Renegade (2 page)

I call for Imrin and within moments he is next to me again, asking if I am okay. I have to tell him to stop worrying, else he is going to drive me crazy.

He supports my feet as I heave myself through the hatch, using my hands to feel my way into the darkened space. There are lots of rough edges as I clamber to my feet and try to find my way
around. It is very dark, with the only light coming from the hatch, but I can tell from the echo of my footsteps I am in a large room.

As I turn, I bump into a tall fridge. Stupidly, I open the door, before quickly slamming it as the smell of something rotten makes me heave. I have no idea when this place would have last had
electricity but in the subsequent years whatever was left inside has putrefied, leaving nothing but the foul stench of time. I have to take a few deep breaths before I can clear my head.

Everything is covered with a thin layer of dust but the room is surprisingly well-ordered as I trace my way around the edges. I identify a larger cooker as well as two more fridges and a bank of
sinks on the far wall. At first I ignore them, focusing on what might be in the cupboards, but then the memory of running water floods into my mind and I find myself turning the taps in hope more
than anything.

At first there is a sputter, followed by a creak of pipes and suddenly there are splashes of water bouncing from the metal sink, sloshing over my clothes. I shiver uncontrollably but it feels
wonderful as I let it flow, turning the taps as far as they can go and giggling in childish satisfaction.

It may only be a small victory, but it is still a victory.

I use my hands as a cup, allowing the liquid to soothe my raw throat and drinking so quickly that I end up coughing uncontrollably.

After turning off the taps, I hunt around the cupboards until I find one that is full of saucepans. The first is so heavy that my shoulder aches but I force myself not to drop it, filling it
with water and carrying it across to the hatch for Imrin.

He drinks greedily and then soaks his hands before using the water to scrub his face.

‘Did you find anything else?’ he asks.

‘Not yet. I didn’t expect the water to be on.’

‘Is it clean?’

‘I’m not sure; it’s too dark. I let it run for a while before drinking.’

When it comes to easing the thirst that has been consuming us, I don’t think either of us is too bothered how clean the water is.

I tell Imrin I will find some more containers and then head back to the cupboards, pulling out as many as I think we can carry and filling them with water. We could bring everyone here and get
them to help dig through the rubble – or fit a few of the girls through the hatch – but I don’t think we should all be out together unless we have to be. I take the pots to Imrin,
who heads off towards the exit as I return to check the rest of the cupboards.

In the darkness, I nearly cut myself on some knives in a drawer but carefully find the sharpest ones and tuck them into my belt. In the furthest corner of the room is another pile of debris,
smaller than the rubble blocking the entrance. I can vaguely see the outline of a doorway and pull away the slabs of concrete I can lift until the space is clear. Imrin is by the hatch picking up
more water but he doesn’t call for me, so I trace the outline of the wood until I find the empty space where the door handle should be, reaching through with my fingertips and trying to pull
the door towards me. Even though my fingers are small, it is stuck firmly in the frame.

I am not sure why but somehow I know there is something useful beyond. I think about calling for Imrin but it is still quiet on the other side of the room. Without a handle, it is hard to get
any sort of grip on the door and it refuses to budge as I wrench it with the ends of my fingers. It is only when my foot slides across the tiled floor on a loose rock that I realise I haven’t
cleared all the rubbish away. I find myself yawning again, my throat sore.

After using my hands and feet to clear away a selection of small stones from underneath the door, it swings gently towards me with the creak of a rusty hinge. The air smells musty and dry but as
I reach forward, my hands close around what are undoubtedly tins of food. There is not enough light to see what might be on the label, but my mind swims with thoughts of sweet, juicy fruits or
rich, creamy soup. I take the two tins closest to me, excited to see what Imrin will say, and then cross back towards the hatch.

There is no sign of him but the rest of the water has been taken. In the few minutes I have been away, the light has changed from the dark blue of moonlight to the first traces of morning sun.
After finding food and water, a little warmth would be very welcome.

