Infestation: noun — the presence of an unusually large number of insects or animals in a place, typically so as to cause damage or disease.¹
I slam the dictionary closed. The word certainly describes my life at the moment. Infestation. The only question now is what to do about it. I’ve tried traps, but they only catch one at a time, barely making a dent in the population.
The next step I tried was poison, but the wily buggers didn’t take long to cotton on and stop eating the tainted food. Shooting the bastards doesn’t do any good, either. They may look fragile, but they’re tough little buggers. Resilient. I’ve seen some disgusting creatures running about with bodies covered in scars, eyes swollen shut, even missing limbs and they just keep on going.
And they breed, too. One minute there’s maybe one or two in the woods out back; the next, they’re bloody everywhere. And once they’ve established a community, they are damn difficult to get rid of. Tenacious bastards.
So anyway, I’ve tried traps. I’ve tried poisoning them out. I’ve tried hunting them down. I’m at my wits’ end. My mate says we should just write the place off, move out, move on. I’ll be buggered if I let them have the last laugh, though.
I reckon it’s time to move on to my last resort. If poison won’t work, maybe disease will. I managed to capture a couple of live specimens last night. Children. Tonight, I’ll infect them with Z-Virus. Incredibly virulent. Close to one hundred percent lethality.
I’ll release them in the morning. According to my observations, adults are drawn to a child in distress. My models predict the virus will spread quickly, spreading around the globe before they even realise something’s wrong.
Soon this place will be truly ours.
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Categories: Fiction Friday
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