The Immortality Virus

by Christine Amsden

  The man-made ponds still existed, but layers of unidentifiable muck now infested the once smooth waters. What had once been one of the nicest sections of town was now one of the worst. Grace spotted several vagrants dipping cups into a mucky pond. She shuddered and tried not to look.

  Why had she come here? She knew, of course, that Jordan’s home no longer existed and no clues remained to show her his path through four hundred years of running from the law. Not that the police department of today would care about those old murders. At some point, he probably could have stopped running. She wondered if he knew that.

  No, she hadn’t come to investigate. She had come to find the final remains of Margaret Lacklin, once the center of Jordan’s universe. She had come to marvel at that love and wondered if Jordan still felt the same today. Maybe he had even come back to visit her over the years.

  She shuddered at the thought.

  Sentimentality aside, she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of people buried their dead beneath the ground. It was such a waste of space and resources. Many believed the spirits of the dead haunted those graveyards.

  Not Grace, of course. She didn’t believe in souls or spirits or even God, but it did not keep her from getting an eerie prickling sensation as she approached the cemetery.

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Grace told herself over and over again as she neared the graveyard entrance, but she couldn’t help but notice how much thinner the crowds became as she approached. At first she noticed she almost had elbow room, then she could walk without touching anyone, and finally she had a space several feet wide.

  Space enough to see a man handing out pamphlets near the graveyard entrance. He shoved one at her as she walked by:

  Only God can make us truly immortal!

  Accept Jesus into your heart or you, too, will die forever beneath the ground.

  “Repent, sinner!” the man said as Grace passed.

  What made him think she was a sinner? And what made him think these flyers actually worked? Grace answered by not meeting his eyes and shuffling past as quickly as possible.

  “Evil lies in that graveyard,” the man said as Grace crossed the threshold.

  “It lies out there, too,” Grace replied.

  It was like a different world. No one had taken care of it and no one lived there. No one at all. Grace had never been in such a big, open space with no people. There were no security guards here and no guns.

  The pavement here was cracked and broken. Grass and weeds grew in those cracks up to Grace’s waist. Statues of angels and crosses loomed over her from either side, protecting their decaying charges as they stood against time.

  Some of the angels looked like children. Grace saw the dates on one, “July 2, 1980–March 10, 1984.” Angela Cooper had not even been four years old before she had been cast beneath the dirt, her flesh kept from rejoining Mother Earth by an old-fashioned coffin.

  Row after row, acre after acre, each gravestone told the story of a different life. Some must have ended tragically, like Angela Cooper’s, but others, like Madeleine Vance, had lived a long life for the time. Madeleine Vance had been almost as old as Grace when she had died.

  So why didn’t Grace feel as if she had lived a full life yet? What made a life full? What made it different for her? Why did she get an extra century or two to get it right? How many years would it take before Grace would have that full life? Somehow, she did not think a thousand would be enough.

  “Who’s there?”

  Every hair on Grace’s body stood up as she jumped and whirled to face the other occupant of this forlorn place. No one came to the graveyard. The ageless, grungy looking man waving a shovel at her simply did not belong. He had long, black hair and mad, green eyes. The shovel made him look dangerous and ridiculous at the same time, but since he continued to wave it without actually attacking, she decided that any danger from him was not imminent.

  “My name is Grace.”

  “So?”

  “So I’m looking for an old relative of mine,” Grace said. “I’m doing some family history.”

  “In a graveyard? No one ever comes by a graveyard.”

  “You’re here.”

  “It’s the only place where I can be alone,” he said. “Everywhere else I got to fight for air. But no one else ever comes in here. You all think the ghosts will come and steal your souls.”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts or souls,” Grace said.

  “You’re a fool, then.”

  Grace opened her mouth to say something, but a gust of wind hit her a glancing blow, and she felt a moment of fear at the possibility of tiny souls carried on that breeze.

  “We’re all a bunch of idiots nowadays,” the man said. “We either don’t believe in God anymore or believe He’s some kind of vindictive deity who waves the hand of death over our heads.”

  “Was it ever any different?”

  “How the hell should I know? Who’d you say you were looking for?”

  “I didn’t,” Grace said. “I’m looking for Margaret Lacklin.”

  The man tapped a long finger against his temple and muttered. “Lacklin, Lacklin… I don’t think I know that one.” He reached into a worn pocket and pulled out a piece of paper folded over and over. He scanned through it for a time, muttering, “L…L…Lacklin…” Then he stabbed his finger at the map. “Found it. It’s in the newer part of the graveyard. How you related to her?”

  “She’s a great-great-great-great-great…I lost track...grandmother.”

  “So why does that make you want to meet with her?” he asked. “I’m sure all the people in here have lots of descendants. None ever come by to have a look.”

  “I’m sentimental. What is your name, anyway?”

  “Jason. I’m the curator.”

  “They pay you to watch the cemetery?”

  “They don’t run me off,” Jason said.

  “Where can I find Margaret Lacklin?” Grace asked.

