The Renegade

by Amy Dunne

  She didn’t buy his Good Samaritan ruse. She also didn’t trust the water. He could’ve drugged it in an attempt to make her vulnerable again. She’d rather dehydrate than make a pact with the devil.

  After a few moments, he looked hurt by the rejection. His shoulders slumped and he lowered the bottle. “Jeez. You really don’t trust me, do you?”

  She refused to give any indication that she’d heard him, let alone reply. In her mind she was happily conjuring up all of the possible ways she could cause him bodily harm. If she could get close enough, she could gouge his eyes with her fingernails. If worst came to worst, she felt certain that she could bite off something valuable…his nose, chin, or maybe even an ear.

  He shook his head softly. “The water is fine to drink. Honestly. You’re only going to succeed in making yourself ill by becoming dehydrated.” He sighed dramatically. He lifted the bottle. “Okay. Suit yourself.”

  She watched in desperation as he lifted the bottle to his mouth and began to gulp huge mouthfuls of water down. Excess water cascaded down his lips and chin, and if she hadn’t been so dehydrated, she might actually have cried tears at the waste. Unable to watch any longer, she threw the boot to one side.

  The guy purposely took another mouthful before moving the bottle away from his mouth. He casually wiped his chin.

  Alex stared at the bottle. This captor of hers had downed more than half of the contents.

  He offered the bottle out to her. “Change your mind?”

  She hesitated. She didn’t trust the water or the guy.

  “It’s refreshing,” he said with an encouraging smile, which only succeeded in pissing her off more. “No? Okay, I’ll just pour it away, then.”

  She watched in horror as he moved to the entrance of the tent and slowly began to pour the water down onto the ground. Unable to stand the torture of her thirst for even a second longer, she gave in and held her hands out.

  The guy stopped pouring the slow drizzle of water and handed the bottle over.

  She grasped the plastic bottle and lifted it to her mouth. The initial taste of warm water was heavenly. Nicer than anything she’d ever drunk before. Once she started drinking she couldn’t stop. The rational voice in her head told her to sip the water and after a few mouthfuls stop. She needed to save the water so she could make it last longer. That way she wouldn’t be entirely reliant on her captor. But as soon as the water filled her mouth there was no way she could stop herself from devouring the bottle’s contents.

  “You’d probably be best sipping it,” he said.

  Screw you! She chose to respond by gulping down the last few large mouthfuls until the bottle was drained. Her satisfaction quickly disappeared as her stomach cramped painfully.

  The guy must have sensed what was about to happen because from nowhere, he produced a plastic bowl and offered it out. She managed to take the bowl and kneel over it just in time. She was sick, and all of the water she’d desperately needed left her as quickly as it had entered. When she finished, her head was pounding again. Too weak to even offer the bowl back, she slumped down on top of her sleeping bag.

  The guy came inside her compartment, and she watched helplessly as he carried the bowl outside. A little while later he must’ve returned, because she was vaguely aware of being coaxed to swallow some tablets with a little water. She was then covered with a blanket, and as he was leaning over her, she heard his voice.

  “If you need anything, I’m only outside. By the way, my name’s Murphy.” He gave a quiet laugh. “At least now you’ll know my name when you’re hitting me. Oh yeah, just so you know, your dog is fine. So don’t worry.”

  She heard the familiar zipping of the outside tent door.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next few days and nights dragged, but Alex slowly began to regain her strength. Infuriatingly, she remained solely reliant on Murphy to meet all of her needs. He provided water, tablets, tomato soup, clean bandages, and even helped treat and dress her wound.

  Every morning he helped her exit her tent and presented her with a steaming bowl of hot water, a bar of soap, a flannel, and towel. He’d take Paddy for a walk to go collect wood for the fire, giving her privacy so she could have a strip wash. She refused to admit it to him, but she always felt better after cleaning herself.

