The Renegade

by Amy Dunne

  *

  Fifteen minutes away from camp, Alex’s gut told her something wasn’t right. Murphy was enthusiastically yammering on about something, like always—he never shut up. Fortunately she’d perfected the art of pretending to listen. She’d nod and give a one-word discourse and Murphy remained none the wiser.

  “Quiet,” she said, stopping abruptly. She crouched down, and when Murphy didn’t follow, she elbowed him in the leg.

  “Ouch,” he said, hopping up and down on one leg.

  “Shut up and get down here pronto.” She peered through the vegetation, down to the main road twenty feet below. She couldn’t see anything untoward, but her survival senses were tingling. They used the roads to travel to the next town or village because it was easier to pull Paddy’s trolley. But her main rule for camping away from roads and towns hadn’t changed, although Murphy constantly complained about it.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you now? There’s nothing down there,” Murphy said, looking thoroughly pissed off.

  She shot him her evilest look and he physically shrank back and crouched. After ten minutes of hiding, and with the exception of Murphy being stung by some nettles, nothing of importance happened. With a sigh, she turned to Murphy. He was spitting on a green leaf and rubbing it on the small cluster of red dots on his leg. She hadn’t the heart to tell him it wasn’t a dock leaf he was using. Maybe the placebo effect would stop him whining.

  “We can—” She stopped speaking when she heard it. She snapped her gaze back to the road. Murphy jumped beside her and Paddy remained close, his ears pricked, as he let out a whimpering growl.

  The sound of the engines created a loud ruckus in the quiet afternoon air. Finally, they came into view. One green camouflaged jeep and two large heavy-duty camouflaged transportation vehicles. They were army vehicles, which made their presence all the more peculiar. Two deserted cars blocked the road. As she and Murphy walked everywhere it was easy to go around them, but there was no way these vehicles could get by. To her horror, the vehicles came to a stop directly beneath their hiding place. Being as stealthy as possible, she removed her shotgun and reloaded it.

  Murphy’s hand flew out and held the shotgun, preventing her from lifting it. She glared at him but he refused to let go. He shook his head and mouthed the word “no”.

  The sound of metallic doors slamming drew their attention back to the road below. Two men had gotten out of the Jeep. Dressed in army uniforms and carrying weapons, they were stretching and talking to one another. One of the men crossed to the opposite side of the road to relieve himself. Five men emerged from one of the transport vehicles, all dressed in uniform and armed.

  Six of the soldiers set about moving the discarded cars in their way to the side of the road. One of them smashed the driver’s seat window with the butt of his gun. He reached inside, opened the door, and released the handbrake, then steered while the others pushed. The car moved relatively easily, and it didn’t take long to do the same with the second car.

  “We should go and talk to them,” Murphy whispered in her ear. “They can help us.”

  Alex ignored him. Her stomach plummeted with what happened next. The guy that wasn’t helping the others held his shotgun poised to shoot. Two women emerged and climbed down from the transportation vehicle, dishevelled and distressed. The youngest looked in her late teens, the second perhaps in her thirties, but they were too far away for Alex to be certain.

  They helped a third woman down; she was older, in her fifties perhaps, and not steady on her feet. The women clung to each other, silent. Their body language mirrored one another—heads down, shoulders hunched, tentative footsteps in the direction the gun pointed.

  Alex looked at her rifle. Murphy’s hand was gone. His eyes were fixated on the scene below. He could sense the danger.

  One of the women stumbled and the other two quickly helped her recover. Having moved both cars the soldiers loitered, laughing at the older woman as one shouted an inaudible jeer. The guy leading the women prodded the older woman in the back with the barrel. All three women were ordered to walk again.

  Alex’s throat constricted with rage. She lifted her shotgun and altered the sight until she could see everything clearly. Seven men and three women.

  The women were led to the side of the road and made their way down a grassy verge. The two younger women stepped forward in unison, covering the third woman as she crouched to relieve herself.

  Granting the women privacy, the basic human dignity they deserved, Alex turned her attention to the guy holding the gun. His head was now in her direct line of sight. She felt her fingertip caress the familiar trigger. Just a little more pressure and he’d cease to exist. She tried to bypass her fury and concentrate on being rational. If she fired, she’d start a chain of events. She’d have no choice but to try and kill all of the soldiers. She’d sworn an oath that she wouldn’t kill anyone else in cold blood. Plus, they had guns, and she wasn’t sure how skilled they were. If she was lucky enough to even get off three shots, the soldiers would no doubt pinpoint their hiding place. She, Murphy, and Paddy would be killed regardless of how precise her shots were.

  She looked through the sight again and watched two different soldiers march up to the man guarding the women. The first solider said something, which clearly pissed off the man holding the gun. He replied, but the soldiers stepped closer. After a mini-stand-off, the guy stormed away.

  The two soldiers stood with their backs to the women until one of them called out that they were finished. One soldier helped the women back up, while the other took off his hip flask and offered it out. The older woman took it and drank deeply before passing it along to the others. They were each given something small to eat. The women seemed less frightened of these two men.

