Health

by Alicebekett

Summary:

From the early days of Operation Bitemark, Warren realized that Murphy wasn't complaining about the right things: teeth falling out, hair coming out in clumps, his skin peeling off. Those were the things she could see, and take note of, but what about the other problems that Murphy had to be experiencing? The things he wouldn't talk about.

The things Murphy is scared to vocalize because even through it all, he doesn't want to die. Especially not before he can save everyone and reap the rewards that was sure to bring. He just has to survive the longest, most ridiculous road trip ever.

What other symptoms could Murphy have been hiding throughout the early stages of his transformation? What if part of why they were really trying to get to California was because no one was sure Murphy would make it if they strayed?

Chapter 1

Warren wasn’t sure Murphy was going to make it to California.

The ragtag group of survivors had been travelling together for almost two weeks, heading out of New York. It was slow going, but they had vehicles, and were capable of surviving whatever the zom-pocalypse threw at them.

Murphy being one of them. He was supposed to be the saviour of humanity, but he was such an asshole. No one, Warren included, liked him. He was useless fighting z’s, and his mouth got them into trouble with other survivors.

But that didn’t mean that Warren didn’t...care for him. Not necessarily as a fellow human, if you could say he was still human at all, but because his well being could mean the salvation for the human race. She had to keep an eye on him, because so few in the group tended to keep such a close eye on him.

With what Warren had seen, she was glad she’d paid closer attention than anyone.

Garnett was on watch, sitting on top of the truck, looking around the makeshift camp in case of trouble. Doc was sprawled on an old, stained lawn chair, snoring loudly. The others were scattered around, in various stages of sleep or wakefulness.

Murphy had been in the cab of the truck, but had slinked out with his water with barely a word. It was odd, for how quiet he’d been with Hammond, it seemed like he’d barely shut up since the soldier’s death.

Warren watched as Murphy sat himself as far away from the others as he could get, leaning back in a plastic chair. For the first time, Warren realized how...rough Murphy looked. His skin was almost ashen, and the multiple layers he was wearing hung off of his frame. It was the apocalypse, and no one looked their best anymore, but everyone else in their group had clothes that fit, at least.

Murphy froze in his seat suddenly, then hunched over. Reaching filthy fingers into his mouth, Warren watched as he plucked a tooth from his mouth, unbroken and seemingly whole. Blood was nowhere to be seen, either, though in the dim light it was possible she couldn’t see.

Murphy dropped the tooth, taking a long pull from his canteen. Taking a much smaller sip, he swished it around and spat the water out. Murphy ran a hand through his greasy mop of hair, wincing as he did.

 

Warren turned away, absent-mindedly stroking the handle of her machete. He was losing teeth, and Warren had a feeling that if there was anything else going on, Murphy probably wouldn’t tell anyone. For all his bitching and moaning, she’d heard nothing about teeth problems.

This isn’t good. What if he’s turning into some form of super z?

Warren decided to keep a better eye on Murphy, watching warily as he made his way back to the truck. If he was going to turn, or worse, they didn’t need it happening in the middle of the road while others were sleeping.

Murphy climbed into the truck, huddling himself up against the door. Warren sighed, waving to Garnett and making herself comfortable in the driver’s seat.

They still had a long way to go.  

Chapter 2

Summary:

Murphy hurts sometimes.

After Hammond had died, Murphy had thought he’d be free of the problems he’d always associated with the man.

Garnett had proven that wrong within five seconds of Hammond dying. Apparently, everyone had the freedom that the apocalypse gave but him. Murphy was being railroaded into going to California, whether he wanted to or not.

It shouldn’t have surprised him that the other things stayed too.

Murphy had been jolted out of a zombie-fueled nightmare, and almost concussed himself against the window. Thankfully, they were stopped and Warren seemed to be the only one in the truck, sitting in the passenger seat up front.

Warren turned around, eyebrow raised.

