The Immortality Virus (17 page)

Hook Nose had mentioned it, too. She might deplore Jane for sending off every slave with an injury, but a deadly contagious disease was another matter.

“I can stay with you tonight,” Grace said.

“Do you know anything about horses?” Megan asked.

Since she’d never seen one before that night, she didn’t even try to lie. Besides, claiming to have skills one does not possess is the flimsiest kind of lie. “No.”

“Oh well, at least you can fight.” Her eyes fell to Grace’s injured arm, though the thermal coat now covered the bone-setter. “With a broken arm and everything. How come they gave you a bone-setter and not a good coat?”

“Good question,” Grace said.

When Grace didn’t volunteer any more information, Megan continued. “I bet you’ve got an interesting story to tell. They don’t normally give bone-setters out, you know.”

“I know.”

An uncomfortable silence sprang between them for a minute. Megan was the first to try to fill it. “Grace, did you say? That’s a nice name. Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” Grace blinked a few times, not sure how to answer. No one had ever asked her that before. “I don’t know. It’s not really me. It’s got more to do with my mom and her sense of propriety. She named my sister Charity.”

“You could change it.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. After one hundred and thirty years you get kind of attached to a name. I wouldn’t know myself by anything else.”

“One hundred and thirty!” Megan whistled. “Wow, there aren’t many slaves that live that long. I bet you–” She broke off, seeming to understand that Grace didn’t want to talk too much about her life. “Well, I wouldn’t mind changing my name.”

“Why?” Grace asked.

“I guess twenty-three years isn’t as much time to get used to it. I was thinking of Meg. Do you like it?”

“Sure, if you do,” Grace said.

Meg nodded. “I’m making a fresh start here. My old farm was horrible, not at all like this place. This place is nice.”

“Nice?”

“Oh yeah. We’ve got indoor plumbing and heating and air conditioning, and the farmers treat us well and...well, anyway.” Something flashed in Megan’s eyes, and Grace got the impression there were things in her past she’d rather not talk about either.

“I didn’t think slaves were usually sold between farms.”

“Er, they’re not.” Meg stared at a spot on the wall for a minute. “I ran away, actually.”

“You escaped?” Grace suddenly perked up to full attention. “How did you do that?” Then another question came to mind. “Why did you do that, and then come to another farm?”

“How’d you end up on this farm?” Meg asked.

“Not by choice,” Grace muttered.

“There are lots of things that happen to us that aren’t by choice,” Meg said. “I only made one choice in my entire life, and it went to hell–heck.”

“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.

“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.”