  Alex remained undecided. Could she justify risking their lives for a suicide mission? The women seemed to be prisoners, but that might not be the case. The two soldiers who stood with them now seemed decent, and the thought of killing them before knowing what they were about weighed heavily on her conscience. Two more soldiers approached the women. They stood together talking and even shared a laugh. Alex swung the sight back across to the first guy. He stood smoking with the two soldiers who’d laughed when the older woman had stumbled. All three looked mean and had clearly segregated themselves. This group was divided. Thankfully, there seemed to be more decent men than cruel.

  A loud bellowing from one of the nicer soldiers signalled everyone into motion. The soldiers led the women back into the transportation vehicle and helped them inside. In a matter of minutes, the engines roared to life. With clear passage all three vehicles resumed their journey.

  With bated breath, Alex watched them drive away. Guilt weighed her down.

  “I should’ve done something to help those women,” Murphy said, pounding the ground with a fist.

  “There were too many of them. They all had guns. If we’d done anything we’d probably be dead now.”

  “Argh!” He pummelled the ground again. Alex reached across and stopped him. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up breaking his knuckles and then he’d be even more useless.

  “Now what?” he demanded.

  “We go back to camp.” She fussed Paddy, dusted herself down, and stood. “From now on we need to be more careful and get more ammunition. And you need to start hitting those targets.”

  *

  The twilight sky darkened around them and the mood in camp was subdued. Alex was full with rabbit curry and rice. She still had some left and was skirting around it with her fork, trying to trick her overstuffed body into finishing it off, as it was by far the tastiest meal she’d eaten in months, and too good to waste. She’d missed eating fresh meat.

  After an initial protest Murphy gave into her badgering and reluctantly tried an unenthusiastic nibble of some of the meat. She’d watched as an array of emotions played across his face. Hunger won over his principles, like she knew it would. He devoured the meal, mutterin
g through large mouthfuls that he felt guilty. Ignoring his complaints, Alex ate her meal in silence. She thought long and hard about the scene they’d witnessed.

  As the Red Death tore across the globe it was estimated that the death toll had risen into billions. It became clear that there was no way to fight, prevent, or cure it. If the media were to be believed, the great scientific minds of the world remained as bewildered and as susceptible as everyone else.

  Unsurprisingly, medical personnel and emergency services became completely overwhelmed. Doctor’s surgeries and hospitals were the first to close, their resources quickly depleted. Soon no medical staff remained, able or prepared to treat the hordes of sick and dying.

  The army, air force, navy, and all other services of the UK’s military were wiped out in just a matter of months by the same fate. Those few who were still alive and wanted to keep it that way were considered treasonous deserters. Alex didn’t blame them. There was nothing they could’ve done. And they wanted to be with their loved ones like everyone else when the end came. A smart uniform, following orders, and carrying a weapon didn’t make them immune.

  Although it was unlikely, she had to accept the possibility that a few military survivors could have regrouped. There was probably military protocol issued for the end of civilization, to which she wasn’t privy. And yet the more she replayed what she’d seen in her head, the more it didn’t feel right. Something about their behaviour and the group’s dynamics hinted that they were unorganized, sloppy, and unregimented.

  “I should’ve done something to help them,” Murphy repeated quietly.

  “I told you, there wasn’t anything we could do. Let it go.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Keep it to yourself, then.” She gave up the pretence of eating. “Do you want my leftovers?”

  “No.”

  “Suit yourself.” She found his tone infuriatingly sulky. She tipped the remainder of her meal into the fire, causing sparks to fly. Paddy watched the flames from the fire’s edge. He huffed nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t been primed ready to snatch even the tiniest morsel that might’ve dropped. He might not thank her, but she didn’t think spice would have had a positive effect on his bowels.

  “I’m heading to bed.” Murphy stood up and trudged toward his tent.

  “Murphy,” Alex said.

  He looked at her, his complexion ashen even in the flickering orange firelight.

  “It was them or us.”

  “I’m useless at surviving. And I’m a coward.”

  “You’re not a coward. You’re a decent guy. Perhaps the only one left on this planet.”

  “I don’t feel decent,” he said with a sniff. “And you were right. Other survivors are dangerous. I’d say the future of humankind is screwed.”

  Alex walked over to him but he turned away. He harshly swiped at tears and tried to mask his sniffling.

  “I don’t think so. We’re still relatively decent, so there are probably others, too.” Feeling awkward and not quite sure how to act, she lamely gave him a thump on the back. “It’ll be okay. We’ll set off again tomorrow and carry on in the opposite direction. We need to start looking for somewhere to hole up before winter sets in. The evenings are already getting dark and colder.”

  Murphy turned and hugged her, making her flinch from the surprise physical contact. She’d never been a particularly emotional person, let alone a touchy-feely one. After a few seconds of standing rigid she finally conceded and gave a one-armed hug in return. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The rain pelted the medical room’s glass window and locked door. Evelyn had closed the blinds to give privacy, but the rain, wind, and rolling thunder continued to make their presence known. An ominous feeling had hounded her since she’d woken up, and the awful weather only added to it.

  “You don’t look so good, darling,” Joe said, his expression solemn as his blue eyes pierced through her façade.

