The Renegade

by Amy Dunne

  “And some flea stuff,” she said, scratching her scalp, an arm, and finally a leg. “Definitely flea stuff.”

  *

  Alex sat on a warm rock beside the deserted lakeside, watching the puppy explore everything. It chased a fat bumblebee until it flew away. It sniffed, had a nibble, pounced, and yapped at everything in its path. The water scared and fascinated it in equal measures. There was incessant yapping, pouncing, and splashing in the shallow water before Alex finally managed to persuade the puppy to come back for a fuss.

  “You need a name,” she said, with a sigh. “But I don’t even know if you’re a girl or boy. I’m not even sure how to even check.” The puppy rolled over on the sandy bank, presenting its tummy for a fuss and happily thrashing its back legs about. “Oh. So, you’re a boy. Well, that was easy.” She scratched the soft furry belly. “Any name suggestions?” The puppy continued to wriggle around happily. “We’ll have to think about it.” She stripped out of her sweaty clothes. “I’m going for a swim to cool down.”

  Wearing her underwear, she walked to the shoreline and waded in until the water was deep enough to swim. The cool water soothed her skin as she glided effortlessly through it. Tired, she rolled over and lay on her back, the water gently keeping her afloat as the sun warmed her. She bobbed up and down until the warmth of the sun disappeared behind a large cloud. Refreshed, she swam back to the water’s edge and was met by the excited puppy. As she wrapped the towel around her body, the puppy bounded toward her, its large paws almost tripping it up.

  “Why are your paws so big?” she asked, sitting so they were on a similar level. “Maybe I should call you Big Foot?” The puppy sat back on its haunches, his ears flat against his head. He clearly wasn’t impressed with the suggestion. “Well, I don’t see you coming up with any suggestions. How about Rover?” No response. “Lassie?” The puppy sprawled out and rested his nose on top of his large paws and glared. Alex nodded. “I suppose it’s a bit girly.” Something stirred in her mind, fleeting, except for the memory of grey fur. She recalled her dad’s friend’s dog—a giant Irish wolfhound. At first she’d been terrified of it; it’d been almost as tall as her. But he proved himself to be soft as butter. She’d loved his name but now it eluded her. It began with a D, maybe Danny? No, it was Paddy. “How about Paddy?” she asked. The puppy wagged his tail. She smiled. “Paddy it is.”

  Paddy lay beside her soundly asleep. His large paws twitched as he dreamt of something exciting. She’d come to understand that he had bursts of energy followed by periods of exhaustion. Mostly she envied the bursts of energy. Her injured hand started to itch and hurt, which wasn’t a great sign. She tried to pass it off as irritation from getting wet.

  She couldn’t relax properly. Her nerves were frayed and she felt paranoid that some unknown threat was hiding and watching her. Other than wildlife, she saw nothing that posed a danger. Both her knife and gun were resting beside her just in case. Trying to stop being so on edge, she passed the time studying her watery reflection. Her appearance had dramatically changed since travelling. Her body was slim and more muscular. Her calves and thighs were firm, the muscles well-defined, her shoulders broad from carrying the heavy rucksack. Her breasts had never been particularly large, but they too had lost volume. Her face was thinner, tanned, and her freckles had multiplied tenfold. Bruising and swelling from yesterday looked bad, but felt better. Only her blue eyes remained the same, but caused a wave of grief at the loss of her dad—they shared the same colour eyes. Her long blond hair, slim nose, thin lips, and dimples were like her mum’s. The nightmare lingered at the forefront of her mind’s eye, but the horror couldn’t overrule how severely she missed her parents and Dianne.

  They’d love Paddy.

  But they would also be furious at her.

  Her lack of judgment yesterday had put her in a deadly situation.

  She’d never be that stupid again. From now on she’d be extra vigilant. Her dad’s warning had been justified. Those few people who survived had their own agendas now, some of which were sadistic and cruel.

