Fractured Silhouettes
The supplies were packed tight into their shared bags, but the weight wasn't what made her uneasy. The air in the gas station felt different---charged, like a storm about to break.
She scanned Quinn as they left the building, his expression giving nothing away. Yet she didn't miss the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his hand lingered on his chest for longer periods.
He was injured, and that too since yesterday.
"Let me see," she said, stepping in front of him.
Quinn gave her look that was equal parts defiance and amusement. "I'm fine."
"You're bleeding," she said noticing the darker stains on his black shirt.
"It's nothing."
The growl of frustration in her throat was nearly audible. She moved closer despite his glare and grabbed his arm. "You're not some invincible action hero, and if you drop dead because of an infection, I'll leave your body for the vultures and infected."
His smirk faded at her words. For a moment, they stood there in silence, the tension thick enough to choke on.
Finally, he sighed, his shoulders dropping just slightly. "Fine. No questions and make it quick."
She nodded, pulling out the small med kit they'd scavenged. His body was littered with scars of different sizes but that wasn't her main concern, the gash wasn't as deep as she'd feared, but the dark, almost inky edges of the wound set her teeth on edge. It wasn't supposed to look like that, something was wrong.
"Quinn, back at wherever you're from, do people who get injured turn to those things?" she asked.
"No, they just drop dead if not treated after 70 hours" Quinn said with a confused look on his face.
"System, analyze," She muttered under her breath.
[Analyzing injury..... Subject may be infected. Probability:47%. No immediate signs of transformation detected.]
Her heart sank. Infection wasn't a death sentence--at least not always. According to novels some people changed, and others..... didn't. The system didn't offer any further insights, leaving her with the uneasy task of deciding what to do next.
"Let's clean it," she said quietly, refusing to meet his eyes.
Alexia's hands were steady, her focus sharp as she cleaned the wound. It was the first time he'd seen her without her usual edge of sarcasm or suspicion. She was.....concerned or frightened.
Quinn didn't like it.
"Relax," he said, voice lighter than he felt. "You're looking at me like I'm already a corpse."
Her gaze snapped to his, the steel in her eyes returning. "You might be if you keep brushing this off."
He chuckled, leaning back against the gas pump. "You're kind of bossy, you know that?"
"Someone has to be," she shot back.
The banter was familiar, almost comforting, but it didn't distract him from the growing heat beneath his skin. The wound didn't hurt as much as it should have----it tingled, almost as if it were alive.
Quinn shook the thought away, focusing instead on the woman in front of him.
"Why do you care?" he asked suddenly, his voice quieter now.
Alexia paused, her hands stilling for just a moment before she resumed. "Because you're useful."
"Right." He smirked. "And here I thought you were developing a soft spot for me."
Her glare was answer enough.
But something about the way she avoided his gaze told him there was more to her silence than she wanted to admit.
By the time they moved out, the sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch unnaturally. Alexia kept her machete ready, every nerve on edge.
Quinn stayed close, his movements steady despite the injury. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, her system's earlier analysis echoing in her mind.
If he was infected.....she'd have to be ready.
[Warning: Unusual energy signature detected nearby. Probability of infected: 63%.]
Her pulse quickened. "System, can you identify the source?"
[Energy source matches prior anomaly near subject 'Quinn'. Further observation recommended.]
Her steps faltered. The system's cryptic messages had never frustrated her more.
"What's wrong?" Quinn asked, his voice cutting through the silence.
She shook her head. "Nothing."
But it wasn't nothing.
Whatever was happening to him---it wasn't normal.
The shadows felt alive to him.
They moved in ways they shouldn't, curling at the edges of his vision like smoke. He blinked hard, trying to clear the strange haze from his mind, but it only grew stronger.
"Quinn."
Alexia's voice snapped him back, and he realized she was staring at him, her expression guarded.
"You, okay?" she asked.
He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just...tired."
A lie, but one she seemed willing to accept for now.
As they continued walking, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The shadows followed him, clinging to his footsteps like loyal dogs.
