The Immortality Virus

by Christine Amsden

  “You can say hell if you want,” Grace said. “Most of this world is hell.”

  “Better not say it around Sharon,” Meg said. “It was nice of her to take me in, especially when I couldn’t work right away, but she has a few rules.”

  “Religious?” Grace asked. She always felt uncomfortable around religious people. She remembered the man handing out pamphlets by the graveyard and shuddered.

  “It’s good for us to have something to believe in.”

  Grace didn’t answer. She wanted to steer the conversation back to this successful escape of Meg’s. Before she had a chance, though, Meg continued. “Sharon might take you in. She’s nice like that. She took me in when I was–well, not useful.”

  “How long have you been here?” Grace asked.

  “Two weeks.”

  Whatever had been ailing her, she seemed to have healed quickly. “You look great.”

  Meg shrugged. “I didn’t start work until tonight, though. That’s a long time to feed a slave without them bringing in their quota.” She paused and then added, “That’s how this farm works. We get food based on the amount of work the slaves do. Each barrack gets basically enough to feed the ones that worked that day.”

  That might explain Jane’s actions a little more–only a little, though.

  “Lots of folks think Jane’s got it right,” Meg said as if reading her mind. “Well, maybe not quite as extreme as her.”

  “What about children and babies?” Grace asked.

  Meg’s face darkened and she looked away, but not before Grace saw tears welling up in her eyes. Grace took a closer look at Meg’s large breasts and had a sudden horrible thought about how they got that large without surgery.

  “Hey, I’m sorry,” Grace said. She really meant it. “I guess I didn’t think.”

  “It’s not like I told you or anything.” Meg wiped her eyes and turned back to Grace with a forced smile. “Happens all the time, right? No big deal.”

  It did happen all the time. Infant mortality was somewhere between five and ten percent, which included a nearly twenty percent rate for slaves and street dwellers. Still, that didn’t make it right or easy.

  Meg stood and began to pace the circumference of the room. “Sharon took me in when none of the other clans would have me. She took care of me after... She’s even been teaching me to read. I learned all my letters. She wants me to be able to read the Bible. She’ll teach you to read, if you don’t know how.”

  “I’ve got that covered, thanks.”

  “Yeah, I should have figured. You seem pretty smart. I bet you went to school.”

  “I did, actually.”

  They sat in silence for a while as Grace tried to decide how to ask about the escape. It seemed to be surrounded by some painful memories, but Grace needed to know there was a way out. Finally, she settled on asking questions about the future. “So, will you try to escape again?”

  “From here?” Meg asked. “Of course not. Didn’t I tell you this place was nice? Besides, Sharon’s been really good to me. I couldn’t just run out on her. She’s becoming like a family to me and where else would I find that? On the city streets?”

  “Probably not.” Grace tried not to think about what kinds of conditions did make Meg want to run away, if this particular version of slavery wasn’t it. She must have thought there was nothing worse than to set out into the great unknown with no family or support.

  “You shouldn’t try to escape, either,” Meg said.

  “Who said I–”

  “I must be psychic.” Meg’s voice was dry and humorless. “Come on, I may not have an education like you, but I’m not stupid. You don’t want to be here and it wasn’t your choice. I get it. But it’s not so bad here, and they might kill you if you try to escape. The fences around the land will knock you out or kill you depending upon how lucky you are, and they’re buried five feet beneath the ground.”

  “And I suppose they just weren’t paying attention at your other farm?” Grace asked. She cringed as soon as she said it. She hadn’t meant it to come out so harshly.

  “No, it was pretty much the same risk. I just didn’t care. I’d have rather died than keep living there. This place is a good place to live.”

  Slowly, Grace shook her head. “Not for me. I’d rather die than live here. Besides, there are things I need to get back to.” Yeah, like trying to save the world–or at least take her best stab at it.

  Meg cocked her head to one side and studied Grace for a while. “You have a job somewhere, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Money?”

