The Renegade

by Amy Dunne

  Alex ducked back, hoping she’d not been seen. Carefully, she peeked outside again. Murphy moved beside her. He whispered something, but she was too absorbed to respond.

  Two motorbikes pulled up, and after four aggressive revs they switched off their engines, leaving their headlights on. The riders dismounted. All four wore helmets, but two removed them and balanced them on the bikes. Guessing from the size and build, she judged there were three men and one woman.

  The guy raised both hands in surrender, but purposely stood in front of the girl, blocking her with his skinny body. Unintelligible murmurs from the young guy were all Alex could make out. With deliberately slow movements, he took off his rucksack, presented it, and then chucked it out in front of the four bikers.

  “What’s happening?” Murphy asked, edging closer to the door and peeking over Alex’s head.

  “Nothing good.” Alex weighed up their options. If they kept hidden, there was a miniscule chance whatever was about to go down would happen and the survivors might remain oblivious to them. It wasn’t likely. Their only other option, and the best shot, was to try and make a run for it while everyone’s attention was focused on their confrontation.

  “Oh, shit,” Murphy said.

  One of the riders kicked the peace offering rucksack away. The two helmeted men strode toward the guy.

  “Is that a gun?”

  Alex grimaced. Yes, the woman biker was definitely holding a gun. The guy made one last, desperate attempt to protect the girl by charging the two helmeted men. He shouted something urgently at her. The girl froze, hesitating about what to do, squandering her pathetic opportunity to escape. One of the helmeted men marched over to her and harshly grabbed her arm. The female biker looked on. It was clear to Alex who was running the show.

  The guy dropped to the floor after a particularly mean right hook. The two men he fought seemed hell-bent on blood as they kicked and stamped on him.

  “Not again,” Murphy whispered. “I can’t stand back and watch them murder that poor lad.”

  Alex saw the colour drain from his face. Before she could tell him this wasn’t their fight, a shrill scream carried on the wind, the sound harrowing. An icy shiver cascaded down Alex’s spine, causing every hair to stand on end. She took out her handgun.

  “I’m sorry,” Murphy said.

  Puzzled, Alex looked up at him. His sorrowful gaze met hers for a brief moment before he burst into action. He placed Paddy on the ground and ran out. Alex watched in stunned horror as Murphy’s gangly frame sprinted toward the nightmarish scene. With his hands waving high above his head, she heard him shout out to them. All of the survivors turned and watched him approach, except for the guy curled up on the ground. The man without a helmet looked Asian, perhaps in his thirties and stocky, but Alex suspected his body was muscular rather than fat. The female biker was black, and approximately half a foot shorter in height than Alex, although the weather and distance meant she couldn’t be certain. Her black hair was in a tight plaited ponytail. She wore only black clothing, her leather jacket fitted, her trousers plain and tucked into a kickass pair of leather biker boots. It was hard to tell anything else from this distance, but Alex instinctively knew from how the female biker held herself and commanded the men, she was physically fit, dangerous, and most likely a cold-blooded killer.

  Murphy had walked into a death trap. Alex’s brain churned at a million miles an hour. She didn’t have time to unzip her rifle. They were outnumbered. Murphy was on the verge of getting himself killed, but she didn’t want to have to kill again.

  This was going to end badly.

  Their hiding place was breached.

  She needed to act now. They were running out of time.

  With his hands still raised and the sound of his voice reverberating on each blustery gust, Murphy slowly made his way closer. Everyone except the injured guy and female biker watched him with undivided attention. The biker woman looked around, and for a terrible moment, her gaze latched onto the doorway and pinpointed Alex. Alex resisted the urge to lurch backward. Unless the woman could see in the dark, she should be safe, providing she didn’t make any sudden movements. After a few more torturously long seconds, the female biker returned her gaze to Murphy.

  Murphy’s element of surprise had worn off and Alex sensed a dangerous shift in the situation. She got to her feet, but before she could take a step, Paddy rushed outside, his little legs a blur as he charged loyally toward Murphy’s side. Alex’s heart skipped a beat in anticipation of what was about to unfold before her eyes.