  During the remaining time alone, she sneaked into Murphy’s tent and searched for her weapons. After three attempts, she accepted defeat. She’d unashamedly rummaged through Murphy’s belongings with little remorse. His things looked like they belonged to a teenage boy, with the exception of having no weapons. There was a large stack of pull-ring cans of tomato soup and baked beans. She found a stash of varying types of candy bars, sweets, crisps, and cans of pop and beer. There were lots of packets of batteries, a few lighters, a couple of shoddy-looking books, a CD player, a few CDs, clothes, and his sleeping bag. Basically nothing she could use to aid in her escape. He didn’t even own a razor or tin opener. In the end, she had to give up trying to find something she could use as a weapon.

  Whenever she needed to relieve herself, he would patiently assist her to her designated “toilet area”, basically a patch behind a bush located a few metres away from camp. He’d supply toilet paper and a plastic spade that was practically useless. He’d give her privacy again and return later to help her back.

  She’d considered escaping during one of these bathroom trips but quickly decided against it. Paddy and all of her belongings were in camp and she wouldn’t manage without them. She searched for a decent-sized rock or branch but found only sodden sticks and small stones. With seemingly no other options, she decided to bide her time and allow for her health to restore itself. When she was ready, she’d confront Murphy, then she and Paddy would leave.

  She remained sorely pissed that he’d the audacity to pitch his black tent beside hers. It was significantly bigger than hers, and although it looked fancy, she’d discovered on closer inspection that it wasn’t built to last. Her dad had been a serious outdoors survival fanatic. He’d always done in-depth research on every piece of equipment before purchasing it, and so she completely trusted all of the equipment and knowledge he’d supplied her with.

  She chose to spend the whole day inside her tent so she didn’t have to interact with him. But it didn’t take long to feel like she was going stir crazy. The same thoughts churned over in her head. Maybe she was being unfair to Murphy? He’d saved her life and had made no dodgy advances of any kind. She instinctively knew he was soft and had no survival instincts. He didn’t seem capable of hurting a fly, let alone an animal or person. His haphazard nature frustrated her, as if he was making everything up as he went along, but the more she ignored him, the harder he tried. What bugged her more than anything, though, was how clingy he was. He wanted to forge a friendship, and that terrified her. She couldn’t emotionally invest in a new relationship of any kind because the end result would always be the same: loss and grief. Her heart was irreparably broken after losing her entire family, and there was no room left for allowing herself to care, love, and worry about another person. It was selfish, but it was self-preservation. As soon as she was able, she and Paddy were leaving. Alone. Murphy would find what he was after somewhere else. It was best for everyone.

  She spent most of the next day outside, sitting in a camping chair beside the fire. She enjoyed the fresh air, warmth, and most importantly sharing Paddy’s company again. At first Murphy seemed pleased, smug even, that she’d ventured out of her tent, but she refused to acknowledge him. The only way she could ensure he’d be willingly to part ways when the time came was by giving no hope. She felt guilty, but assured herself it was the best for both of them.

  “Right, I’ll make us some soup,” he said cheerily. He went inside his tent and returned brandishing yet another can of tomato soup. He smiled triumphantly and walked over to where he kept their pans and utensils.

  Alex bit down on her tongue to silence her retort. All she’d eaten since coming arou
nd was tomato soup. For the last four days she’d lived off a diet of tomato soup and water.

  What is wrong with this guy? Maybe he isn’t harmless after all. Is this his secret way of torturing me? If so, it’s working! She couldn’t stomach another mouthful of tomato soup for as long as she lived. “No more fucking tomato soup!” She flinched at the sound of her own voice.

  Murphy spun around with a grin. “You spoke.”

  Alex folded her arms and glared.

  His grin faltered. “What’s wrong with tomato soup?”

  Alex rolled her eyes but refused to answer him.

  “If you don’t tell me, we’re having tomato soup again.” He waited for a few seconds and then turned around and picked up a saucepan. He placed the saucepan by his feet and held the can in one hand while his other hand pried the ring pull. “Last chance.”

  “It’s all we’ve eaten for days. What’s wrong with you? You can’t honestly want to eat it again?”