  “Enough.”

  “They didn’t mistake you for a homeless wanderer either, did they?”

  “No.”

  “So why are you here?”

  Grace thought of Carl and tried to remember his words and actions in the minutes leading to her capture. What was the purpose? Did he have the blessing of The Establishment? From the snatches of conversation she’d heard between Barb and Jim, she didn’t think he had the blessing of Alex or all of the farm’s management.

  “Grace?”

  “I have no idea what I’m doing here,” Grace answered. “One minute I’m talking to Alex and Margaret Lacklin, and the next some farmers come bursting through the door and knock me unconscious.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t Alex or Margaret,” Megan said. “Everyone says they’re very nice. I don’t know from firsthand experience, but Alex is supposed to come down during planting and harvest to check out his plants and is very friendly. Sharon says he’s helped them produce twice as much food since she first came here.”

  “What about Carl?” Grace asked.

  Meg shrugged. “Nobody talks about him much. All I know is he’s supposed to be power-hungry.”

  “Hmmm.” That was what Jordan had said about his eldest son, too. She wondered if Ethan and his son, Carl, spoke much and if this capture might mean she would run across the outspoken anti-aging advocate after all.

  It took Grace a while to notice Meg staring at her.

  “So...” Meg did not take her eyes off Grace. “You have a job, have money, and have some business with the Lacklins that landed you here.”

  “Do we have to talk about it?” Grace asked.

  “No, but I might tell you how I escaped if you do.”

  “Oh.” Grace wasn’t sure what to do. She would love to get her hands on that information, but how much of the truth could she afford to tell? Meg certainly wasn’t an Establishment stooge, nor was she here with the express purpose of spying, but a slave might do a lot to improve her situation–like telling secrets.

  “Well,” Grace began, choosing her words carefully. “I’m a private investigator and I came here looking for someone–an old member of The Establishment that maybe they don’t want found.”

  “A private eye?” Meg said. “Oh, that sounds exciting.”

  “Oh yeah,” Grace said. “I was attacked, injured, captured, branded, and tossed on a farm with a bunch of homicidal slaves.”

  “Well, that is pretty exciting, you have to admit.”

  Grace laughed despite herself. “Well, the adventure’s over if I can’t get out of here. So, how’d you escape?”

  “I escaped in the back of a freezer truck carrying meat to the next town.”

  “A freezer truck?” Grace repeated. “How did you survive?”

  Meg looked away. “I almost didn’t. And I lost the baby I was carrying. I wouldn’t recommend that way.”

  Grace shook her head. She wanted to know what was so bad that Meg risked herself and her baby in that way, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. Maybe some things were better left unsaid.

  “You might have better luck this spring,” Meg said. “At least with warmer weather, you can survive out in the countryside.”

  “That’s so far away,” Grace said. She couldn’t wait that long. Besides, she had no idea why she was here. For all she knew The Establishment would come to collect
her in the next few days and...and...well, she couldn’t think of a purpose right now, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist. They hadn’t put her on this farm because they were hard up for an extra worker, that was for sure. No, she had to escape soon.

  “I’ll help you think of something,” Meg said.

  “Why? A few minutes ago you told me not to escape.”

  “I know more about you now. Besides, it’ll be exciting. I can pretend I’m a P.I. for a few days.”

  “Just don’t let too many people know, all right?”

  “Of course.” Meg stopped her pacing and sat back down. She spent a minute staring at her hands.

  “You don’t have to help me, Meg. You’ve been kind enough already.”

  “I do, actually. I need to do something to get my mind off things and move forward. I’m not sure changing my name is good enough. Sharon always says God will help us if only we ask, but we have to pay attention for the answer.”

  “I don’t think I’m the answer to anyone’s prayers,” Grace said flatly. “I don’t even believe in God.”

  “Neither did I, but I think He must have believed in me. And right now, I have this feeling about you.”