  Murphy came to a standstill.

  Paddy gained ground.

  The female rider raised the gun, her face void of emotion as she took aim.

  The burning scream of warning lodged in Alex’s throat.

  The flash of light was miniscule and looked harmless—if she’d blinked she’d have missed it, but the explosion of sound that followed was anything but harmless.

  Alex was down the steps and running before her brain even realised. Her feet pounded the concrete as she watched Murphy slump to the ground. She fought against the restraining wall of wind and the onslaught of icy rain pummelling her. The dark evening echoed with a savage roar that even the wind couldn’t drown out. An animalistic sound tore through the night, and it was only from the burning in her throat that she realized the sound came from her.

  Her eyes locked onto the female rider, who was slow on the uptake of raising her gun to take aim again. Without hesitation, Alex’s index finger pulled the trigger. The note of surprise on the woman’s face was visible for a split second before she was thrown backward to the ground. The bullet stuck the shoulder of her gun-toting arm. Her gun hit the ground a moment before her body did.

  The two helmeted bikers rushed to her aid. The third biker made it two strides toward Alex before she fired again. His right leg crumpled beneath him, dropping him harshly to the ground. He screamed in agony. His hands cradled the grisly crater of bone and tissue that had once been his knee.

  When she glanced down at Murphy, sprawled out motionless, rage and horror burrowed into Alex’s core. Murphy’s top was soaked in blood, and a weak pulse of blood spouted from the burnt hole in his jumper. Paddy whimpered and whined as he nudged and licked raindrops from Murphy’s face.

  Sensing movement, Alex snapped her gaze back to the two helmeted riders. Fury seethed through her in waves. Her eyes burned with unshed, scalding tears and her throat felt stripped bare. She took a step forward, shielding both Murphy and Paddy. She wanted to blow all of their brains out. She wanted to kill each one of them, saving the biker bitch for last. No one could hurt her family and deserve to live. Her index finger twitched on the wet trigger. “You’ve got until I count to ten to get the fuck out of here. Then I’m going to blow you all away. One. Two—”

  The two helmeted men didn’t need any persuasion. Both helped get their injured comrade onto one of the bikes. He screamed like a baby throughout the whole ordeal.

  “Three. Four—”

  One of them then returned to their leader. After an initial struggle to get her on her feet, she shoved the guy away. Tottering slightly, she brushed herself down with her good hand, and with a visible grimace, bent to pick up her gun.

  “Go ahead,” Alex said through gritted teeth.

  The female biker froze in her crouch, her hand two inches away from the handle. Her eyes bored into Alex with fury.

  “It’ll be the last thing you ever do.” Seconds passed. Alex could see the other woman’s brain ticking over. Could she reach the gun and shoot Alex before she pulled the trigger? It didn’t take a genius to do the maths. No. “Five. Six,” Alex said.

  Female biker stood straight and returned to the bike unescorted. She didn’t utter a single moan. Before she mounted the bike, she turned to face Alex again. Her dark eyes burned with a mirrored hatred. Her wounded shoulder slumped and her arm rested uselessly against her chest. A trickle of blood spilled down her chin, and as she grinned, her blo
od-stained teeth looked demonic. “Remember my face, bitch. ’Cause I’m coming for you. And when I find you—” She coughed and spat a bloody wad onto the ground. “I ain’t gonna count.”

  “Seven.” It took all of Alex’s restraint not to shoot her point-blank in the head. She’d give her until the count of ten and then unleash her rage with a shower of bullets.

  The woman struggled to pull on her helmet with one hand, and without fastening the clip, she climbed onto the bike. Both helmeted riders jumped on their bikes. The injured woman gripped the guy in front of her around his waist and both motorbikes started up. Their tyres spun in screeching blurs, spraying rainwater and creating steam, before taking off in the direction from which they’d come. Alex watched until the dark night swallowed up their brake lights before she holstered her gun.

  She dropped down to Murphy’s side, her hands covering the wound, trying to stanch the bleeding, but still, hot, oily, blood pooled through her fingers. The stench of copper and wet mud made her retch.

