Plague

There was only one rule: don’t open the door. Even the youngest ones knew it. So Grey’s suggestion made no sense. He must have finally gone batshit…

They reminded him of the story he told so many times: about the plague that depleted their numbers long ago, after which survivors went through the door in search of freedom. All were captured. Now, Grey wanted them to do it again.

Grey frowned. ‘It’s differen’ this time.’

‘We have food and shelter here...’, they said.

Grey snorted.

‘But are we safe?’

Of course they weren’t. The door opened regularly. A giant paw would then reach inside, grab and remove them one by one for some new torture. Sooner or later, everyone suffered in the White Giants’ hands. Many never returned. Some did, which was worse. Because they came back changed.

Grey was the scariest example. His unnatural head bulged, the exposed brain hanging down on both sides. Metal spikes rose from it like a grey aureola, earning him his nickname. No one could look at Grey without a shudder.

Others were maimed too, with deep wounds, missing limbs or additional ones sprouting in random places. The price of surviving in the Giants’ realm.

‘Ahm tellin’ you, Ah been watchin' Them. They won’t be there.’

Apparently, he noticed a promising escape route last time They took him. But did it really lead to safety? Even Grey didn’t know what awaited Outside.

The discussion lasted long into the night.

Two days later, Grey opened the latch. They dashed through the darkness illuminated by a greenish light of the sign above their cage. The sign read BIOHAZARD but none of them could read.

One by one, lab rats climbed into an uncovered ventilation duct – their road to freedom.

Their whiskers trembled with anticipation.

***