. You didn’t make that mistake for long. We didn’t understand much about them, but we had come to realise that squealing was their form of laughter. I remember the first time I heard it, when they caught a whole military squadron that was organising the evacuation effort. The soldier’s guns were useless. The invaders spent hours playing with them, toying with them and tearing them apart - squealing the whole time.

‘Keep this to yourselves for now, we don’t need a panic.’

About Me

I'm Katy, but go by K H Simmons officially. I write a lot of sci-fi, dark fantasy and dystopian fiction. If you're here for sparkly vampires, you're in the wrong place ;)

I frequently post short stories on my Facebook page, as well as work on full length novels. If you want more short stories like the above - check out my anthology Death, Demons & Dystopia available on Amazon/Kindle.

When I'm not writing, I can usually be found cuddling dogs, reading, at the gym or playing video games.