Clutching at his head with one hand, Murphy had to bring the other to his ribs. Well, the ribs that weren’t there anymore. It felt like he was being eaten alive again, shocks of awful pain ringing down right to his spine.

“You okay?”

Murphy screwed his eyes shut, shaking his head. Unbidden, his fingers probed the old wound. It felt like it had been freshly cauterized again. The others hurt too, but it was always the one where they’d torn out chunks of his ribs like they hadn’t even been there-

“Murphy?!”

“No…” Murphy choked out.

“What’s wrong? Something we should know about?”

Murphy shrugged, “they hurt sometimes.”

Warren’s face softened, and Murphy grimaced. Warren reached over to tug at Murphy’s sweater, but Murphy jerked back.

“Don’t touch! Fucking...all Hammond fucking did.”

“He touched the wounds? Why?”

Murphy shrugged, “Don’t remember. It was just after,” Murphy gestured to his chest, “All this shit.”

“Should I get Doc?”

“Unless he can go back in time, not likely to help.”

“C’mon, Murphy. He might have something.”

Murphy shook his head, “No.”

“Well then, can I get you some water?”

“Why?” Murphy’s brow was furrowed with confusion, his eyes narrowed.

“You’re hurting, and even if you’re an ass, you probably shouldn’t do anything to make this worse. We still need you to last until California.”

Murphy slammed his head against the window, grunting in pain. Warren took this opportunity to leave the truck, and jog over to Doc.

“What’s wrong?” Doc read the worry in her eyes before she even opened her mouth.

“Murphy’s in pain. Says his bites hurt.”

Doc blinked, tilting his head to one side, “That’s probably not good.”

“No kidding. You got anything to give him?”

“Maybe,” Doc started to rifle through his bag, pursing his lips, “Nothing good though. Got some aspirin, oh and one Tylenol!”

“Gimme the Tylenol. Better than nothing.”

Doc nodded, “Next time I find anything I’ll let you know. Maybe this is a one-time thing.”

Warren sighed, “Y’know, I feel like it won’t be.”

Doc shrugged, “Ya never know, y’know? Now’s not the time to completely give up.”

Warren smiled thankfully, and returned to the truck. She hopped into the passenger seat, and handed the pill over, “It’s Tylenol. Not much, but better than aspirin.”

Murphy scoffed, “May as well take a tic-tac,” in spite of the protest, he downed the pill with several swallows of water.

Murphy sighed, resting his head against the window of the truck again.

“Does this sort of thing happen a lot?”

Murphy offered a half-shrug, “Don’t keep track.”

“It’s happened before?”

“They hurt for a long-ass time!” Murphy bit out, wincing as he shifted his weight.

“Okay, okay. I’ll leave you for now. Let me know if you’re gonna do anything stupid, like change.”

Murphy grunted, “Bite me.”

Chapter 3

Summary:

Skin.

Be warned, this has some skin peeling in it. Some light body horror I guess, and a different perspective!

Most of the time Murphy was...Murphy. Annoying, not of much use, and just an overall pain in the ass. He was needed to save what was left of humanity and he knew it, and milked it for all that it could get him.

Sometimes, though, Cassandra could see the facade crumble.

The first time had been after she watched him pluck a tooth out of his mouth like it had been nothing. It had been late, and everyone had been asleep, except for herself. She had gotten up for a sip of water, just in time to see Murphy reach his grime-blackened fingers into his mouth, and wrench a tooth free: root and all.

Staring at the yellowed, sickly looking tooth, Murphy had looked scared for all the time it took for Murphy to see her standing there. Almost nonchalantly, Murphy tossed the tooth over his shoulder, wiping his fingers on his jacket, “What?! I’m just standing here!” Not bothering to look her in the eyes, Murphy strode off toward the others, twisting the ripped fabric of this black sweater through his fingers.

Cassandra didn’t mention what she’d seen to anyone else. She resigned herself to watching this ‘saviour of humankind’. After all, with their luck so far it would turn out that he was turning into some Super Z.