  He brandished the map at her as if it were a weapon, pointing and waving his arms as he spoke. “You go up this road until you get to the mausoleum, then you go right, then left at the crooked cross, then left again at the–aw hell, I’ll just take you there.”

  Jason hoisted his shovel over his shoulder and marched in front of Grace, leaving her to follow him as she chose. He was not much for conversation as they walked. He would mutter to himself from time to time, but mostly he just kept marching with a purpose, taking Grace past sections of increasingly newer and newer headstones–although the newest were still four hundred years old. Many of the less expensive headstones were hidden beneath the grass or even cracked. For a fleeting moment, Grace’s imagination started running wild, showing her daydreams of spirits seeping out through those cracks, but then she came to her senses.

  Margaret Lacklin’s tomb did not stand out in any way. It was neither the biggest nor the smallest, and like every other plot in the cemetery, it had tall grasses and flowers growing wildly around it.

  Grace stared at the dates. “Margaret Lacklin, born November 25, 1977 died March 6, 2050.”

  She had not lasted long after the diary entries stopped. Maybe that’s why he stopped recording them. Grace wondered if she had died from natural causes or if her children had found her and had her put down.

  If so, and if he had early warning, it might have caused him to snap and kill his co-workers, knowing their research could no longer help her.

  The tombstone was double-headed. The other side read, “Jordan Lacklin, born December 10, 1973.” It did not have a date of death, but that did not mean Jordan was alive. Jordan would never be buried next to his wife, not in this day and age.

  Grace had been standing there for nearly five minutes when she noticed Jason still looking at her. “Thanks, I’ve found it okay now.”

  “I thought I could help you find your way out at the end. You wouldn’t want to get lost in here when the sun is about to set.”

  The sun was nearing the
western edge of the horizon. Many believed nighttime was for the dead, that somehow the veil between life and death thinned, and their ghosts roamed free to haunt the living. “How long have you lived here?”

  “Not long, actually.” he said. “Found this place about a month ago.”

  “You ever seen a ghost?”

  “Oh yes,” he said.

  “So why do you still live here?”

  He shrugged. “Where else should I go? My whole family’s dead.” He scowled when he said that, and Grace thought he must have felt abandoned by them. She found herself wondering how old he was. She rarely asked since it was considered impolite. With the exception of old timers, alive before aging stopped, and children, not yet to the point of decaying towards old age, everyone looked about twenty-five, give or take five years.

  “You still got family?” Jason asked.

  “My mom’s alive,” Grace said. “And my sister and some nieces and nephews.”

  “You’re lucky, then. Don’t take them for granted. Come on, let me get you out of here before the spirits come out.”

  Grace didn’t argue the merits of believing in spooks. Just then, she wanted to get out of the cold cemetery and back to her warm apartment.

  Then she remembered she’d have to go back to Sam’s apartment. This could turn out to be a very long night.

  Chapter 8

  Since Grace didn’t have a key or the code to Sam’s apartment, it was just as well that he returned before she did. He didn’t look happy, though.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been frantic–worried that th–that someone got you.”

  “That who got me?” Grace asked, though she thought she knew.

  “Nobody,” Sam said. “Matt did not put those bugs in your apartment. He’s sent a team over there to clean it out.”

  “You think The Establishment bugged my apartment, don’t you?” Grace asked.

  “Why would they do that?” Sam looked at the floor as he said that. He was a terrible liar.

  Grace wasn’t too bad at lying when she had to be. “I asked Matt about The Establishment. They were my biggest concern in taking this job. He lied to me, didn’t he?”

  “Grace–”

  “What would happen if I quit? I can return the money first thing in the morning.” She knew perfectly well she wouldn’t survive twenty-four hours if she quit. The only question would be whether Matt’s people or The Establishment got to her first. But she didn’t want Sam to know she knew any of that.

  “You can’t!” Sam’s horror at the idea told Grace everything she needed to know to confirm Matt’s deadly intentions should she not go through with this. “Why would you want to? You knew this would be dangerous when you took the job, but the potential rewards if you succeed! We’ve got a powerful man behind us, Grace, but we need you.” He paused and added, “Would you really quit?”

  Grace saw the disappointment mirrored in his eyes and felt a small stab of guilt. For a split second, she considered telling him everything–about the secondary job The Establishment wanted her to do, about them taking her to the police station–but she just couldn’t. Not then, anyway.

  “No, I won’t quit,” Grace said. “You’re right. This is more important than danger.” She paused and then added, for good measure, “I just got scared.”

  Sam made a motion as if to hug her, but Grace pulled away. “I better head back to my apartment if Matt’s sending a team there. I’ll see you later.”

  She turned to go.

  “Wait!”

  Grace paused, but did not turn. She could feel Sam standing behind her, a little too close for comfort.

  “Have you ever thought, I mean, did you ever regret…”

  “Don’t,” Grace said. She couldn’t deal with the rest of that sentence right now. Without another word, she walked out the door.

  * * *

  Grace arrived at her apartment just as Matt’s team did. She let them in and waited impatiently for them to sweep the apartment, watching them all the while for signs of double dealing. She did not want to find out they had added surveillance equipment.