And deep down, he knew.
Something had changed.
Quinn's steady pace started to falter as they made their way through the forest. She didn't say anything at first, assuming he was just winded from the fight, but when his steps grew heavier, her concern deepened.
"You're slowing down," she pointed out, glancing back at him.
"I'm fine," he muttered, though his words lacked their usual sharpness.
Her gaze dropped to his wounds. The bandage she'd hastily wrapped around his torso was already dark with blood. Sweat glistened on his brow, his face pale beneath the streaks of dirt.
He wasn't fine.
"Quinn," she said sharply, stepping in front of him. He barely stepped in time to avoid bumping into her.
"What?" His voice was quieter now, his breathing labored.
"You need to rest," she said firmly.
He shook his head, but the motion seemed to disorient him. He staggered slightly, catching himself against a tree.
Alexia bit back a curse. She scanned their surroundings, her system chiming in her mind:
[Recommendation: Seek shelter immediately. Subject 'Quinn' displaying symptoms consistent with infection or energy overload.]
"Perfect," she muttered under her breath.
Just ahead, the remnants of a small hunting cabin came into view, half-hidden by the dense underbrush. It wasn't much, but it would do.
"Come on," she said, grabbing Quinn's arm to steady him.
He resisted for a moment, his pride clearly still intact, but eventually he let her guide him toward the cabin.
For Quinn, the world was spinning.
Each step felt heavier than the last, his legs dragging as if the ground itself was trying to pull him under.
Alexia's voice broke through the haze, but her words were muffled, distant. He wanted to tell her he was fine, that he could keep going, but the heat rising in his chest made it hard to focus.
By the time they reached the cabin, his vision was blurring at the egdes.
"You're burning up," Alexia said, her tone clipped with worry as she pushed him down onto a rickety cot in the corner.
He tried to smirk, to offer some flippant comment, but the effort was too much. Instead, he closed his eyes, the darkness swallowing him whole.
He was out cold within minutes.
Alexia hovered by his side, her hand resting on his forehead. The heat radiating from his skin was alarming, his breathing shallow and uneven.
"System," she whispered urgently, "What's happening to him?"
[Subject 'Quinn' is experiencing accelerated energy processing. Current probability of infection: 39%. Survival may result in genetic adaptation.]
Her stomach twisted. "And if he doesnt survive?"
[Transformation into an infected is likely.]
She let out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening around the machete at her side. The system's detached tone didn't help the rising panic in her chest.
Quinn groaned softly, his body shifting on the cot. She leaned closer, her heart pounding as she watched him.
If he turned.... could she, do it? Could she kill him before he became one of them?"
Her thoughts were interrupted by the faintest flicker of movement in the corner of the room. She froze, her eyes darting to the shadows.
They shifted unnaturally, curling along the walls like smoke.
Her grip on the machete tightened.
The fever raged like wildfire, burning through his veins.
He was trapped in the darkness, his body too heavy to move, his mind caught between lucid thoughts and wild, feverish dreams.
Shadows twirled around him, whispering things he couldn't understand. They weren't hostile, but they weren't comforting either.
In the distance, he saw figures---runners, zombies, wraiths all the horrors he'd faced since the world fell apart. They moved closer, their eyes glowing with malice.
But the shadows didn't let him through.
They wrapped around him like armor, pulling him deeper into the void. For the first time, the heat in his body didn't feel like fire---it felt like power.
The fever didn't break.
Hours passed, and Quinn's condition only worsened. His skin was pale and damp with sweat, his breathing shallow. But the shadows.... they were alive now, swirling around him like smoke.
Her system buzzed in her mind:
[Warning: Unidentified energy signature detected. Subject 'Quinn' is undergoing genetic adaptation. Probability of survival: 67%.]
The percentage was climbing.
Alexia frowned, watching the shadows curl tighter around his form. They weren't attacking---they were... protecting him?
She leaned closer, her fingers brushing the hilt of her machete. If the system was right, and he made it through this, what would he become?
For now, all she could do was wait.