  Being a young woman, alone and vulnerable, made her the perfect target. “If I were a man, I bet they’d have ignored me. And no one would have died.” She sighed in frustration and began to tie her damp hair into a bun. She hesitated—a thought too exciting to ignore offered a new perspective. She might not be a man, but that wasn’t to say she couldn’t look like one. With the right clothes and a haircut, she felt certain she could pass herself off as a man, at least from a distance. And she’d no intention of getting close to another person again.

  She took out her Swiss army knife and unclipped the scissors. Kneeling on the sandy bank above the water’s edge, she let her long hair fall around her shoulders. “Am I really going to do this?” She could always grow her hair back if she didn’t like it. “Screw it.” Taking a handful of hair, she snipped it, watching as long strands fell around her. Without hesitation she grabbed another handful and cut.

  A handsome face looked up at her. The eyes, nose, and mouth looked familiar, but the cheekbones were more prominent, and the chin stronger. The blond hair was shorter than she’d dared ever have it, cut above her ears. Not only did she feel a million times more comfortable and cooler, it also suited her. She looked startlingly masculine. A new sense of power and strength surged through her body, rejuvenating her. The bruising added to the appearance of a young, but potentially dangerous man. Unnoticed lines had appeared on her weatherbeaten face. Her eyes flashed with confidence and danger. She felt new. Reborn. In fact, the face of the man was so convincing, she found she couldn’t quite hold his gaze.

  “Once I’ve got some clothes, I’ll look the part,” she said, noticing her tone was lower than usual. Paddy stirred next to her. “So, what do you think?”

  Paddy blinked twice, cocked his head to the side, and then wagged his tail in approval.

  Chapter Six

  “Are you sure it’s okay for Jamie to stay over tonight?” Evelyn asked. She spoke quietly in the hope that Jamie wouldn’t hear.

  Joe nodded. “Of course.” He gave a deep sigh and shook his head. “I’m not happy about you being forced to go meet him. Especially alone.”

  “I’m not too thrilled either,” Evelyn said. She could tell Joe was worried and it meant a lot to have someone care. He was one of two elderly men in the camp. His white hair was sparse, but he made up for it with a thick beard and stray hairs sticking out of his nose and ears. He was a blue-eyed, gentle giant and her only trusted conspirator. Together they secretly discussed the possibilities of escape. If it wasn’t for him, she didn’t know how she would’ve kept sane this long.

  “You say it’s just to dine with him. He’s never done that before, has he?”

  Evelyn shook her head. “And I haven’t gone back to our room yet to see what clothing he’s provided. I’m dreading it.”

  “Maybe it will be just a meal.” Joe’s voice lacked conviction. “Eat, make polite chitchat, and then get the hell out of there.”

  “I’ve just got this awful feeling he’s going to try something.”

  “I sure hope that feeling’s wrong.”

  “Me too.” She turned her attention to look outside. Jamie was playing with Matilda, helping to pick daisies and make a long chain.

  Matilda was three years old. Joe had lived on her street and had shared occasional pleasantries with her family in passing. He’d helped bury many of the residents, including all of Matilda’s family, in the end. Only she and he survived. He hadn’t hesitated in taking her in and becoming her guardian, which was no mean feat at seventy-four years of age.

  One day, he spotted Elijah, David, and some other soldiers in his village. They were dressed in army attire, had weapons, and drove army wagons. He foolishly believed they were there to help. He was escorted back to his home and given five minutes to pack any essentials, then he and Matilda were led to a wagon and locked in “for their own safety”. They were two of the first people to be welcome
d into Elijah’s Rapture’s Haven.

  Joe had confided to Evelyn it was the biggest mistake he’d ever made. He was adamant he wouldn’t stop planning until he, Matilda, Jamie, and Evelyn escaped.

  “He’s gone on enough about the sanctity of marriage to the point where I think he’s managed to convince himself. If you have to remind him, so be it. I’ll wait up until you return. I sure wish there was something more I could do, darling.”

  Evelyn took hold of his spade-like hand and gave it a squeeze. “You do more than enough. I don’t think I’d cope without you.”

  “You’re stronger than you know. You’re passionate and know your own mind, just like my Betty. That’s a good way to be.”