  He blushed. “I like tomato soup.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Alex said. She raised her chin. “I’m not eating it. I’d rather starve to death.”

  Murphy remained still as if unsure of how to proceed. “If you tell me your name, I’ll try and find something different.”

  Alex knew that was the start of a very slippery downward slope. “I don’t want you to know my name.”

  “Okay,” Murphy said with a sigh. “Can I at least have permission to look inside your food store, please? I only have cans of tomato soup and beans.” He shuffled his feet and his face turned red.

  She felt sorry for him. “Fetch me my rucksack.”

  He quickly did as she asked and she searched through the various items and made her choices; a packet of dried pasta shells, a can of tuna, and a can of sweet corn. “Boil some drinking water and add a little salt. Drain both cans. You’ll have to use the tin opener on my Swiss Army knife.”

  Murphy made no reply or complaint. He carried the cans away and set to work, doing as she’d requested. Between watching him closely, she measured two bowls of pasta out. When the time came she handed them over to him. Her original plan was to eat her meal and leave him to eat his soup as he liked it so much, but she knew, deep down, she couldn’t be that cruel. Her dad would be disappointed in how she’d treated Murphy. She’d tried to convince herself that he was her captor, someone to hate, but that just wasn’t proving to be the case. The fault lay entirely with her. After the terrifying experience with the three evil men, she’d convinced herself that from then on, it was Paddy and her versus everything and everyone. She didn’t want a new friend or companion. Paddy was the only one who could bridge that gap. Murphy probably wouldn’t like it, but she felt confident that if she threatened him with the choice of being shot in the head or going his own way, he’d most likely choose the latter. He wouldn’t know her threat was empty.

  “I need to blindfold you while I go get your knife,” Murphy said, wrapping his black jumper around her head. It worked. She couldn’t see anything, but the smell was off-putting, so she held her breath. She listened intently, trying to work out where he was going, but with Paddy’s panting and Murphy’s stealthy footsteps, she gave up.

  “You can take the blindfold off now,” he said.

  She quickly removed the jumper and dropped it on the ground. She breathed in a deep breath of fresh air to clear her senses.

  Murphy had already opened both cans and appeared to have hidden the army knife again, but to Alex’s horror, he was now holding her hunting knife and attempting to use it to slice a dishevelled-looking onion.

  “Stop,” she said, jumping to her feet. “Put that knife down.”

  Murphy raised his hands. “It’s only an onion. I saw it in your pack and thought we might as well use it before it well and truly goes off.”

  “You cannot seriously be thinking about using my very sharp and expensive hunting knife to chop that onion.” With both hands on her hips, she stepped forward.

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing. So please sit down and go back to ignoring me.” He turned his attention back to the onion, preparing to make his first incision.

  “Use the Swiss Army knife instead. That knife is seriously sharp and should only be used by experts. Which you’re not.” She took another step toward him. “You’ll end up losing a finger.”

  Murphy chopped the onion in half and Alex gasped loudly. He looked up at her. “Wow. Would you look at that. I guess I’m an expert after all.” He chopped twice in quick succession before adding, “Just out of curiosity, how exactly did you slice your hand open?”

  Alex clenched both hands into fists and winced as a sharp bolt of pain shot through her injured hand. She was considering changing her mind about not killing him. He could be an exception. “It’s none of your business.”

  Murphy gave a snort. “I guess you’re not such an expert with this knife after all.” He continued to chop the onion.

  Indignant, but also woozy, Alex sat back down and focused her energy on calming her body. “I cut my hand while cleaning the knife.”

  Murphy dropped the chunks of onion into a small pan and placed it near the fire. “Well, it’s a shame you didn’t clean the cut. If you had it probably wouldn’t have gotten infected.”

  “I did clean it,” Alex said with a snap. Her cheeks grew warm with anger. How dare he, of all people, question her survival skills? She should go back to not engaging in conversation.

  “You did?” Murphy asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “Could’ve fooled me. What did you use to wash it? Sewage?”

  “I cleaned it with antibacterial wipes and cream and then dressed it, actually. So keep your opinions to yourself.”

