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“Go on! Show them what makes you so important that good people died to get you this far!” Hammond forcibly grabbed Murphy out of the SUV and onto the road. Murphy fought him every step of the way but it was a token struggle. He had given up hope of doing whatever he wanted to do (which was hole up somewhere and forget about the apocalypse) and forced to take orders.
He didn't ask for this. Not any of this. He didn't want these people, these good people to look at him like he's shit on the bottom of their shoes. Murphy was well acquainted with that look and even with the zombie apocalypse, he still got that look. He was so tired, so very tired. Hammond glared at him and was about to yank his shirt up himself. Throwing himself away from questing hands, Murphy slowly slid up his sweater. Cringing in shame as to what he knew he looked like.
“Are those bites?” Garnett questioned, “How come he hasn't turned?”
As Hammond explained, Murphy looked at himself. He tries not too, really; he does. He can't stand what he looks like.
“A damn Z got my ribs there..” Murphy pointed out the still brutal looking wound.
“Shut up!” Hammond hissed at him.
Murphy internally sighed. That was it. He officially gave up any and all hope that he had. He wasn't a decent human being before all this happened but dammit he still had feelings. And with that thought, he had made up his mind. He would become ruthless, selfish and a prick. If that's what they thought he was, then that's what they would get. If he cured the virus great. But if he got the opportunity to run? He, for damned sure, was going to take it...and not look back.