  Grace had a feeling too, a feeling she could get this girl killed, but she didn’t push the issue. She hated to admit it, but maybe she needed a friend as much as Meg did.

  Chapter 13

  “The sun’ll be up soon,” Meg said. “I can’t do anything on the escape front right now, but I’ll take you back to my barracks when the day crew comes on.”

  They sat in silence, listening to the sounds of the farm. It was so different from the city; not quieter, but different. She supposed she was hearing the sounds of nature–of dogs baying at the moon, of horses snorting and stamping their feet, and of wind blowing untamed through the dead winter fields.

  Soon, she could hear the more familiar sounds of people stirring. In the distance, she saw two farmers approaching.

  “They’re on the night shift too,” Meg whispered, “but they never stay. They take our names at night and make sure we’re still here in the morning. If any horses were missing or hurt, they’d flay us alive, but I don’t know what they get up to all night.”

  Grace did not recognize either of the farmers, and thankfully, they did not recognize her, either. One of them, a woman, was holding a clipboard. “Where are the other two?”

  “Injured,” Meg said.

  The farmer jotted something down on her clipboard. “Who are you?” she asked Grace.

  “Grace.”

  From the corner of her eye, Meg flinched.

  “Who are you?” the farmer repeated slowly, as if Grace were stupid.

  “Barracks 79,” Meg answered for her. Then Grace understood, she wasn’t a person–she was a number.

  “You weren’t here at nightfall, and I don’t have any record of you being assigned to the horses. Get back to your bunk and don’t come round here again.”

  That was their cue to leave. Meg took Grace gently by the arm and led her away, whispering, “I should have told you about that.”

  “It’s all right.”

  Meg led them to barracks 79, one busy with morning activity. No one paid the new arrival much attention as they went through their routines. A small knot of men stood in a line at the back of the room, waiting for their turns at the bathroom.

  Meg followed Grace’s eyes and whispered, “The women get to go in next. There’s a nice room back there with two toilets, sinks, and showers. I’d never had a shower before I came here. I’m still not sure what I think about it.”

  Grace didn’t reply. Her eyes continued to roam around the room until they fell upon a dozen bunks occupied by coughing, shivering, or groaning figures. One lay still–maybe a little too still. Obviously, they had whatever was going around.

  “This way.” Meg took them straight through to the open center of the room, where a tall, stout woman with long, blond hair leaned over a pot of porridge cooking on the single wood-burning stove. The stove also seemed to be heating the room. The porridge smelled wonderful, and Grace’s stomach gave a loud growl.

  The woman, presumably Sharon, the leader of the clan, looked up and frowned. “Who are you?”

  “This is Grace,” Meg said. “She saved my life last night. Al and Andy abandoned me and two men from Clan Conway tried to kill me.”

  Sharon studied Grace for a while. She seemed to want to take in every inch of her, from head to toes. She paused at the arm and stared. Grace realized too late that she had allowed the sleeve to bunch up, revealing the bone-setter. She pushed it back down.

  “That how you broke your arm–fighting the men off?”

  “No, it was already broken.” Meg seemed perfectly capable of handling the entire story, so Grace stood back and listened.

  “She fought them off with a broken arm?”

  “She knows how to fight. She was trained by the police.”

  “Really? Where’d she get the bone-setter?”

  “Alex Lacklin made them give it to her.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got quite a story to tell.” Sharon finally faced Grace fully. “I suppose you’re hoping I’ll take you in.”

  “Yes.” The word hung there, making Grace feel like she should add an honorific such as “ma’am,” but she took too long to decide.

  “Why was the Conway Clan after Meg?”

  Grace’s face turned pink. “They were after me, actually.”

  “Figures. Oh well, not like we’ll notice them having one more reason to come after us. At least you can fight them off. Can you work?”

  “Yes.”

  “What can you do?”

  “Whatever you need me to do. I stayed with Meg last night at the stables.”

  “They give us food based on how much work we do. You got to pull your weight. If you try to escape, I won’t get in your way, but you’d best not put my clan in danger.”

