Notes: I do not own bunkers.
She crooks her fingers against the candlelight, casting puppets for the giggling children. Here is a bunny: hop, hop. Then she draws an ear down into a crinkled snout, folds her thumb out, and the same hand shapes a new shadow. Here come the sharp teeth: run and hide.
The meeting is still going, low voices at the table quieting when trucks rumble overhead. The virus, they murmur. Not yet. Yes yet. Too great a cost to use. Too great a cost to not.
Which will they be remembered as in the end, she wonders: the rabbit, or the wolf?