I crane my neck, searching the ceiling, and my eyes come to rest on the boxcar-like structure hanging high overhead. The foreman's roost, where supervisors once oversaw work throughout the entirety of this factory in its heyday.

No noises. No more voices. The only sound is the shuffling of my own feet-and the little sounds in my throat I can't help from making when the pain hits too badly to stifle them.

I bend over slightly, trying to stretch out my back. It's already swelling ...