It has started when Ricardo got a bite. 

The day had begun like any other; Joshua got up at 7, showered, called his mum back in Detroit, drank his coffee and left. He grabbed his bike, stupidly large in the minuscule hallway of his equally minuscule flat, and ran down the three flights of stairs holding the bike above his head. He didn't meet anyone on the way down- taking the lift wasn't an option, it stank of piss and was liable to randomly stop in between floors. It didn't take Josh long to reach 'il Ritrovo', the Italian restaurant he was currently working at. He chained his bike to a signpost, and walked in. There weren't any customers, so he took his time, putting on his apron and making himself a second cup of coffee. He was fucking tired.

Ricardo Mazzioli, the head chef and owner of the restaurant, was already in, marinating some kind of meat. His son, the head of house, should've been in, but that deadbeat was probably out somewhere off his head and utterly wasted. 
Work was slow, unusually slow. At one point no one came in for an hour straight, so Ricardo (and the rest of the staff, having now arrived) and Josh sat themselves down at a table, opened a bottle of table wine and wasted time. They were discussing life in general: sometimes the conversation broke into Italian, and Josh couldn't follow, but at one point Ricardo rolled up his long sleeves and displayed his forearm to everyone, exclaiming loudly in English,
'Look at this! Some hobo, yes, he runs up to me screaming, si, yelling fit to beat Jesus, grabs me and bites me! Right there, look.' Joshua had leaned in and was immediately shocked at how bad the wound smelt. It was two open puncture wounds, red and raw, and the skin around it was stretched and pink. There was definitely some green there too, but Joshua couldn't stand looking at it a second longer.
'Damn...Ricardo, get that checked out man. That's some infected shit.' 'I know it's some infected shit, but I don't think it is bad, it'll heal. I keep it away from the food, si?' 'Yeah, for sure. That's going green too, I'd go to the doctors, or the hospital or something.' Ricardo had laughed it off. Joshua wished he hadn't.

2 days passed and everything was fine- except that Ricardo was starting to waste away. It was the evening of the 2nd day and Josh was seriously concerned for the guy- he'd gone so deathly pale, almost blue, he kept coughing and was weak. But he kept on working. Josh and Ricardo were always the last ones to lock up, and to start the day. That's just how it was; after all, Josh didn't exactly have anything exciting to look forward to at home. 
Joshua scraped congealed tomatoes off his long cooking knife when he heard a sort of muffled groan behind him, where Ricardo was washing up some pots and pans. Josh whipped around to see Ricardo on his knees slumped up against the cupboard, with his back to him. Putting down his knife, Josh leapt over to see what had happened. He turned Ricardo over, put his fingers to his neck and went pale when he realised there was no pulse there. 
'Shit...' He didn't know the recovery position. If only he hadn't flunked first aid workshops.

He fished into his pocket, pulled out his phone and dialed '911'. He kept his eyes on Ricardo, but when the ambulance person asked for the number of the shop, he nipped outside to see what it was. He chuckled darkly to himself. 'I should probably have known that huh...' He re-entered the shop and when he turned around to close the door he heard a quiet but distinct groan coming from the kitchen. Joshua sprinted back. Ricardo had woken up- but how? He'd died, hadn't he? Well, Josh had never been any good with medical knowledge, but he was pretty sure that no pulse meant dead. 

He returned to the exact same spot as he was before, his back to the counter he was just working at, facing Ricardo. Josh outstretched his hand, touching Ricardo's shoulder, saying 'Thank god, man, I thought you was dead. I called the ambulance, they'll be here in a minute, ok?' Ricardo didn't say anything, he just gave another groan. Which, concerningly, sounded a hell of a lot like a growl. Ricardo and Josh were perfectly in sync: as he turned around slowly, Josh took a step back. As his face came into view, another step back. His eyes- wow, his eyes- they were horrific. Bloodshot, the pupil tiny, but the worst thing was the crazed look in them. Ricardo stood, his gait a bit wobbly. Josh was just frozen, his breathing was ragged. 

Ricardo lunged for him.

In one movement, Josh's hand grabbed the tomato-y knife and plunged it into Ricardo's chest. He fell back, howling, but came for him again. Josh yelled as he swiped it at Ricardo's face, again and again, until he fell. Josh stood there for a few minutes, shaking, his clothes coated in blood.
'Fuck...fuck, fuck.' Josh was still shaking, but something told him to grab that damn knife; it had fallen on the floor, its handle was slick with blood and had fallen from his hand. That or he was trembling too much.
He quickly washed the blade clean, took off his bloody apron and tucked the knife into his hoodie. Then he ran.

The ambulance never arrived.