  He didn’t talk about Betty often because it was still painful for him. Betty had died of a heart attack eight years earlier, and his grief for her passing was as strong today as on the day it happened. They’d gotten married at eighteen and spent forty-eight wonderful years together.

  “I wish I could’ve known her.”

  “You two would’ve gotten on like a house on fire. I know she’s waiting for me up there, but I swore a promise that I won’t let these old bones rest until Matilda is safe. I intend to see it through.”

  “We’ll escape. It’s just going to take some planning. I better head out there and tell Jamie about tonight. I don’t think he’s going to be happy.”

  Joe pulled her into a hug. “He’ll be scared for you. You can’t blame him for that. I’m scared, too.”

  “We’ll get out of here soon. I have to believe it.” She broke the embrace and tried to regain her composure. She needed to appear strong for Jamie’s sake. “In the meantime, I’ll do what I have to, to keep Jamie, you, and Matilda safe.”

  As she started to walk away Joe’s voice followed her: “That’s what worries me, darling. That’s what worries me.”

  *

  Evelyn studied her reflection and felt only hatred. Her stomach churned, making the dread and fear slosh around inside her. She hated the dress. In fact, calling it a dress didn’t do the monstrosity justice. It was a ball gown, on par with a bloody wedding dress.

  The rich burgundy material was heavy and flowing. The hem fell to just below her ankles. The waist pulled in tight and the bodice had detailed bead and diamante work. There were no straps. The dress design cupped her breasts and seemed to showcase them perfectly. Infuriatingly, her stomach looked miraculously thinner. The material clung to her hips and backside in such a way that emphasized her femininity.

  In the old world, she would’ve sold her soul to own a dress like this. It was like it’d been especially tailored for her body only. She looked good. Hell, she looked stunning. And that was what made this situation all the more ludicrous. “Shit.”

  She didn’t want to encourage Elijah’s advances in any way, shape, or form. The thought of him leering over her made her skin break out in a cold sweat. The dress made her look sexy, and she despised it. She’d tried to pluck up the courage to say it didn’t fit. But before she could take it off Claire had burst into the room without knocking, carrying some other gifts from Elijah. The old woman had seen that the dress fit perfectly. Her nasty eyes took in everything. With a vicious sneer on her wrinkled face, she hissed something about a whore and damnation before dropping the packages on the floor and storming from the room.

  With no choice, Evelyn resigned herself to wearing the dress. But she’d no intention of giving up her fight that easily. She’d spent years spurning the advances of persistent guys, but none of them had been anywhere near as determined or dangerous as Elijah.

  She messed with her hair for nearly ten minutes trying to find a style that didn’t look like she’d gone to any effort but that might also detract from the dress. Nothing worked. In the end, she tied it up in a simple ponytail. It took two attempts, which involved an inability to draw breath and some creaking noises from the seams of the dress, before she finally managed to pick up the stuff Claire had dropped. She opened the first box and scoffed at the jewellery that gleamed up at her. She wasn’t an expert, but the stones encased in gold sure looked like rubies to her. The set was complete with earrings. They looked gaudy, especially when taken in the context of Evelyn’s situation. She was a doctor living in a manmade prison where humble basics were taught to be the way of the Lord God. The jewellery was fit for royalty and was not only in poor taste, but also garish. She was so far out of her depth she wasn’t sure how she’d be able to keep control.

  “I’m scared shitless,” she said quietly with a shaky breath. “Just grin and bear it.”

  She lifted the lid off the next box and gasped at the expensive-looking pair of black shoes. They were gorgeous, and the shiny red-lacquered soles confirmed her initial identification. A trembling fingertip traced the rise and fall of one of the shoes. In her past life, she’d always promised to one day spoil herself by saving up and buying a pair. She never did. But her choice wouldn’t have been dissimilar from the ones in front of her. Shaking her head, she clamped both hands over her mouth. She wanted to scream but knew doing so would be a mistake. The walls were thin and most definitely had ears.

