Friend

Catherine

Wilson and I hang behind the rest, not so much because we want to talk, but because we are awfully slow.

Bo is carrying Violet and Isaiah is carrying Natalie. They are sick, but not as sick as Willy. He is leaning on me as much as I am leaning on him.

No one has gotten me new clothes yet, so I am still wrapped in Taya's blanket which is by now soiled by dirt, vomit, and blood. I still feel chilled to the bone, but I am starting to get used to it. Wilson seems more discomforted by it than I am. Every time he accidentally touches my skin, he winces like he just got burned.

This is a long-ass hallway. I wonder if Wilson knows that. "This is a long-ass hallway," I tell him.

"Yeah. I know."

We hobble along in silence for a moment. I think the only reason Wilson isn't guilt tripping me about Bo is because I am still crying. Once the tears came, they didn't stop. I'm not just crying for the baby anymore; I'm crying for everyone. For Taya and Natalie and Bo and Violet and Wilson, especially Wilson. I had forgotten that his wife is pregnant. He must be beating himself up. I lean my head on his shoulder.

"You okay?" he asks, glancing at me. Willy isn't a tall man -- he only has an inch or two on me. I can overtake him in heels.

"No," I say.

"I'm sorry." He looks away from me, back at the long-ass hallway.

I sigh. Poor Willy. He's a good guy. I don't want him to die angry at me. Burying my face in his shoulder, I say, "Can you forgive me? Please?"

"I'm not the one you need to ask for forgiveness," he says.

He's right, of course. "Yeah, but I feel like you're mad at me."

"A little."

"Wilson," I whine. "We used to be friends. We were fucking besties! Office BFFs."

He lets out a little chuckle. "Were we?"

"Yeah."

"It's kind of funny to have you begging for my forgiveness," he says. "It seems like it's always the other way around."

I don't have the energy for a comeback. "Wilson."

"Fine, fine." He kisses the top of my head. "I forgive you."

"Thank you."

We continue down the hallway, leaning more heavily on each other than before. I would never have admitted it before, but now that I'm dying, I realize it's true: I love Wilson. He's the one who has kept me human throughout my years of studying this virus. He was the one kind, uncorrupted person working in the facility, the person who, during long weeks when we slept in our offices and didn't talk to anyone but each other the entire time, reminded me what the rest of the world was like. And I loved him for that, even if I never told him.

I'm still not going to tell him.

This is good, though. This is okay. I feel a sudden sense of peace falling over me. I could die here in this hallway. I could die with Wilson holding me and that would be okay. Better than okay. I can't think of anyone I'd rather die with.

"Cat? You have to keep walking -- I can't carry you."

I realize I've stopped in my tracks. We are going back to the library where there is more space and less vomit. I am a little bit miffed because Willy is the one who forced me to leave the library in the first place, but I do not complain because I have only just gotten back in his good graces. Don't want to ruin it. "Sorry," I say. "I'm just . . . really tired."

"I know." He leans his head against mine. "So am I." I feel him drift to a stop as well.

"Maybe we should take a rest," I suggest.

Wilson shakes his head. "Trust me, if I sit down I'm not getting up again."

"That's okay," I say. "I mean, we're going to die. That's just a fact. Why not do it in this nice clean hallway with no screaming children, hm?"

"Cat." He says this like my proposition is ridiculous but I can see him considering it in his mind. "I don't know," he sighs. "After I dropped you at the library, I was going to go to Marly's office."

Right. The phone. "Take me with you, then," I say. I don't know where this sudden surge of affection for my dying friend has come from, but I don't want him to leave me. The only two people I think I can stand to be around right now are Natalie and Wilson. Natalie comes with a whole slew of other people. Willy, however, comes with silence and stability.

"Why?" he says. "Aren't you the one who wants to lay down and die?"

"Yeah, but I'm open to dying in Marly's office, too. She has a really comfortable couch."

He smiles a little. "You know, Cat, I really prefer dying you to normal you."

"Why thank you."

"You're just way more chill." He has begun walking again, which I assume means he is taking me with him.

"Well, I don't really have the energy to be scary right now."

"Makes sense."

"So, are you taking me?"

Wilson sighs. "I guess so. I mean, if you want to die on a comfortable couch, who am I to stop you? Plus, I'd be awfully bored on my own."

"It's true." I adjust my arm around his waist, letting him lean his upper body on my shoulder. "Thanks."

"No problem. That's what friends are for, right?"

"Something like that."