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This story takes place immediately after "Spring Break"
"Can you see it?" the Black Rabbit asked him.
"Yes," whispered Hammy. "I see it." It rose cyclopean in his vision: a dark, brooding edifice surrounded by eldritch trees which reached their gnarled, twisting roots into the ground to drink up strange nourishment. "Doomwarren. Doooom Warren." It glistened like polished onyx in the sickly pale moonlight. "Oh... yes... Dooooooom Warrrrren," the name rolled off his tongue like a lover's name, the kind of lover none dare speak aloud but only murmur in frightened whispers.
"You should do something for them..." the Black Rabbit said.
Hammy awoke suddenly to realize he was no longer moving. With a wiggle he pulled himself out of the slashed spare tire beneath the eighteen wheeler and looked out from under the truck. He was in the parking lot of some human diner. Quickly he got his maps and hopped down to the road to look for some highway signs. To his relief he discovered that he was just east of Syracuse.
"I knew I should have taken Route 86," <mutterfluff> "I'd have been in Albany by now."
A breeze carried a familiar scent his way; the scent of his own kind. But there was also the faint smell of grime that comes from construction work. He knew that smell from the time he'd put in digging tunnels after he'd been released from solitary. Hopping quickly, he followed the scent to some unlikely looking shrubs, where, pawing away the dead leaves, he discovered a small doorway.
"Heh." He snuck in. It led to a newly constructed bunnymover tunnel. With everyone on Easter holiday no construction crew was around.
"This must be the new tunnel down to the Parlor City warrens," he said to himself as he eyed the tunnel and the various supplies. He came eyed the welding equipment and had a sudden idea. "Heh. Let's cause trouble." He carassed the tanks of oxygen and acetylene.
Soon he had a tank of acetylene hanging from a chain. It swung nicely when he pushed it. Below it he piled more tanks of gas until they almost touched the bottom of the swinging tank. With a rope tied to the suspended tank he pulled it to one side and tied the rope down. He aimed it carefully so it would swing properly once the rope was released. Feverishly, he duct-taped a welding torch to the top of the mound of gas canisters. With paws shaking in excitement he lit the torch and adjusted the hot blue flame so it shot upwards. Then he covered the rope holding suspended tank in check with grease to make it flameable. Finally he ignited it and bolted for the door.
As he raced upwards he could see the progression clearly in his mind. The rope would soon break sending the acetylene tank in a graceful arc towards the welding torch. The tank would kiss the flame as briefly as it swung away, but it would return again and again, a pendulum of highly explosive vapors. Slowly the pendulum would lose its kinetic energy and the tank would become still, hoving over the hot flame. As he fled Hammy wondered if the reaction would be a series of explosions as each tank ruptured and ignited or whether the force of the hanging canister would be enough to burst all the tanks at once. He made it out the door and was halfway back to the parking lot when the earth rumbled.
"WOO-HOO!" he cried as he dashed back under the truck. Joyously he snuggled back into his mobile hiding place feeling every inch the Fourier he felt he soon would be.
Darkness surrounded him. It enveloped him like a warm protective blanket. He snuggled deeper into it.
"Who are you?" the Void called to him.
Hammy is my name.
"What are you?"
An outcast is my station.
"Where are you?"
The Long Road is my dwelling place.
"Where are you bound?"
Doomwarren is my destination.
"You have pleased me," the Darkness said. "Unto you I will send a drunken angel..."
* * *
He stirred from his restless sleep to discover the truck was slowing down and pulling into another small road. The strong smell of diesel fuel made him guess it was another truck stop. The truck came to a halt and soon he heard the driver's feet hit the pavement and move quickly away. Hammy was grateful for the stop because he needed drop a load himself. He slipped out of the tire and into the bushes.
His hraka done he noticed that the human had left the door to the cab ajar. Figuring that if the human had gone to get something to eat he'd be gone awhile Hammy jumped onto the steps then into the cab. He sat on the seat mesmerized by the dials, levers and blinking lights of the dash board. "Cool," he said identifying the CD player. Moving to the passenger seat he curiously he pawed through the trucker's music selection. There was some obligitory Country and Western, some interesting Rock and lots of stuff he'd never heard of. He was so engrossed in examining the CDs he didn't notice until too late the sound of the human's rapid approach.
