The Immortality Virus (26 page)

The door slid open, and Carl Lacklin stepped through, wrinkling his nose at the smell.

Well, there went her death theory.

“Where are your wrist cuffs?” Carl asked.

“Your uncle removed them.”

“Did he?” Carl asked, and Grace was delighted to see the anger flashing in his eyes. She had a feeling the camera had not been recording during Ethan’s interview. He had no intention of letting anyone else know what was going on.

“Guards, get the cuffs back on.”

At Carl’s instruction, two farmers went in and twisted Grace’s arms behind her back. She felt the cuffs lock into place and then charge to life, sending a low shock through her body.

She barely flinched.

Carl cleared his throat. “Search the room for the signal disruptor.”

Ah, interesting. So that’s how Ethan had kept them from hearing what was going on. How long had it taken Carl to figure that out?

One of the men, one with a strange mustache that curled at one end, looked at the vomit in disgust. “There’s not much to see.”

“Search her,” Carl ordered.

Mr. Mustache continued to hold back, but the other, an exceptionally tall man with a wicked grin on his face, pulled out a knife and began to cut off Grace’s clothing. He leered at her as if expecting her to squirm under his intense scrutiny.

She didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. What did she care if he saw her naked body? At least he was removing the vomit-stained clothing.

“Not in the clothes,” the leering farmer said after stripping her down to her underwear. He could have taken that, too; she wouldn’t have minded.

“Check the floor and the walls,” Carl ordered.

“Have you tried talking to your uncle about this?” Grace asked, hoping to provoke him.

“He only just got back from a trip to town and has no idea what’s going on. His idiot guards failed to report anything, so he’s sent them home and replaced them with new ones.”

“His, I suppose?”

“The farmers here aren’t trained in torture,” Carl said. His attempt to sound sinister fell flat, possibly because of his incredible stupidity. His father was right.

“What’s going on in here?” came another familiar voice. Ethan Lacklin stepped into the room. He did not wrinkle his nose or make any sign at all that he found the room foul.

“I’m trying to find the source of the disruption,” Carl said.

“I told you it could wait,” Ethan said. His voice was calm, collected, but deadly serious. These two weren’t getting along, which might spell opportunity for Grace.

“I couldn’t wait, Dad, there’s no audio. She could die in here, and we’d never know.”

“There’s video, son.” His voice lost some of its coolness.

“Who do you suppose put the signal disruptor in here?” Grace asked.

“Let’s go,” Ethan said, putting himself between Grace and his son.

“You did, obviously,” Carl said. “Who else would want to?”

“Why would I want to?” Grace asked. “And where would I have gotten a signal disruptor?”

“Who else would it have been?”

“Hmmm, let’s think,” Grace stared intently at Ethan. “Did you tell him what we talked about this morning? Did you plan to tell him any of what you or your men tortured out of me?”

“Carl, get your men out of here. You’re disrupting the process. She needs to be isolated right now, not free to play mind games on you.”

“I found it!” Mr. Mustache said, his facial hair curling even more as he daintily held up the fork smothered in vomit. On the handle–barely perceptible–was a tiny black chip.

“You were saying?” Carl asked.

Grace looked from Carl to the fork in confusion. “I didn’t bring the fork in. Your father did.”

“Let’s go. The audio should work now.” Ethan escorted his son out of the room so quickly that Grace didn’t get a chance to see his face or see if her statement of sheer, obvious truth had registered with him. As the two guards left, however, Mr. Mustache and Mr. Leer exchanged glances that said all too clearly they understood.

Score one for Grace.

* * *

An eternity later, the room started to shake. Grace figured it meant she was losing her mind.

The door slid open again. This time it was Ethan, flanked by two men who were not farmers. They wore black from head to toe like comic book villains. Grace thought they were funny and laughed. Or maybe that sound was her stomach’s last pitiful effort to tell her how badly she had been treating it lately.