  “Murphy? I need to stop the bleeding,” she said hoarsely. He remained unresponsive. She pulled off her jumper and firmly pressed the material against the wound. “Murphy? Do you hear me, you Irish bastard? Open your eyes.”

  His eyelids fluttered but never fully opened. His breathing laboured. He was losing too much blood.

  “I don’t know what to do, Murphy. Please? I…” The unforgiving rain continued to hail. It mixed with her hot tears and Murphy’s sticky blood. “Don’t you dare die. I’ll never forgive you. Are you listening to me? You fight this. You fight it, Murphy.”

  Paddy’s howling confirmed what she knew, but didn’t want to accept. The pulsing blood was slowing and she could feel the life leaving his body.

  He was dying.

  There was nothing she could do to prevent it.

  Each beautifully sorrowful wail of Paddy’s canine grief struck at the chords of her heart.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Can I help?” a timid voice asked, from Alex’s left side.

  “Come any closer and I’ll put a bullet in your fucking head. He’s dying because of you.” Alex refused to look away from Murphy, her tears mixing with droplets of rain. Having removed her jumper, her bare arms only smeared the wetness across her face. “Murphy?”

  “Ley us help you.” This time it was the injured lad who spoke. He sounded like he was speaking over a mouthful of food. “Aw he gonna die—”

  “Shut up!” Alex said, her voice breaking with hysterics. “Leave us alone.” She didn’t sense the movement beside her until the material gently touched her cheek. She flinched away from the touch and stared at the sleeve-covered hand. It could have held a knife or gun…but it didn’t. For the first time, she properly looked at the girl. She was young, timid, and vulnerable. Her thin face looked haggard beyond her years, her lanky frame fighting against the wind that bordered on toppling her over. Tears streamed and her body shook.

  “We just want to help you. We never meant for any of this to happen. I swear we didn’t. He tried to save our lives,” the girl said, trying to mask her sorrow. “Please let us help him.”

  Alex’s anger was replaced with desperation. “You,” she said to the lad, whose face and mouth was swollen and bloodied. “Help me carry him under the canopy. And you,” she addressed the girl, “keep this jumper pressed against his stomach.” The girl took hold of the jumper and pressed it against the wound with all her might.

  Together, Alex and the lad struggled to raise Murphy to standing, shouldered his arms, and dragged his limp body toward the canopy. The difference in height made it all the more difficult, and the onslaught of rain added weight to their already mammoth task. Somehow they made it and carefully lowered Murphy onto the dry concrete.

  “Go bring our things from inside that building. It’ll take a few trips,” she said to the lad. He looked like he was about ready to collapse, but he gave a curt nod and hobbled quickly toward the entrance.

  The girl knelt beside Alex and continued to hold the material against the wound.

  “When your friend comes back with our things, we’re going to have to try and roll Murphy onto his side. I need to see if the bullet passed through or is lodged inside him.” She didn’t know what she was doing. Her brain ransacked her memories, trying to draw on the biology lessons from over a decade ago, the basic first aid courses she’d attended, every book she’d read, every TV programme and film she’d ever watched. It didn’t amount to much in terms of practical knowledge, but it felt right to be doing something physical.

  “Ere,” the lad said through gasping breaths. He’d piled their belongings on top of Paddy’s trolley and must have run flat out to bring them back.

  “I need you to help me turn him on his side,” Alex said. Her stomach squirmed painfully from fear. She didn’t want to see; the full extent of the damage would only reaffirm her lack of knowledge. But the only certainty was, if she didn’t check and act, Murphy would die.

  “Give me that head torch.” Alex fumbled with the switch and squinted from the bright glare. She slipped it over her head, letting it rest on her forehead. At least now she could see properly, but it didn’t feel like a blessing.

  The girl kept the jumper against the wound’s opening as Alex and the lad knelt. It took one failed attempt before they managed to roll Murphy’s body onto his side. His back was covered in thick slimy mud and Alex couldn’t be sure if the blood on the concrete was spilling from the front or coming from his back.

