When he walks up to Hunter and the rest of the group, several of us stand and watch. A girl from the other wing rushes up to him and grabs his arm. “Andrew. What are you doing?” She chokes on the sentence and coughs.

“Serenity.” Andrew shakes his head. “I can’t stay here on my own. I don’t know how dangerous it is, and I—I can’t.”

“You wouldn’t be on your own, you fool.” She punches his arm. It’s all too clear her anger comes from worry too. “I’d stay with you.”

“You could come with,” he suggests, but his words hold no force, no conviction. I’m not sure even he knows exactly what he’s doing, and certainly Hunter doesn’t care, because he’s already marched through the door.

Serenity glances back at the rest of us, standing at a distance like a silent and awkward farewell committee. Her hesitation is all he needs. He slips from her grasp and walks out, shoulders slumped, without looking back.

She stands there. On her own, torn between him and here.

Until the doors swing shut.

Another girl breaks the ranks of our silent vigil and runs toward Serenity. She wraps her arms around her, and Serenity clings to her and sobs. Others begin to scatter and go back to their rooms or the recreation yard. Despite the absence of guards, all the conversations are soft and careful.

I understand why they stay. They have something here the outside won’t offer. Community. Certainty. A way to call their families. A roof over our heads. A place we’ve known for weeks or months or years. A sense of belonging. Something to desperately cling to.

Where there’s love and community, there is God. Father Michael was always fond of saying that.

But when the hallway is nearly empty and the girls break apart, Serenity gasps. Like she’s drowning on dry land and there’s no oxygen around her. She reaches for her throat and starts to cough. It sounds like she did when she choked on the words before, but when she brings her hand up to her lips, her fingers come back bloody. “Mei…” she croaks.

And then she topples over.

“Serenity? Serenity!” Mei catches the girl before she collapses and hoists an arm over her shoulders, fighting to keep her upright. Her eyes dart across the hallway and land on the two of us left here. Me and a third girl from their wing. “Faith! Help!”

Faith has covered her hand with her mouth.

“We need to get Serenity to the infirmary,” Mei says, her voice strained. “Help carry her.”

Serenity continues to cough, and her rasping breath makes my bones ache. It makes me feel like I’m not getting enough oxygen either. Is this how it starts?

Next to me, Faith shakes herself. She swallows hard. “I can do that. I can do that. I won’t get sick, will I?”

Mei cringes. “I don’t know.”

I do. Saint Jude, pray for us.

Because this is what the plague sounds like. Inevitability. Serenity wasn’t there last night. She wasn’t with us. Was deciding to stay here a death sentence? If two of us are sick already, it’ll only be a matter of time before we all are.