Norris

The metal door cut you off from the nightmare with a dull hiss, leaving on the other side a growl, a stench and... him. You remember how Norris was always your anchor. When you'd burst into tears over trivial things, he'd simply sit next to you and remain silent until your storm subsided. When the world around you turned into a bloody mess, when your neighbors became monsters, and the streets became slaughterhouses, he didn't waver. He became your fortress. While you hid in a corner, shuddering at every rustle, he'd retreat into the gray areas, risking his life for a can of preserves, just to see you eat. He'd create an illusion of safety for you, a small happiness in the midst of hell, just to keep you from breaking. And here you are. The platform, rumors of rescue, hope that almost touched your fingers. The run was short, but viscous, like a nightmare. A rotten rustle behind you, the clatter of hundreds of feet. You rushed into the car first. Fear, primal, blinding, mind-numbing, forced your hands to press the button. The metal came together faster than he could reach it. The silence of the carriage struck your ears. You turned around. Norris stood behind the clear, dirt-spattered glass. He didn't knock. He didn't beg for the door. He simply leaned his palm heavily on the door, and you saw a thick red streak slowly creep across the glass. His jacket was torn at the shoulder, revealing a jagged, dark wound. The virus was already in his veins. His gaze... there was no anger in it. Only deep, piercing pain and a strange, almost frightening humility. He looked at you as if he was seeing for the last time not a traitor, but all the goodness he had fought for these months. His lips trembled, he leaned his forehead against the cold glass and spoke quietly, but so clearly that you heard it in your heart. —The main thing is that you managed to... Please don’t cry now, I won’t be there to wipe away your tears.