  “Can you hold him by yourself?” she asked the lad. He nodded but didn’t look confident. Alex grimaced. “Okay.” She clawed at the mud, her fingers scraping and smearing it away. The lad let out a muffled groan, his body shaking with the exertion. “Come on,” she said to herself in frustration. Something warm touched a finger. She examined the area and gingerly felt the tip of her finger meet with ruined material and a grisly hole. The bullet had passed straight through, but she had no idea if that was good or bad. What she did know was that Murphy was bleeding from both holes—entrance and exit—and therefore losing a hell of a lot of blood. She took on the weight of Murphy’s body just in time as the lad crumpled. “I need you to quickly unravel the rolled sleeping mat on that rucksack and place it here, beneath him.”

  The lad did as she asked.

  “Now, I need clothes to—argh, to pack the wound.” Her arms were trembling from the weight and each breath was a hiss. “Quickly.”

  The lad dropped an armful of clothing and rushed to pack it around where the bullet hole would be.

  “Help me lay him down,” Alex hissed. Together, they lowered Murphy’s body, his face ashen and his chest unmoving. She pressed her finger to his throat but felt no pulse. “No! Don’t you dare.” She placed an ear over his blue-tinted lips. A wisp of breath was enough to make her check his throat again, and this time she felt the faintest of flutters. “We need to cover him in as many layers of clothing as we can. We need to keep him warm. Come on.”

  The lad started tearing through the rucksacks but Alex hesitated, spotting her sleeping bag. Once again she cursed her stupidity. In a flash, she unravelled the sleeping bag and covered Murphy’s body, the blood sodden jumper, and the girl’s hand. “Let me take over. You help your mate find clothing,” she said to the girl.

  As all of their combined clothing was packed beneath the sleeping bag, they placed Murphy’s own sleeping bag on top of Alex’s and rested his head on a pillow. Alex saw improvement in Murphy. It looked like he was warming up; his lips weren’t as blue and his face had a tiny bit more colour—although it could’ve just been her desperation playing tricks.

  Paddy curled up beside Murphy’s face, his head resting on the sleeping bag beneath Murphy’s chin. He’d licked all of the raindrops away and continued to whimper softly.

  “What do we do now?” the girl asked. The lad’s arms were wrapped around her waist protectively from behind.

  Alex shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s not like there’s
a hospital nearby or an ambulance we can call. And without those, I don’t see how we can save him.”

  The girl turned and whispered something to the lad. He shook his head vehemently and mumbled something incoherent, but Alex got the gist from the terrified expression on his face that he was scared by whatever the girl had suggested.

  “We have to. This is our fault,” the girl whispered. Her back ws to Alex but her tone and the sniffles suggested she was crying again.

  “What are you talking about?” Alex asked. “If there’s something you can do, or tell me, that will help save him, you need to do it right now. He risked his life for you. If he dies, and I find out you could’ve saved him but chose not to, I’ll kill you myself.”

  The raging wind’s howl filled the silence between them.

  The girl turned away from the lad and walked out from under the canopy. He followed after her, urgently mumbling and pulling on her hand. She pulled free of his grip and carried on.

  “Shit,” Alex said. She could make all the goddamn threats she wanted, but with her hands stanching the wound, the threats were empty. She watched as the pair headed back to reclaim their rucksack. No doubt then they’d be on their merry way. “Bastards.” She choked back a sob.

  Once again, she was reminded of how much she hated other survivors. The human race was and always would be intrinsically selfish to the core, and the world, a brutal hunting ground. Murphy was one of the most selfless, sensitive, and loving people she’d ever met, even before the Red Death. In the great scheme of the survival of the fittest, they are seen as weak and ultimately suffer more cruelty.

  Her thoughts were interrupted; they were coming back. She spotted the lad tucking the biker bitch’s gun into his waistband. Now they were armed, too. Beneath the canopy the girl riffled through their rucksack and produced a hefty radio. She gave a beseeching glance at the lad, who already looked defeated.