"I'm a-ready to fly now!" the human said as he jumped into the cab, seemingly oblivious to Hammy's presence. Then the man stopped and stared at him. The man was young looking, not quite pot-bellied yet, had the scraggly beard that many fairhaired folks had, and eyes as wide as saucers. Hammy froze, his ancient instincts keeping him motionless so the predator would not see him.
Then the man laughed nervously. "Oh gawd, you're real! Ha! I thought the meth was makin' me crazy..." he looked again and busted his gut. "You know what? Bunnies are supposed to be cute and fluffy, but you're the *ugliest*, dirtiest, mangiest rabbit I ever saw." He leaned in closer grinning like a babboon. "I *like* that!"
Hammy reflected that being hidden in a tire had made a mess of his furr. But the human's reaction puzzled him more than scared him.
"You know I *hate* those damn cute and cuddly rabbits," he chattered, "all sugary and big eyed. But you're a mess!"
The bunny looked at the driver and remembered the dream and the Voice from the Darkness.
"Well there Mr. Rabbit," the man continued, "this truck is headed to Boston! Wanna go for a ride?" He giggled manically, "Sure! Me and Mr. Rabbit goes to Boston!" and he started the engine up. "So what music did you pick out for us Mr. Rabbit?"
Hammy pushed a CD toward the driver who picked it up and examined it. "Ho! The bunny knows drivin' music," he laughed as he slid the CD into the player. Out of the speakers blasted hot Rock and Roll mixed with New Orleans Jazz, deep-fried in Cajun sauce.
So this is Zydeco, Hammy thought as the driver, singing at the top of his lungs, hurtled toward the Massachusetts Turnpike. Not bad.
Sonny Sullivan bounced and babbled as he drove. "We're makin' good time here, Mr. Rabbit. Real good time." He vaguely remembered the rabbit getting into his truck back in Albany, but his drug-addled mind was fuzzy on exactly *why* he was taking this dirty, wild animal with him. It just seemed like the thing to do.
Like snorting that crystal meth at the last truck stop. The white powder charged him up and he was ready to do another 24-hour run. Oh yeah. The little packet he had in his front pocket would keep him charged for days. He gripped the wheel and grinned. He was on the road with Mr. Rabbit! It was like some surreal dream, only with special effects called Life.
He let the bunny pick the music and was surprised at the bunny's good taste. Sometimes the bunny would stretch up to look out the window of the cab and other times it would sit very still with its eyes half closed like it was dozing.
"Pull over here."
Sonny blinked. He knew that being on the road too long and having too drugs in him could do weird things to the mind. For a moment he thought he heard the rabbit talking to him. Then the bunny leaned onto the dashboard and ejected the CD. "Hey!" Sonny protested.
"I said, pull over here," the bunny repeated calmly.
Sonny felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. "Oh God, I'm hallicinating."
"Then you'd better get off the road," the bunny said.
In shock, Sonny pulled the eighteen wheeler to the side of the road. The rabbit looked at him. "Heh. You are," it said, "the luckiest man on the planet." With its paws it opened the passenger door. "Thanks for the ride," it said, and bounded out of the cabin.
Sonny sat gripping the wheel for several minutes. Then he slowly got out of the cab and walked around the truck several times. He removed the packet of speed from his pocket and dumped it on the road. "Never again," he muttered as he got back into the truck and motored down to Boston.
"Go for the grinch! Go for the grinch!" the Voices told him.
"Yeah, yeah," Hammy murmured as he bounded through the wilderness. "Go for the grinch. Oh yeah!"
"STOP!"
Hammy skidded to a halt and found himself a whisker away from a rabbit trap. He panted, breathless at his close call.
"I'd better watch it." He sniffed the air cautiously and backed away from the snare. Now he moved more slowly, aware that he was in dangerous territory.
Several miles further on he came across a shopping bag lying on one side of a road. When he sniffed it he smelled lettuce. His stomach growled with hunger and he moved closer, closer... then he paused, listening for the Voices that guided him.
He shook his head at himself. No, he didn't need the voices for this one; he was sure this was bait for a trap of some kind. Surely this basket of goodies held its own version of the poisoned apple.
And after all, there would be food when he finally got to Doomwarren. Strange food. Macabre morsels awaited him. He shivered in horror and anticipation. He just had to make sure that he wasn't caught before he got there. And that when he did finally arrive, that he wasn't on the menu.