  “Who said I’d try to escape?”

  “I’m psychic.”

  Grace glanced at Meg, who shrugged.

  “Most of the other clans would turn you out for that arm, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. We take care of our sick here, as best we can. We’ve got lots of sick right now, too. Almost more than we can handle. Everyone’s on half-rations and you’re on no rations until supper tonight. You understand?”

  Grace’s stomach gave a piteous moan, but she nodded.

  “We read the Bible at night and pray over meals. We take care of one another and we’ve all got to pull our weight. You report to the corn silo for cleaning duty. Make sure you give the overseer barracks number 79.”

  “She’s been up all night,” Meg cut in. “Can’t you let her sleep?”

  Sharon shook her head. “I got no choice. It’s all I can do to let her in this clan, but she didn’t get any credit for being up all night with you, did she?”

  Meg shook her head.

  “We’ve got fifteen people laid up with whatever’s going around here, and I can’t afford to have a healthy adult sleeping all day.”

  “It’s no problem,” Grace said before Meg could speak for her again. It was a problem. She did not perform well on no sleep or food, but she was also a survivor who would do what she had to do. If cleaning the corn silo was in the day’s plans, then so be it.

  “Good,” Sharon said. “It’s the big, tall thing over there.” She pointed vaguely to the west. “Get to it.”

  * * *

  When Grace returned to barracks 79 that evening, it was with every muscle in her body aching, her head practically numb with sleep deprivation, and her brain desperately trying to shut her body down for sleep. The farmers had not used whips. The workload had not been too unreasonable for a person with a good night’s sleep, but when Grace slumped down on the hard concrete floor near the stove, she felt as if someone had beaten her up. Then she remembered many people had beaten her up in the past thirty-six hours.

  She groaned audibly.


  “Sharon said to give you a full ration tonight,” Meg whispered in Grace’s ear as she handed her a bowl of some soupy substance with vegetables, potatoes, and beans in it. “Don’t tell anyone, though.”

  Grace gave Meg a weary smile and took a grateful slurp of the soup. It was very good. She rarely ate real food, but found tonight she was incredibly thankful not to have been offered a nutri-bar.

  “It’s good, isn’t it?”

  Grace nodded mutely.

  “Back on the other farm they mostly gave us nutri-bars. Sometimes we’d steal fresh fruits and veggies from the farm, but when they caught us—” Meg stopped and shuddered. “I told you this place was nice. I mean, Jane isn’t. There are some clans you wouldn’t want to get involved with. They don’t usually try to put new people with Jane. She doesn’t let her clan take care of the sick ones. She turns them out in the cold. They say she killed her mate that way. I can’t imagine.”

  Meg looked at Grace as if looking for confirmation, but Grace was too intent on the soup. She knew she needed to slow down, that it was almost gone and she would get no more tonight, but she was so hungry.

  “Most people make a lot of it, but it doesn’t sound any worse than what I was used to before. I mean, there wasn’t a clan there that was like a family, not like this.”

  Grace’s bowl was empty. She used the spoon to scoop out as much as she could and when that failed her, she used her finger.

  “The farmers don’t force anyone here, either,” Meg went on. “Not that anyone usually refuses them. Being with a farmer comes with special privileges. Sharon likes it when some of her girls are holed up with them. One of them’s sick, though, and the rest are being turned down because I think the farmers are scared of catching whatever’s going around.”

  Grace licked the last remnants of soup off her finger and stared at the now completely empty bowl. Her stomach whined. “I don’t suppose there’s water?”

  “In the bathroom,” Meg said. “Use as much as you like; there’s no water shortage around here. One of the guys here is from out west and he says they have to ration water there.”

  Grace took her empty bowl to the bathroom and filled it with water from one of the sinks. She drank it down and then filled it again. Then again. Finally, with her stomach stretched thin from the weight of the water, she turned to ask Meg where she could sleep.