  What exactly did Elijah expect from her in return for all of these exquisite but unwanted gifts? What was he planning? It had to be something big, or else why go to all this trouble? She glanced at her watch and saw her time was nearly up. After a split second of deliberation, she made a decision. She put on the necklace and earrings, as there was no reasonable excuse for not wearing them. With a slight regret, she returned the lid to the shoebox and pulled on her trusty walking boots instead. When asked, she’d claim they didn’t fit.

  She looked herself up and down in the mirror’s reflection and smiled. The boots certainly helped lower the tone. Fortunately, she didn’t own any makeup and so didn’t have to go through the motions of dolling herself up. She lifted an arm to spray deodorant, did a double take, and burst out laughing. The underarm hair growth was pretty spectacular. Seeing as razors weren’t permitted for lowly womenfolk, Elijah had no one to blame but himself. Her index finger was poised on the deodorant’s nozzle, but she thought better of it. Unshaven body hair and sweaty pits were two things she could use to her advantage. “Look at them and weep, loverboy.”

  She had one last fleeting glance in the mirror when a sudden pounding struck the door. She flinched from the startle. Heart hammering, she tentatively crept to the door and, after mustering what little confidence she had, opened it.

  David looked her up and down, but no emotion registered on his face.

  “What do you want?” she asked, lamely attempting to cover her chest with her arms.

  “I’m escorting you.”

  “That won’t be necessary—”

  “Where are the shoes he sent?”

  Evelyn raised her chin and told the barefaced lie. “They don’t fit.” She watched David carefully, trying to assess if he believed her.

  “Try them again.”

  “No,” she said, trying to instil an air of confidence in her tone. “We’re almost out of time. If I’m late, your escorting skills are going to come under scrutiny.”

  After what felt like a lifetime, David stepped back, giving her room to walk out into the corridor. As she took a booted step across the threshold he spoke.

  “Where’s the kid?”

  “Jamie,” she said angrily, making a point of saying his name, “is staying with Joe and Matilda tonight.”

  David didn’t bother replaying.

  The bedrooms were on communal corridors of ten. Everyone else would be in the mess hall for the evening meal. It was a small mercy that no one else would witness her dressed up like this. She closed the door. None of the locks worked, so privacy was mostly an illusion. Each night when she and Jamie sought sanctuary in their room, she’d finally let her guard down a little. Providing they whispered beneath the blankets, she felt sure they couldn’t be heard. She always moved the chair in front of the door. It wouldn’t do much in the way o
f keeping someone out, but they’d at least know if someone tried to get in.

  “Stop dragging it,” David said, his eyes focused straight ahead.

  It took Evelyn a few seconds to make sense of his stern order. She looked down and saw the back of the dress was trailing a little on the ground. Gritting her teeth, she lifted the material so the hem was raised an inch off the ground. As she stomped to keep up with David’s lengthy strides, she noticed his knuckles were red with fresh bruising. An involuntary shudder travelled down her spine.

  “What’s going on? Why am I dressed up like a member of the royal fucking family?” she asked. “I have a right to know.”

  David ignored her and powered on.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said, rushing to catch up. “Why’s he doing this? What’s he planning? David, answer me.” She felt foolish for practically begging him, but the closer they got to the building, the more panic and fear set in. “Tell me, or I’m not taking another step.” To add credence to her threat, she stopped walking and glared. “You ignorant son of a bitc—”

  “Shut up,” David said, his tone a low, menacing growl. He turned and rushed her, his face thrust close to hers. “Listen carefully. You don’t have any rights. You don’t have any choices. Surely you know that by now?” He took half a step closer, his body a hairsbreadth away from hers.

  She tried to move away from him, but his hand gripped her upper arm. His touch was light and caused no pain, but it felt foreign and unwelcome. She was rendered paralysed. “I—”

  “You might be deluded enough to think in that pretty little head of yours that you get some kind of say here. Hell, it might even sound like you do. But you don’t.”

  Evelyn opened her mouth but her words were held captive by fear. She could smell stale cigarettes on David’s breath. He was so close. Her body recoiled of its own accord, instinctive self-protection.