"Are you insane?" a quiet still voice in the back of his mind asked him. "They're *wyrmbunnies*. They're mostly likely going to *eat* you. You should run _away_ from this place - not towards it!"
"No," he whispered. "No. I must go on. I've seen too much, I know too much. I'll never be truly ky00t again. Never. No. I belong there."
He turned away from the shopping bag and darted across the road. And the quiet voice of reason was drown in the cacophony of darker Voices that urged him onwards. He could almost hear the music, almost hear the pipes and the flutes.
Panting heavily, Hammy collasped by log. Following the Voices, he'd managed to evade the worst of the squirrel attacks, elude the Fudds hunting him and escape most of the booby traps that surrounded his Terminal Station: Doomwarren. He took a brief moment to lick wounds. The Voices told him the way, but a couple of times he'd been slow to react to their advice and had paid for his inattention. The last mile had taught him a great deal of respect for willow trees.
He heard the change in the whippoorwills' song and dashed away from the log. Hammy did not look behind him when he heard the the wood splinter behind him. The Voices told him not to look back and he knew well their wisdom: he'd glanced behind him once and nearly lost what little sanity he had left to him. The squirrels... the squirrels...
The swamp was hard to traverse but he pressed onwards. He slowed suddenly as razor wire leaped from the ground. With a quick turn he avoided its bite. A sudden sprint took him across a short expanse of water before the tentacles could grab him, but close enough to feel their wet caress. With a sudden burst of speed he leaped into the air, twisting like a gymnast as the automatic machine gun opened fire. It filled the atmosphere around him with the odor of hot lead and explosive powder. He shivered at the aroma: it smelled like victory.
He rolled as he landed and came to a startled stop. For the first time in many months there was silence. Hammy perked his ears up in a panic for the Voices that had guided, guarded, and groomed him for this moment. He heard only silence. Across the strange swamp there was not a sound: even the whippoorwills had ceased their song.
Then the ground opened before him with the clanging of heavy machinery. From the depths emerged a doe with dark gray fur. "It takes great skill and knowledge to suvive Daddy's traps," she said quietly. "You must either be a very determined devilbunny... or you must be Hammy."
"Heh. I'm Hammy," he said catching his breath.
As she came closer Hammy could see that her pelt wasn't as dark as he'd first thought. Amidst the gray was fine black hair weaving an intricate pattern upon her fur. Her golden eyes were lidded and seemed to be focused on some point far in the distance.
"You got my message then," he said.
It took a moment for her to respond. "Oh, yes. We don't often have visitors. Well, ones who invite themselves in. Usually we have to do that for them."
"I would've explained more, but I was in a rush to come," he continued. "The Voices told me to hurry."
She closed her eyes and nodded. Hammy blinked. Had the fine pattern on her fur just... changed? "I have seen your dreams," she said. "How the Voices burn within you."
"It's a glorious fire," he replied in quiet awe and his eyes glazed over as he heard the Murmuring. The Voices hadn't stopped speaking to him, they had merely paused for a breath. "May I come in?"
"Do you know what lies below?" she asked him dreamily. "Do you know what fate awaits you once you pass beyond this threshold?"
Hammy <fangygrinned>, "Either you kill me and eat me, or you grinch me - infest me the Sibylvirus and make me one of you. Heh. Either way, I'm dying to find out."
She slowly tilted her head and motioned for him to follow.
"I do have two questions," Hammy said as he entered the darkness.
"Oh?" the doe responded as the pattern on her fur shifted again.
He watched it squirm and the strange beauty of it nearly took his breahth away. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Mara," she breathed as the door started to close. The clanking sound echoed in the dankness. "The second?"
"What do devilbunnies taste like?"
"Oh," Mara replied as the last of the light faded, "They taste like chicken."
"Heh."
The ground swallowed them up as if they'd never existed. And in the deep bog around Doomwarren the whippoorwills began calling out again.
The End
This little story marks my first 'real' collaboration between the other newsgroup authors and myself. (Not counting Kylinn who is my housemate and editor.) I'd like to extend my thanks to ScottM, Geoffrey and Andrew for letting me play in the Doomwarren sandbox. Andrew gets a really big thanks for trusting me with the character of Mara. I like her and I hope I did right by her.
As for Hammy... that would be subject of another collaboration.
-JennyM
Originally published on alt.devilbunnies between May 16 and May 25, 2002