As I lean through the hatch, I spot Imrin’s silhouette pressed against the wall opposite. He is breathing heavily and I open my mouth to tease him about how unfit he is. It is only as the
first squeak of a word escapes my lips that I realise it isn’t Imrin at all.

The figure is too tall and wide to be Imrin. At the sound of my voice, he turns towards me and a man barks: ‘Who’s there?’ The voice is gruff and stern:
demanding, not asking.

Quickly but carefully, I slide the top half of my body back through the hatch until I am lying flat on my back underneath the hole in the wall. He repeats his question but I
remain silent, fighting the sudden urge to cough. I place the tins on the ground and cover my mouth, forcing myself to stay quiet as I hear him moving around. Twice, he says ‘hello?’
and I know he hasn’t seen me. Each heavy thump of his leather boots on the concrete sounds like a clap of thunder. There is a trickle of stones as he steps closer and I don’t need to
see him to know it is a Kingsman – the way he is moving and the harsh tone of his voice gives him away.

I wonder what has happened to Imrin. All of the pans filled with water have gone and I
didn’t hear any commotion, so he must have returned to our hideaway at least once. I try to calm myself but my worst fears are flowing: that I have led all these people to their deaths and
I’m going to end up on my own.

I stare directly up and, although I cannot see the Kingsman, I sense him close to the hatch. The mist from his breath spirals through the air above me and for a fraction of a second I smell the
faint odour of wine. It feels as if I am in a battle to see who can stay the most silent. If he had thought the noise came from a rat or other creature, he would have already walked away. I push
myself even closer to the wall, hearing the sudden scrabble of movement before a pair of gloved hands reach through the hatch. There is no way he can fit through the space – but this is also
my only way out.

The Kingsman’s hands paw at the inside of the walls and instinctively I flinch, staying tight to the ground, thinking he is grabbing for me. I want to race away but he is fumbling in the
dark, wondering what is on the other side. He grunts and there is another thump as the front section of a sleek black helmet pokes through the space.

Kingsmen act as the King’s guards, both an army and a police force. They each have identical armour made from a black metal named borodron. It is thin and flexible but – as far as I
know – impossible to penetrate. The material is rare and was used to allow access to certain areas around Windsor Castle. The man is so close that I can see the smooth curves of his helmet as
a thin stream of sunlight arcs around the non-reflective surface. His head twists one way then the other as he struggles to pull himself further into the room. I stay completely still, the pain in
my shoulder suddenly stabbing as my body betrays me. I can see the shape of his square rigid jaw as his nostrils flare, as if he is trying to smell me out.

I count the seconds until his jaw relaxes and then allow myself a small breath as his head disappears back through the hatch. His hands scratch at the underside of the hatch as he withdraws,
sending a crumble of plaster on top of me just as I am breathing in. There is a fraction of a second where I feel myself panicking before I inhale the dust. I try to stifle it but it is too late as
I sneeze involuntarily. Above, there is a moment of confusion followed by a flash of movement as the Kingsman lunges back through the hatch.

This time he has no doubt where I am, launching himself as far through as he can, his arms stretching towards the ground. Despite the agony in my arm, I am too quick for him. I roll away as his
hands brush the tiles, and then I pull the kitchen knife from my pocket, lunging upwards and plunging it into a gap between his armour and helmet, deep into the side of his neck.

In the instant his mouth curves into the word ‘you?’, I realise he is the first person I have ever killed. As we escaped the castle, I led the people chasing us away from the main
group. I have never asked what they went through to get out but the chances are someone in the group had to become a killer.

The Kingsman’s body goes limp, hanging through the hatch, a trickle of blood oozing from his wound onto the ground. My hand is shaking in shock but my head is telling me to concentrate on
whether there is anyone else nearby.

I pull the knife from his neck, wiping the worst of the blood on the wall, before placing my hands on top of the guard’s head, pushing as hard as I can until he slides awkwardly through to
the other side. I try to ignore the trail of crimson, throwing myself through the hatch and edging around to the front of the pub.
Don’t look at him
, I tell myself.
Don’t
look
.

