Afterbirth by Belinda Frisch

nodded for Joe to lift him a bit higher.
    Sweat rolled down Ben’s balding head and stung his eyes. The pulley squealed and clunked. Rust and an imperfectly round wheel caused the lift to be painfully slow.
    “That’s far enough,” Nixon said.
    Ben stood almost on tiptoes, stretched far enough that the virus-induced shivers made him squirm like a fish on a hook.
    Nixon moved closer, close enough that Ben could see him clearly and smell the chicken shit on his boots. “I have to go back to square one, thanks to you, and I just don’t have that kind of time.” He adjusted his grip on the pliers, the ember still glowing red. “I trusted you and this is my repayment?”
    Ben braced himself and squeezed his eyes shut in order to avoid seeing what was undoubtedly coming.
    “You’ll look at me when I’m talking to you. Hold him!”
    Joe steadied Ben like a trainer holding a heavy bag.
    Ben squirmed, but it only made Joe hold on tighter. He told himself to open his eyes, but as the radiant heat moved closer to his face, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The smell of ash and fire filled his clogged nose.
    “I said ‘open your eyes’.” Nixon pressed a fiery ember to Ben’s right eyelid. The thin covering of skin sizzled and bubbled. Ben lost his breath.
    A bright red light preceded total blindness and forced his other eye open. He watched in distorted, monocular vision as Nixon twisted the dying ember. Hot, wet vitreous fluid ran down his cheek and he fainted.
     
    * * * * *
     
    The hot air smelled of boiling chicken, sweat, and burning flesh. Allison changed from her sweat-soaked gown to a pair of scrubs Ben had left for her. A tear rolled down her cheek as she listened to his muffled cries coming through her door. She had never heard more pure screams of pain, and she knew that if she didn’t escape, she was next.
    The wood floor was rough on her bare feet. She sat down and pulled on a pair of slipper socks, which were the closest things she had to shoes. Her weak legs shook as she eased herself up.
    A single beam of moonlight through the dusty window highlighted a ridge of fingerprints just above the sill. She tiptoed across the room, pressed her fingertips into the weathered wood, and lifted. Her arms shook under the weight of the glass and a cold breeze washed over her.
    She wedged Nixon’s binder to hold the window open and breathed a sigh of temporary relief.
    “Wake him up!” Nixon’s voice boomed through the door.
    She heard the sound of ripping tape. Ben screamed. Joe kept laughing. Time was running out.
    Allison went headfirst out the window, the pain in her stomach nearly unbearable as she doubled-over, half-in and half-out of the room. Her breath hung in the cold night air as she huffed and braced for the inevitable fall.
    “1-2-3.”
    She tumbled out into the darkness, leaving Ben’s screams behind her. Cold mud soaked through her cotton pants and the pebbles scraped her palms. She held still for a minute to get her bearings.
    White pinpoints of light dotted the night’s sky.
    A hen strutted over and pecked at the feed by her feet.
    She rolled onto her hands and knees and pushed herself onto her feet. A bone-deep chill took hold and she shivered. The mud froze her feet, and by the time she reached the gate, she began losing feeling in them.
    She unlatched the hasp and headed toward the sound of rushing water in the distance. Following the stream would lead her to safety, or if not, if Ben was right and the treatment was the only think keeping her alive, it would lead her to someplace else to die, alone and on her own terms.

CHAPTER 24
     
    Penny lay in the double-bed of one of the children’s bedrooms, which was more the size she was used to sleeping in. She rolled from her back, to her side, and then finally onto her stomach. Her eyelids fluttered, and as tired as she was, she couldn’t force sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she heard the smacking sound of her father’s mouth tearing