'Proof'
"Back up."
The man with the weapon stepped closer, eyes locked on Phileo like he was already dead. "Slow. Any fast move and I shoot."
Phileo nodded and took a step back, hands still raised. His arms ached from holding them up, but he didn't lower them. He could feel their fear. It was sharp, heavy, almost louder than the infected.
"I'm not here to hurt anyone," Phileo said. "I just want to pass through."
"No one just passes through," the woman said. Her voice was firm, but her eyes were tired. "People either join… or they lie."
"I'm not lying," Phileo replied. "I got scratched yesterday. I burned all night. I should be gone."
The third person, a younger guy with dirt on his face, shook his head. "They turn in minutes. Sometimes hours. You don't get a day."
"I know," Phileo said quietly. "I watched it happen."
That shut them up for a moment.
The woman studied him more closely now. "Show us."
Phileo hesitated. Then slowly, he pulled back the sleeve on his arm.
The scratch was ugly. Red. Bruised. Still healing. But it wasn't spreading. There were no dark lines, no signs of change.
The younger guy leaned forward. "That's not right…"
"Could be early," the armed man said. "Could be waiting."
"Then wait," Phileo said. His voice cracked despite his effort. "Tie me up. Watch me. If I turn, you do what you have to do."
Silence stretched.
Finally, the woman lowered her weapon just a little.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Phileo."
"I'm Mara," she said. "That's Ben." She nodded to the armed man. "And the idiot is Jax."
"Hey," Jax muttered, but his eyes never left Phileo's arm.
They tied Phileo's hands with rope and made him sit against a wall near the barricade. It wasn't rough, but it wasn't kind either.
Hours passed.
The sun climbed, then dipped behind smoke clouds. No fever came. No shaking. No change.
Phileo sat there, heart pounding every time someone looked at him too long.
Jax broke the silence. "You should be screaming by now."
"I did that already," Phileo said. "Last night."
Mara watched him carefully. "How do you feel?"
"Like I'm tired," he replied. "Like my body fought something it didn't understand."
Ben shifted uncomfortably. "I've never seen this."
"Neither have I," Mara said.
A sudden noise echoed down the street—a sharp crash.
All of them turned.
Three infected stumbled into view, drawn by the sound. One let out a low moan.
Phileo's chest tightened.
Ben raised his weapon. "Don't move."
But something strange happened.
One of the infected stopped.
Its head tilted.
Its eyes slid past Phileo… and focused on Ben.
It rushed forward.
Phileo stared, stunned.
"They didn't even look at him," Jax whispered.
The infected slammed into the barricade. Ben fired. Mara swung a pipe. The fight was fast and messy, but it ended.
When it was over, all three survivors looked at Phileo.
Not with fear.
With something worse.
"What are you?" Jax asked quietly.
Phileo swallowed, his voice barely steady.
"I don't know."
And that truth scared him more than any monster outside the barricade.