The second time, Murphy had been dozing in the truck, curled into the smallest ball he could get while still sitting mostly upright, he’d been semi-conscious off and on throughout the afternoon, seemingly content to sleep through most of the bumpy roads and Warren ploughing through whatever Z’s she could find.

After Doc had fallen asleep between them, snoring obnoxiously while Warren and Garnett were discussing what their plans were, Cassandra saw Murphy jerk into some form of wakefulness.

Still half asleep, Murphy looked at his hands like a first-time weed smoker, flexing the fingers like he’d just realized he had joints. With shaking fingers, Murphy suddenly dug his sharp fingernails into the back of his hand, peeling a section of dried, dead skin off.

Cassandra was transfixed, and also feeling a little queasy at the sight. She’d seen peeling skin: sunburns, blisters, and calloused feet. This seemed different. Before her eyes, Murphy pulled another section of skin away, this time clearly taking some flesh with it. Staring at the flap with the same dopey expression, Murphy tossed it out the window.

Then, Murphy blinked. He stared at his cracked, bleeding hand for a moment before he balled his hand into a fist and shoved it into his pocket with a wince. Throwing himself back into his previous position, Cassandra could almost believe he hadn’t shot her a helpless, almost pleading look. Cassandra leaned back into her seat, fingering the knife in her belt.

Murphy was an asshole.

Chapter 4

When Murphy all but shouted to stop the car, Warren slammed on the breaks with speed she still startled herself with. With one quick movement, Murphy had flung himself out of the truck, and was leaning against the cab, retching heavily.

“Murphy?”

Murphy jerked partially upright before vomiting a foul mixture that looked to be mostly water; which made sense since they hadn’t eaten in over a day.

Warren stayed several steps away, not entirely sure what she should do. Murphy wasn’t the kind to accept help readily, at least not without snarking about it the whole time. Plus, she wasn’t sure if she would do more harm than good-

Murphy tipped over, and before her brain realized exactly what she was doing, Warren rushed over to steady him. He wasn’t unconscious, but he was clearly not entirely lucid anymore.

“Doc!”

Doc hopped out of the car, alarm written all over his features. He knelt beside Warren and Murphy, looking into the other man’s eyes. He then checked Murphy’s pulse.

“Well he’s alive, his ticker is still going good.”

“Anything else?”

Doc shrugged, “Could be anything. Flu bug, something he at or drank. Could be from the heat, though he doesn’t look too dehydrated or overheated. I dunno, Warren.”

“Well, help me haul his ass back in the car. We need to find a spot for the meantime. Defensible.”

“Maybe Addy can get Citizen Z back. He might find us a place,” Doc slung one of Murphy’s arm over his own shoulders. Warren did the same, and between the two of them, they got Murphy back into the truck.

Later that night, after they’d made camp, Murphy was still...Murphy. He was angry and even though he was still sort of out of it he wasn’t taking any help from anyone.

Not Warren, not Doc, not anyone.

So here they were. Huddled around a pitiful campfire 10K had managed to scrounge the wood for. Cooking canned beans in their own tin, and a bunch of crickets (that again, 10K had scrounged for).

Usually Murphy was the first one complaining about the lack of food, and demanding his share. Not tonight. They’d opened the can and he’d gone off to the edge of camp to vomit up more water and bile.
So he was at the edge of the campfire, a bucket between his knees. He just about growled at Garnett when he tried to bring him food but...well he was conscious and breathing and bitching about the lack of water.

So he was still Murphy.

Doc watched over Murphy as best he could from a distance, eating up the beans with his fingers like a toddler with spaghetti.

He just hoped Murphy wouldn’t kick the bucket before they got to California.

Notes:

This is the first chapter in an experiment I decided to try. The show did a fairly good job showing us what kind of crap Murphy's body was doing in the early days of the show, but what if there were other things? Other things that were going wrong that made everyone stay together, stay focused, and keep pushing forward?

And it bugged me through the early seasons that no one seemed to recognize that Murphy might not even make it to California. This is for fun so we'll see how it goes.