  “I think I preferred it when you were ignoring me. You seemed nicer,” Murphy said, as he stirred the simmering pasta. “If you’d have done that, I doubt it would’ve got infected.”

  Realization dawned on her. Her good hand flew to her mouth as she shook her head in dismay.

  Murphy looked uncomfortable. “I take it back about preferring you ignoring me. If you say you cleaned your hand, then you cleaned it. I won’t mention it again. Okay?”

  Alex shook her head, “I went swimming in a lake the next day.” How could I have been so stupid? “God knows what was in that water.”

  Murphy was gracious enough not to respond. He continued fixing their meal in silence and a few minutes later presented a steaming dish to Alex.

  “Do you want me to save the leftovers for you to have tonight?” he asked.

  “No. You might as well eat it,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. She watched as he happily plated up the rest of the food for himself.

  “Thanks,” he said, sitting on a large rock opposite her. He quickly ate a steaming forkful and around the mouthful of food said, “It’s good.”

  Alex shrugged off his gratitude and concentrated on her meal. The pasta had been cooked too long and was mushy. She scooped a spoonful of the food up and inspected it more closely. On the whole it looked rather unappetizing but her stomach growled anyway. She reminded herself at least it wasn’t tomato soup, and on that happy note, she tucked in. It actually tasted good. Murphy had nearly devoured his whole portion. He smiled at her and so she looked down focusing on Paddy instead. This was a one-time-only thing. She remained determined that they wouldn’t become friends.

  When Murphy finished eating he cleaned his plate and the used pots with hot water and washing-up liquid, then disappeared into his tent and returned carrying two cans of Coke and two chocolate bars.

  He offered a can and a bar out to Alex. She’d finished her meal but shook her head and watched as he returned to his rock. He placed both cans and one of the chocolate bars beside him. “I love sweet things.” He tore open one of the wrappers, bit off nearly half of the chocolate bar, and munched away happily. He then opened a can and guzzled down the liquid, ending with a loud burp before devouring the last bit of the first chocolate bar. “Sure you don’t want them?”
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br />   Alex shook her head. “I’m not a great lover of sugar.”

  Murphy shrugged. “Well, I’m living in a postapocalyptic world, where everyone I love has died. I’m happy to take whatever pleasures I can get. Nothing you can say or do will put me off eating chocolate or drinking Coke.” He tore open the second wrapper and took a huge bite of the chocolate bar as if to prove his point. His cheeks protruded as he struggled to chew.

  “Are you sure about that?” Alex asked, revelling in the challenge.

  “Uh-huh,” Murphy managed to say through the congealed wad of chewed chocolate. “Give it your best shot.”

  Alex sat back in her chair and smiled. “You’re really very lucky.”

  Murphy raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “To have a dentist you can go to for treatment. My dentist died. Maybe you could let me register at yours—are they reasonably priced?”

  “Not going to work.”

  “Oh no,” Alex said in mock horror. “Your dentist died, too? Shit.”

  “You shouldn’t make fun of the dead.”

  “You’re very much alive,” she said with a smile. “No dentist means no fillings. How are you planning to eat when all of your teeth have rotted away? Have you ever had toothache? It really hurts and—”

  “Enough,” Murphy said, his face flushed. “Nice try.”

  “Thanks,” Alex said. She swatted a midge before indicating to the remaining bit of chocolate. “Are you going to finish that?”

  Murphy glanced at the bar in his hand and visibly shuddered.

  “I’d hate to have put you off one of your only pleasures.”

  “You haven’t,” Murphy said. His complexion was grey and his bottom lip stuck out in a sulky pout.

  “Good,” Alex said, folding her arms. “Bon appétit.” She watched as Murphy slowly raised the chocolate to his mouth and hesitated. Their eyes locked. Murphy opened his mouth and popped the last bit of chocolate inside. He chewed slowly with a lack of enthusiasm. Eventually he swallowed hard, grimacing as the chocolate went down. He wiped his lips with the back of a hand and smiled triumphantly.