A World Apart

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen 

Logan

Never before have I seen the physical embodiment of a heart breaking into two so clearly displayed. The scene before me is one of absolute devastation. Pure, unfiltered tragedy embroidering the tapestry of their story. It's almost Shakespearean, star-crossed lovers reuniting at last, only to be ripped apart. I'm so caught up in the narrative, enraptured by the grief of it all, that the direness of it is almost lost on me. 

From the other side of the glass, infected begin drawing their attention to us. When several of them start slamming their bodies against it, I'm brought back to reality. My empathy for Stella quickly turning into a concern for our wellbeing. It's too late for Max, and if we wait much longer, it'll be too late for us as well.

The urgency of it has me reaching out to grab a hold of her shoulder, but she recoils from my touch the second I lay a finger on her, as if my skin were poisonous. Besides that reaction she ignores me completely, only pulls herself closer to the glass.

"Stella," I say, "We have to go. Now." 

The statement is completely lost on her. Either she's sobbing too hard to hear it, or she simply doesn't want to acknowledge it. Whichever one she chooses to neglect me entirely, only hugs herself closer to the glass, almost as desperate to break through as the infected. 

Trying to tear her away from it nearly feels wrong, like I'm pulling her from the deathbed of a sickly relative, refusing her the right to stay and cradle them on their journey to the afterlife. But even after Max's screams have died away, along with the rest of him, she still doesn't budge. 

Raising my voice to a shout does nothing. Demands prove useless. Pleading and begging  are just as futile. The entire wall is shaking at the edges while the infected beat on it like a drum. Desperation has me trying to lock my arms around her waist but she's so deranged she claws and kicks me away. 

Her boot grazes my arm, already injured from Merle slamming the car door on it, and sends pain shooting up my bones. It's enough to make me hesitate before trying again, this time grappling for a hold on her arms or legs. 

Distraught with grief, almost to the point of insanity, she manages to yank herself away every time. Her body performing in seizures, jerking violently whenever I get close, only stilling once she's left undisturbed to be with the glass. Even her shrieks have ebbed into quiet weeps wracking her frame. 

My heart aches for her, the unimaginable loss, anguish none of us could have seen coming. I can't even begin to fathom the torment. So fresh and torturous. But my devotion to her safety, to my own, overwhelms it. I try grabbing her again, starting off gently this time, arms creeping slowly around her torso. 

At one point I manage to get my good arm around her waist, but she starts thrashing around so wildly I lose any chance of holding her immediately. She's too strong for me to pull away with one hand, and Gale doesn't have enough muscle on him to be much help. He joins in on the effort, lending a hand anyway, but she's absolutely berserk. Even with Gale's help I can't seem to reign her in.

Failing to get a grip on her, my hands find one in my hair instead, pulling at the roots in frustration. We've been here so long the infected are practically finished with Max now, only heirlooms of blood left splattered and smeared across the glass. Some still linger on him from below the desk, out of sight, but the rest have set their sights on us. Still, Stella refuses to budge.

Cracks start to appear, splitting across the wall and spreading.  

"T-they're gonna break t-through!" Gale wails behind me.