The back of her head knocked against each step as Gustavo hauled her up, his grip on her leg nearly enough to break it. Blood had stained his mask where Marta had kicked him, turned the blue fabric purple. He growled with every breath he took.The family still sat at the table, attending to the old woman who had calmed her yelling and looked to have fallen asleep in her chair.As each step collided with the back of Marta’s already injured head, her vision had begun to blur, her thoughts getting muddy and slow. Francisca still wept, screamed for her husband and child. The woman’s shrill but hoarse shrieks echoed throughout the small house.Gustavo had thrown his bedroom door open, swung Marta like a pendulum by her leg, and tossed her nearly across the room. She landed hard on her side, slapping her right cheekbone against the floor and biting her tongue again, almost on the same spot as before. Fresh blood flowed into her mouth, the pain in her tongue electric, but she had jumped up and ran for the door, pounded her fists on it and kicked at it when Gustavo slammed it shut and locked it from the outside.But she gave up on that and lay with her back against the door, facing the dark, rank room.