  Finally, after a two-hour search that lasted until past midnight, the supervisor said they were done. “You must have done a pretty good job yourself, because we only found two more devices. Your computer should be safe now, too.”

  “Thanks.” Grace showed them out.

  She put some water on the stove to make tea–at least, that’s what the store called it–and changed into her most comfortable pair of pajamas. She had every intention of going straight to bed after she drank her tea but she was too keyed up. She wasn’t sure she could ever sleep again.

  “Sam,” Grace said. “I need you to do a search for Jordan Lacklin’s descendants, especially Alexander Lacklin.”

  “Working,” Sam chirped.

  While she waited, Grace drank her tea, and flipped through the channels on her holoset. The images looked strange in two dimensions, and somewhat blurry. Most of the time, she could only hear and not see, but most of the time she only turned it on for noise so it suited her just fine. Maybe she would buy a new set with all the money Matt paid her.

  If she lived.

  Most of the news programs still had reports of William Edgers and his Chicago takeover. Various rumors had him heading next to Memphis or St. Louis, but Governor Adams thought Kansas City wouldn’t be too far down on the list. He was heading to St. Louis in the morning to discuss a mutual defense treaty with a dozen other city states from Houston to Detroit.

  They were really worried. The city states didn’t like to cooperate on anything.

  “Search complete!” It took Grace a moment to remember what she had asked Sam to do.

  “Display records,” Grace said, turning toward the terminal and trying to put the city’s problems out of her mind.

  Jordan had two children: Ethan and Kevin. Kevin had died years ago in a pro-death bombing at a downtown Kansas City baseball game. No one went to live sports games any longer; it was too much of a target. This had happened almost three hundred years ago.

  Ethan did not have a death certificate listed, but neither did he have a current address. What he did have listed were news articles, including recent news articles, that cited him as a major player in the St. Louis Establishment and a more minor player in national politics. There were a number of pictures of him available, showing a handsome old-timer with wavy brown hair, green eyes, and a face that made him look trustworthy. The only signs of age were a few lines around his mouth and eyes. If he had gray hair, he colored it.

  She skimmed a few headlines, until one caught her attention:

  One Woman, One Child

  New national legislation proposes to limit the number of children each woman can have to one.

  Vocal pro-life advocate Ethan Lacklin, who has pushed through numerous laws barring aging research, has now proposed his own solution to the exploding population. “We can be smart and still enjoy all the benefits of long life,” Lacklin said.

  The bill would require a woman to be sterilized immediately after the birth of her first child.

  Current legislation allows each couple to have two children, but the concept of a couple is poorly defined, and there is little enforcement of this law, especially among the poor who do not see a doctor to have their babies.

  Critics of the legislation point to enforcement problems with measures currently on the books, as well as problems tracking the billions of people without proper medical care.

  Grace snorted. The only people who adhered to the current law were those with a sense of honor about adding children to the population. The wealthy ignored it, and even the middle class didn’t have too much trouble having extra babies through changing doctors, forging medical records, etcetera.

  Still, the article did give her some food for thought. Even if she could find Ethan Lacklin, he might not be the best person to track down for tips on finding his father. Aside from the fact that Jordan had hated this son, it
sounded like Ethan was exactly the wrong sort of person to get wind of what she might be after.

  Matt had suggested Alexander, though, and from what she had heard on the diary, she agreed. She was just about to call up the results for the grandchildren when the vidphone buzzed.

  Grace checked the time: 12:30 a.m. Who would call at this hour?

  She answered without screening the call. An instant later, she regretted that decision. “Mom! What on Earth made you call at 12:30 in the morning?”

  The woman who glared at Grace from the other end of the vidphone looked a lot like Grace, down to the same indistinguishable twenty-something age, but with a few obvious distortions, such as the menacing glare.

  “I can’t get you if I call at normal hours. I’ve called every day for a week and have you returned my calls? No! I thought if I tried you now, you’d be sure to be home.

  “Why don’t you ever return my calls? We have a new baby in the family, and you won’t even call to ask what the baby’s name is or if he’s healthy.”

  Grace blinked a few times, her face turning slightly pink. Her mother could get very self-righteous at times, but when she had a boyfriend, she wouldn’t return Grace’s calls. Then she had the nerve to get angry when she felt lonely and wanted some company.

  “What’s the baby’s name?” Grace asked, controlling her temper. “Is he healthy?”

  “His mother named him Frank. What an awful name. It sort of sounds dirty, don’t you think? But the baby’s beautiful. He’s got a full head of black hair. Can you believe it? It looks wild.”

  “How’s Charity?” Grace asked, maintaining her polite tone. She was interested, despite herself.

  “Happy, of course. She’s disappointed that they won’t let her come to see the baby yet. Too many people wanting to come see him, they said she’d have to wait. Charity’s found a new man to hole up with for a while. I don’t know if that’s a good idea. They always seem to break her heart, don’t they?”

  Grace didn’t answer. Now she understood why her mother had tried to call so many times lately–Charity was probably too busy for her.