We are very pleased to announce the runner-up in our inaugural New Voices Short Fiction contest.

“Nests and Numbers” by Brian W. Ball  follows a retired IT professional confronting a devastating diagnosis while trying to make sense of the numbers that suddenly define her future. A quietly furious story about mortality, money, motherhood, and the brutal arithmetic of American healthcare. It’s a powerful American tale and we hope you enjoy it.

“Nests and Numbers” by Brian W. Ball

She was almost out of time but wouldn’t back down. Check the numbers again, she said, be sure. Please. They had sources of data. Anybody and their niece could see she was sick. Her own data showed serious freaking discrepancies between serenity and despair. Her weight was down, doing anything hurt, she could sleep for twelve hours and still wake-up tired. This was her third specialist. If he agreed with the others, she was cooked. Days numbered.

The data came back corrupted. When the doctor offered her a glass of water, she knew it was over. After, she drove without direction, going nowhere but under the speed limit. At a drive-through, she ordered her favorite: an iced mocha. Finally, she remembered the beach.

A summer day but early, so the teenage attendant wasn’t in the booth to check her resident sticker. She pulled in front of the concrete barrier. Two seagulls, camouflaged in the bright sky, cried out. She tried to cry but couldn’t. Everything was too pretty. She drank her coffee and started to put things in order.

The money numbers showed aggression, devouring time: ubiquitous and conclusive. Growths competing for space in her liver and spine; actions that needed equally aggressive reaction. Act now or forever hold your pieces. She needed more time to get her boys settled. The doctors suggested treatments beyond her understanding. Immunotherapy and immune checkpoint inhibitors. A CAR-T? The first doctor acted like she ought to know. Hadn’t she had a terminal disease before?

She’d worked in IT before retiring. The three of them had not lived lavishly but with enough. She worked long hours and spent weekends on call. She gave up family time patching firewalls and finding lost customer data. She didn’t make six figures. She made a safe home, saved what she could and had good medical insurance.

Time marched on, the boys grew, moved away but stayed close. Good boys with good jobs, just not great ones yet. They were still young. She lived alone and worked into her mid-sixties. She retired and tried quilting, but most mornings, she walked this beach.

She took her shoes off and tiptoed into the waves. She went up past her ankles and watched the foam gather and pull back. A small cut stung. Feeling something felt good.

When the boys were little, they came here. They fished off the pier, tied hooks but never caught anything. After, they sat in the sun and ate ice cream.

She had $223,261 left in the credit union, and five years on her mortgage. She wanted the boys set-up. Buying a home today was too hard. A good down payment and no school debt. Her nest egg would help.

She spent the next two weeks on hold or chatting with an AI bot. Frustrating: deductibles, copays, out-of-network premiums, and coinsurances percentages…hurt her head. She had questions, needed more data and got confusing answers, except “no.”

Aggressive treatments needed approval and time. They suggested she start treatment and figure out the money later. She might lose her nest egg. She needed to talk to someone in person. She was being treated poorly.

The squeaky rolling chair and clacking keyboard competed with the quiet. The rep. typed and she waited on a desperate island. The doctors wanted to begin this week. She needed these numbers.

The office smelled like lemon. A healthy philodendron on the desk mocked her. A vine of glossy leaves draped to the floor. She crossed her leg and coughed. The rep., with his name on the door, emailed someone else in authority. She’d worked forty-five years and had paid medical insurance the entire time. She ought to be sitting with the CEO.

He typed more while she asked questions. She was prepared to pay something, her fair share. He called other people and repeated her questions. Silence, listening. She knew if they wanted to, they’d help, but she was just a number. Why were they doing this to her?

He asked for patience and got it. Through the reflection of his cell phone, his desktop software computed her life’s worth quickly. She’d need about $300,000 out of pocket. The procedure was only partially covered. There was an advance waiver form that, if approved, would cover some more. How about that? He seemed pleased and swiveled to something behind his desk.

She waited, unsure what to do, inhaled and took the plunge. Committing a felony wasn’t really her thing, but it seemed a fair play. She couldn’t let them do this to someone else. She slipped a USB drive into a port at the back of his computer. He didn’t notice. His cell beeped. She left.

She stood again at the cusp between white sand and gleaming wet. More seagulls spun overhead, hollering at the day. She couldn’t call her boys. She tried but stopped. Too hard. She wasn’t willing to mortgage their futures. She’d worked too long.

In a few days the rep. would open a folder on his desktop he didn’t recognize. Malware would download, modify the boot sector and begin to copy itself. It would execute to every connected office device, deleting files both domestically and internationally.

It would take months to untangle. She was sure a virus named “numbers” wouldn’t be easy to find. It would spread quickly. She’d spent her career defending against such viruses and the company would not recover. Folks tend to be sensitive about their protected health information and financial data.

She finished her iced coffee and walked the plastic cup to the trash can at the top of the beach. She turned back, took a deep breath and ran. When the swell went over her head, she swam, cupping water in strokes like she taught the boys. She stopped swimming when she felt weak. The shore, now far behind, was a thin line of sand. The seagulls flew over and squawked at her. She closed her eyes and listened. Did they ever rest?

She was ready to.

“Nests and Numbers” by Brian W. Ball

Brian W. Ball will receive $50 for finishing second in our contest.

Brain Bell bio

Originally from Rhode Island, Brian Ball has been a special education teacher for almost thirty years. He currently works with disabled adults suffering from mental illness. He lives in Ann Arbor, Michigan with his wife, also an educator, and two sons. His work has appeared in 365 Tomorrows, Edge&Busby, Sci-Fi Shorts and Mobius Blvd. He holds a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature and a master’s in Education.

The 2nd New Voices Fiction Award

Our inaugural contest is now biannual. We are running it back and the contest is now open.

Don’t wait and feel free to submit here.