There is no sign of Imrin but the hole in the rubble we created to enter the pub is now larger. I creep towards the gap and peer outside, my heart thundering.

I’ve killed a man. Maybe he had a wife? Children? A daughter who’ll never see her daddy again?

Stop
.

In the time I have been inside, mist has settled across the village, dousing the patchwork of destruction in a crisp frost that signals winter is on the way. My hope that the sun would bring
warmth is quickly forgotten as a few drifting rays of sunlight sparkle through the fog, making me feel colder. Pulling my blanket tighter around my shoulders, I notice flecks of the
Kingsman’s blood along the lining and shudder, remembering the way the blade felt slicing into his skin.

He would have had a daughter, like me. Another young girl without a father
.

Outside, there is no movement and the only sound is the faint call of a bird somewhere in the distance. I brace myself to start running, knowing I could be back at the hideout in a couple of
minutes but then rock backwards on my feet, wondering if perhaps I could end up leading enemies to everyone else.

As I try to decide what to do, footsteps crunch across broken bricks. I duck out of sight, peeping through the rubble as Imrin saunters across the bank of debris on the far side of the street.
There is a blanket tied around his waist and his hands are tucked into the folds like they are pockets. He is mumbling something to himself, grinning as if he doesn’t have a care.

When he enters the pub, he jumps in surprise as I grab his arm and pull him into a corner.

I try but fail to keep my voice calm. ‘Did you see anyone out there?’

Imrin seems confused. ‘No, it’s just us.’ We hurry around to the hatch where the Kingsman is lying in a pool of his own blood. I don’t want to look but force myself
– there is blood everywhere, ruby spatters and oozing pools creeping across the floor.

I
did this.

Imrin gasps in shock: ‘Where did he come from?’

‘I don’t know, I thought he was you at first.’

He stumbles over a succession of words before finally saying something that makes sense: ‘What are we going to do?’

I know this is my life now, making decisions for everyone. I want to tell him about the guilt I feel at killing. Was the Kingsman forced into this job, or did he do it willingly? Did he hunt and
hurt people because he wanted to, or because the King would do something horrible to his family if he didn’t? Did he have a daughter?

I hold my quivering hand behind my back, blinking away the dark thoughts and trying to act as the leader Imrin needs me to be. I speak with as much authority as I can muster: ‘There could
be other Kingsmen nearby. We can’t stay around here any longer in case anyone comes looking for him.’

I slide the thinkwatch from the Kingsman’s wrist. The thinkwatches of adults who have not taken the Reckoning stay a dull white-grey colour. I throw it to the floor and stamp on it as
Imrin looks on, mouth open. ‘We don’t know if theirs contain trackers,’ I add. ‘There are tins of food inside the kitchen that will keep us going for a while. Let’s
get everyone here quickly – we can stock up on food and drink and then we’ve got to go.’

Imrin is rooted to the spot, staring at the body. He has seen death before, so it is not a fascination with that. I think he is shocked at how close the guard came to me, which is altogether
more worrying. I need him to think of himself, of the group, not just me.

‘Let’s go,’ I say, clapping my hands and shunting him back to the present.

We hurry across the rubble until we reach the hideaway. Inside, everyone is awake and Hart is sipping water from one of the saucepans. His lips are crusty and sore but he smiles in gratitude, as
if I have somehow rescued everyone instead of leading them into greater danger. Jela and Pietra are sharing another pan of water, while Faith is fully dressed and ready for action. It looks as if
she has cut her tousled blonde hair even shorter, standing with the aura of someone who will do anything it takes to keep our group safe. Out of us all, she is the person who amazes me the most. In
our society, she is a Trog, the lowest of the low, and yet she has fought for those who would have spent their lives exploiting her. Jela, Pietra, Imrin and Hart are Elites – the highest
level in our society – while I am a Member, the next category down, indicated by the orange of my thinkwatch. Most people end up as Inters, while a few are Trogs. I am not tall but Faith is
shorter than me, feisty and desperate to make an impact. Out of everyone, even Imrin, I trust her the most.