  “Not the compliment I was after,” Evelyn said, trying to make light of his comment. She started to peel back the Velcro sleeve of the blood pressure cuff, but his hand gently stopped her.

  “What can I do?” he asked.

  She was too emotionally and physically exhausted to keep up the pretence. She wasn’t okay. Not in the slightest. It’d been two months since her forced marriage to Elijah, and the situation remained abhorrent. Three nights a week she was scheduled to fulfil her wifely duties and stay in Elijah’s bed while Jamie stayed with Joe and Matilda. The other four nights she was allowed to return to her and Jamie’s room. The time she’d been forced to spend with Elijah revealed a number of truths. She was correct in her assumption that he was a drug addict. She’d seen the track marks, as well as other physiological and psychological side effects. She assumed his addiction was the only reason she was granted a reprieve four nights a week. She’d never utter it out loud, but she secretly hoped he’d take an overdose and die.

  Worse still, he genuinely seemed to believe their marriage was real. He was tentative. The way he looked at her and even spoke convinced her he’d deluded himself into thinking he was in love with her. Could he not see every grimace, flinch, and tear? How could expressions of disgust, hatred, fear, and anger be seen as anything else?

  No matter how hot the water or how hard she scrubbed her skin, she couldn’t make herself clean. While held prisoner in this place, she’d never be clean of Elijah and his religiously zealot beliefs. People commented on how pale she looked, the dark rings beneath her eyes, the weight loss, and how she didn’t seem herself. She felt like shit. She hoped the less attractive she looked, the more of a turn-off she might be. Each day was darker than the previous. Motivation to do even the most mundane tasks waned.

  The signs and symptoms were clear: Her depression had come back with a vengeance. Throughout her late teens and twenties, she’d suffered sporadically with bouts of depression. It was usually during times of stress or emotional distress. Medication and therapy had helped. After making it through the Red Death and witnessing friends and colleagues dying, she’d felt grief and fear, but they were normal and healthy emotions.

  Her depression coming back wasn’t a surprise, but she didn’t feel equipped to deal with it. No therapy and no medication, because asking Elijah or David would be humiliating. Plus, she was depressed because she was living in hell, and tablets weren’t going to change that fact. On the rare occasion she could be alone or Jamie was asleep, she’d cry until she was empty. Sleep was a luxury she no longer experienced, and exhaustion was only adding to her troubles.

  Another concern was her general health. Low mood, overly emotional, poor appetite, and lack of motivation could all be attributed to depression, but for the first time, her overall health was poor. She felt ill all of the time: headaches, chronic fatigue, and sickness. Self-diagnosis was futile because there were no tests she could do to prove or disprove the possibilities. She tried to convince herself it wasn’t anything sinister; she was young and healthy up until a few weeks ago. It was most likely stress. And to make everything worse, her personal stash of tablets was almost depleted. In a matter of days, the contraceptive pills would be gone. She’d tried to think up a way of getting more, but it was impossible. Elijah and David monitored everything too closely and already asked too many questions. Her worry was no longer just for the women in her care. Without the contraceptive pill, her future was doomed. She couldn’t even think about the consequences.

  There was no end in sight.

  “Your blood pressure is still high. You need to be careful,” she said, inwardly grimacing at the monotone of her voice. “At your age, it’s a concern.” She removed the cuff and put it to one side.

  “You weren’t at breakfast again.” Joe removed something wrapped in cheap paper serviettes from his coat pocket. “You need to eat to keep your strength up.” He presented the bundle to her. “It’s not much. A few plain biscuits.”

  “Thank you.
” She put the gift into a nearby drawer. “I’m feeling a bit queasy at the moment, but I promise to eat them later.”

  “Oka—”

  Before Joe could finish speaking, Evelyn had to turn and run into the little bathroom. For the third time this morning she was sick. Perhaps a bad case of gastroenteritis? No. It’d been going on for over a month now. Regaining her composure, she returned. One glimpse at Joe’s worried expression was enough to make her want to cry. “It’s just a bug.”

  “Are you sure you’re not…”

  Evelyn waited for him to finish his sentence, but he didn’t seem to be able to find the words. “What?” she asked.

  When he shook his head, she stepped closer. “Joe?”

  His hands fell to his side. “Pregnant?”

  “I’m not pregnant,” she said a little too quickly. Lowering her voice to little more than a whisper she said, “I’ve been taking the pill.”

  Joe’s relief was palpable, he sat up straight. “Thank goodness.”

  “I’ve only got a little over a week’s worth left. And it won’t be only me who suffers.”

  Joe stood up and Evelyn recognised the look of determination. “Show me the packet. I’ll try and get this old brain to remember it and I’ll volunteer to go out on the next few scouting expeditions.”

  Evelyn was going to argue but stopped herself. It was their only chance. “Thank you. I’ll look after Matilda when you go.” She pried off the gate and retrieved her stash. She showed him the name and described other variations.

  A knock on the door made them both jump. Evelyn rushed to hide the tablets. She returned the grate, turned back to find Joe sprawled out on the bed. He’d wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm, and although it wasn’t in the correct position, she doubted anyone else would know.

  She hurried to the door and unlocked it.

  David barged past her, followed by Phil and Scott.