Murphy sat near the campfire, his hands resting on his knees as the group surrounded him. Their expressions ranged from cautious curiosity to outright distrust. The tension was palpable, and Murphy couldn't help but feel like he was on trial. His blue-tinged skin and jagged scars—his supposed proof of immunity—did little to ease their skepticism. The flickering firelight cast dancing shadows on their faces, highlighting every furrowed brow and narrowed eye.
"So, let me get this straight," Shane said, leaning forward, his short brown hair ruffled and his jaw set in a scowl. He wore a black button-up shirt, its sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms. His khaki pants were dusty, evidence of their rough living conditions. "You're saying you're some kind of government experiment? Immune to walkers?" His tone dripped with skepticism.
Murphy shrugged, forcing a grin. "That's the gist of it. Didn't ask for it, but hey, here I am."
Shane scoffed, shaking his head. "Bullshit. Sounds too good to be true."
Rick, sitting to Shane's left, adjusted his sheriff's hat. His plaid shirt was unbuttoned over a white tank top, and his jeans were caked with mud. His piercing blue eyes met Murphy's with a mix of caution and hope. "Shane, hold on," he said, raising a hand to calm his friend. "What if he's telling the truth? What if he is immune? If we don't at least try to help him, and he's legit… we'll regret it for the rest of our lives."
Shane turned to Rick, his face tightening in frustration. "And what if he's full of crap? We're supposed to risk our lives for some blue-skinned stranger with a sob story?"
Lori, sitting next to Rick, folded her arms over her dark blue flannel shirt. Her dark hair framed her face, and her expression was torn between concern and skepticism. "Rick might have a point," she said, her voice soft but firm. "If there's even a chance…"
Dale, standing near the RV, adjusted his fisherman's hat and leaned on his rifle. His weathered face was pensive, his eyes shifting between Murphy and the group. "The CDC isn't far from here," he said. "We were heading that way anyway. What's the harm in taking him with us? If he's lying, we'll know soon enough."
"Exactly," Rick said, his tone resolute. "We're heading there regardless. If he's immune, this could be the breakthrough we need. If not, we lose nothing."
Shane threw up his hands in frustration. "You're all nuts. You're gonna risk the whole group for this guy?" He jabbed a finger toward Murphy, whose smirk had faded into a guarded expression. "What happens if he screws us over?"
"I'm sitting right here, you know," Murphy interjected, raising his eyebrows. His sarcasm was tinged with genuine annoyance. "If I wanted to screw you over, I wouldn't have shown you my scars. Besides, I'm looking for my group. Maybe you've seen them?"
"Your group?" Glenn asked, tilting his head. His gray hoodie was zipped up against the evening chill, and his dark eyes were full of curiosity. "What do they look like?"
Murphy's gaze flickered with hope. "Yeah. Doc, 10K, Addy, Warren… any of those names ring a bell? They're probably as lost as I am."
The group exchanged puzzled glances, shaking their heads. Andrea, sitting cross-legged on the ground in a leather jacket and jeans, frowned. "We haven't seen anyone like that."
Murphy's shoulders slumped. "Figures. Damn it." He rubbed the back of his neck, his blue skin glinting in the firelight. "I just… need to find them. They're my people."
"Maybe they're heading for the CDC too," Amy suggested, her light blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She hugged her knees to her chest, her pink hoodie standing out against the muted tones of the others. "It's where people might go if they think there's still help."
"If they're even alive," Shane muttered under his breath.
Jim, sitting apart from the group, suddenly straightened. His pale face was damp with sweat, his worn plaid shirt sticking to his back. His eyes stared into the distance as if seeing something no one else could. "We have to take him," he said, his voice low and trembling. "I saw it. In my vision."
The group turned to look at Jim, their expressions ranging from concern to skepticism.
"Vision?" T-Dog asked, his tone wary. His muscular frame was tense, his red shirt darkened with sweat. "What kind of vision?"
Jim's hands clenched into fists. "I saw a doctor at the CDC. He… he'll make a cure from Murphy's blood. We'll have a chance to fix this mess. To save everyone."
Andrea's brow furrowed. "Jim, no offense, but… visions? Are you sure you're okay?"
Jim's gaze snapped to her, his eyes blazing with intensity. "I know what I saw. It's real."
Dale sighed, his voice tinged with concern. "Jim… you've been through a lot. Maybe this is just your mind playing tricks on you."
"Or maybe it's a sign," Jim shot back, his voice rising. "We can't ignore it. Not if there's even a chance I'm right."
The group fell into a heavy silence, the crackling fire the only sound. Murphy looked around, his face a mixture of confusion and unease. "Look, I don't know about visions or signs," he said, his tone softening. "But I do know I'm not lying. If there's even a chance I can help, isn't it worth trying?"
Rick nodded, his jaw set. "Jim's right. If there's a chance, we take it. We're heading to the CDC anyway. Murphy comes with us."
Shane's hands clenched into fists. "You're making a mistake," he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. But he didn't argue further.
Dale adjusted his hat, his expression resigned. "Let's get some rest. We'll move out at first light."
Murphy leaned back slightly, his body relaxing for the first time since the conversation began. He could still feel the weight of their stares, their doubt, but at least he wasn't alone anymore. For now, that would have to be enough.