Chapter two

Murphy trudged through the dense forest, his breath coming in uneven gasps. His encounter with the speed-walking walkers had shaken him to his core, and he was still trying to wrap his head around their bizarre behavior. He was used to zombies avoiding him like he was radioactive. Here, they were after him like he was the last Twinkie on Earth. His nerves were frayed, but he forced himself to keep moving.

The faint crackle of a fire and the murmur of voices drew his attention. Murphy froze, his ears straining. Survivors? His heart leapt at the thought. Finally, people—actual people. Maybe they could tell him where he was. Maybe they could help.

He crept forward, staying low, his eyes scanning the forest for the source of the voices. In a small clearing, he spotted them: a group of people gathered around a modest campsite. There were four of them—two men, a young woman, and an older man sitting near an RV. They looked rugged, tired, and wary, their postures tense even in this brief moment of rest.

Murphy hesitated. His first instinct was to call out, but something held him back. These weren't his people. They might not even be friendly. He knew better than to trust strangers outright—he'd learned that the hard way in his own apocalypse. But he also knew he needed allies, at least for now.

Before he could make a decision, one of the men, a wiry guy with a crossbow slung over his shoulder, spotted him. In a flash, the crossbow was aimed squarely at Murphy's chest.

Murphy froze.The man with a weathered face and piercing blue eyes raised a crossbow, the weapon pointed directly at Murphy's chest. His dark hair clung to his forehead, and his expression was a mask of distrust. Another figure, an older man with a fisherman's hat and tired eyes, followed, holding a rifle with steady hands. Behind them, a wiry, younger man in a baseball cap appeared, gripping a handgun. The tension in the air was palpable.

"Don't move," the man with the crossbow growled, his Southern accent adding weight to his words.

Murphy raised his hands slowly, palms outward, his mind racing. "Whoa, easy there, Katniss," he said, forcing a smirk despite the knot forming in his stomach. "No need to get all medieval on me."

The man with the crossbow narrowed his eyes. "Who the hell are you?"

"Name's Murphy," he replied, his voice calm despite the anxiety crawling up his spine. "Just a guy looking for some answers and maybe a little help. You're not gonna shoot the guy who's immune, right?"

A ripple of confusion passed over the group. The older man—Dale, if Murphy caught the murmured name right—frowned deeply. "Immune?" he echoed, his voice carrying a mix of skepticism and intrigue.

Another figure emerged from the group, a woman with blonde hair tied back into a loose ponytail. Her sharp eyes flicked over Murphy's strange blue-tinged skin with undisguised suspicion. "Immune to what, exactly?" she asked, her tone sharp.

Murphy's smirk faltered. "Uh, you know," he said, gesturing vaguely, "zombies. Bites. Infection. The whole end-of-the-world shtick we're all dealing with."

"Walkers," the young man in the baseball cap corrected, his tone clipped.

Murphy blinked. "Walkers? What the hell are walkers?"

The group exchanged wary glances. Daryl, the man with the crossbow, tightened his grip on the weapon. "What rock you been living under, blue boy?"

Murphy shrugged, the uneasy knot in his stomach growing. "Look, I'm not from around here. Just trying to pick up the local lingo. Same thing, right? Walkers, zombies… they're in the movies."

That drew a sharper reaction. Lori, a dark-haired woman standing at the back of the group, crossed her arms and frowned deeply. "Movies? This isn't a game or some fantasy. You better start explaining yourself."

Murphy sighed, lowering his hands but keeping them visible. "Okay, fine. Here's the deal. I'm immune. Government project—top secret, hush-hush kind of thing. They did some experiments, injected me with… whatever, and now I can't turn. Bitten, scratched, doesn't matter. I'm your best shot at a cure. That's why I need to find a lab. You protect me, I save humanity. Win-win."

The group's collective skepticism was almost tangible. Daryl's jaw tightened as he stepped closer, the tip of his crossbow unwavering. "That's a mighty big claim," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You got any proof?"

Murphy rolled his eyes. "Fine. You want proof? Here." He grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it, exposing his torso. His pale blue skin was marred with scars, deep indentations from countless bites that had healed into jagged marks. He tapped one of the scars for emphasis. "See these? Zombie bites. Didn't turn. Didn't die. I'm the real deal."

The group leaned in slightly, their suspicion momentarily giving way to intrigue. Glenn, the younger man in the baseball cap, frowned as he studied the scars. "Those do look like bite marks," he admitted reluctantly.

Amy, a petite blonde with wide, nervous eyes, wrinkled her nose. "But why is your skin blue?"

Murphy dropped his shirt back into place, letting out a frustrated sigh. "Side effect of the experiments. Look, I didn't ask for this. I'm just trying to survive, same as you."

T-Dog, a tall man with a cautious but empathetic demeanor, crossed his arms. "If you're immune, how come we've never heard of you?"

Murphy hesitated, the weight of their questions pressing on him. "I don't know. Maybe it's some government cover-up, or maybe I… I don't know! You think I have all the answers? I just woke up in the middle of a damn forest after a nuke went off. Cut me some slack."

The mention of a nuke made the group visibly tense. Andrea, her blonde hair framing her skeptical expression, stepped forward. "A nuke? What are you talking about?"

Murphy waved his hands in frustration. "Yeah, a nuke. Big boom, mushroom cloud, end-of-the-world kind of thing. You know, just Tuesday for me."

Dale rubbed his temple, clearly struggling to process Murphy's story. "Look, son, you're not making much sense. You survived a nuclear blast and now you're here? None of this adds up."

Murphy threw his hands in the air. "You think it adds up for me? I don't even know where 'here' is! What state is this, anyway?"

Lori stepped forward, her tone sharp. "Georgia. Now you explain what you mean by 'zombies' in the movies. You're saying you don't know what walkers are?"

"Exactly. I know zombies. We've been dealing with them forever where I come from. But this whole 'walker' thing? That's new." Murphy's smirk returned briefly, though it was more a mask for his growing anxiety. "Guess the apocalypse has regional dialects, huh?"

The group exchanged glances, their suspicion still evident but tempered by curiosity. Glenn spoke up, his voice cautious. "If you're really immune, and those scars are real, then maybe you're telling the truth. But we don't know you. You could be dangerous."

Murphy placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. "Dangerous? Me? I'm a lover, not a fighter. Besides, if I wanted to hurt you, I'd've done it already. I'm just looking for help… and maybe some food. Running from those speed-walking freaks worked up an appetite."

Dale sighed, lowering his rifle slightly. "Let's take him back to camp. If he's telling the truth, we'll figure out what to do from there. But keep an eye on him. We can't take chances."

Daryl hesitated, his crossbow still trained on Murphy, before finally lowering it. "Fine. But if he tries anything, I'll put a bolt through him before he can blink."

Murphy grinned. "Noted, Katniss."

The group turned, motioning for Murphy to follow. As they walked back toward their camp, Murphy couldn't shake the unease gnawing at him. These people didn't recognize him, hadn't heard of the experiments or the immunity.