She tilted her head to one side and the men broke apart into a million dots as another wave of nausea spread through her body. Strange, how she could feel nauseous with nothing inside her but bile. She tasted the bile. It felt warm and wet and it burned her tongue.

The guards brought in a folding chair and table. Grace didn’t remember them having those a minute ago, but her mind wasn’t working as clearly as it usually did. They set them up and then stood on either side of the table while Ethan sat down and placed a glass of water on the table.

She had been waiting for this game. He would taunt her with that water, but she couldn’t have it. The only thing she hadn’t been prepared for was how much she wanted that glass of water.

“You can talk now, if you like,” Ethan said. “If your brain isn’t too muddy, I’m sure you know what’s about to happen.”

Would it be better to relax or brace herself? Perhaps it didn’t matter. Ethan’s arm came up and Grace’s muscles tightened, but he only reached for the glass of water and took a long swallow.

“How’s Carl?” Grace asked. The words didn’t come out as casually as she would have liked. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as if her saliva had turned to glue. She wished she knew how long she had been down there. A day? Two? Surely not three. Didn’t humans die after three days with no water?

“Fine, fine. Thanks for asking.” Ethan put down the glass and brought out a remote.

He pressed a button and Grace’s whole body spasmed with the shock from her cuffs. She clamped her mouth shut, managing not to scream, but it was a near thing. She didn’t need to be the hero here, but there was small victory in resisting for a little while. He wouldn’t get to her quite this soon.

“Where is the diary?” Ethan asked.

“Where’s Carl? Is he listening? What will he think when there’s no audio again?”

“Hoping to exploit some conflict between your captors to effect rescue, huh?” Ethan pressed another button and the pain came again, but this time Grace didn’t think it was as bad. Which was to say she knocked her teeth together and balled up her hands into fists that left fingernail marks in her palms. Her heart began to stammer in an unhealthy rhythm–whether from dehydration or the pain she didn’t know.

The jolt ended, but her heart still reeled.

“Where is the diary?” Ethan repeated.

“There is conflict though, isn’t there? He may be too stupid or trusting or something, but the farmers aren’t. They may be listening right–”

He pressed the button again. This time, Grace thought her heart was going to explode. A scream caught in her throat, and she groaned.

“No rescue is coming. Carl is in the control room right now, listening to every word my people want him to hear–using some sophisticated software and our voice prints.

“So, where is the diary?”

Grace shook her head.

Again he pressed the button. This time, Grace let out a tiny squeak and her eyes rolled upward as she gasped for breath. He didn’t let go of the button for a long time. When it was over, he leisurely took another long swallow of water and placed it between them.

“Who knows about the diary?” Ethan asked. Before he even gave her a chance to answer, he pressed the button again, this time sending Grace’s entire body into convulsions.

“Who else knows?”

Her body shook again, but Ethan hadn’t pressed the button, and the only pain she felt was residual. Strangely, Ethan and his two guards shook too. So did the room.

“What the–?” one of the guards began.

“Check it out,” Ethan ordered the guard who had spoken. The guard left in a flash, and Ethan turned up the pain again.

Grace reached for blackness, willing it to come down around her. Unconsciousness would be a reprieve of sorts, and it would keep her alive long enough for whatever the hell was going on to have an impact on her. She was beyond wondering if that impact was good or bad–it couldn’t get worse.

“Who else knows?” Ethan asked.

“You, me, the guard who just left...”

Again. Grace screamed. The sound ripped her throat apart.

“Bring in the other prisoner,” Ethan ordered the remaining guard.

He left, plunging the two of them into solitude and silence. Ethan took another long swallow of water and then held it out as if to give it to her. She did not even pretend to reach for it.

“A pause while we bring in another player,” Ethan said. “You could have a drink. All you have to do is give me one name. That’s all. Just one. Did you tell someone on the farm, perhaps? Probably not, but if you did, just give me the name. They’re just a slave. What would it matter?”

Jane’s name popped into her head. All she had to do was say it and she’d get water at the expense of a woman who’d tried to have her killed.
Jane...Jane....from barracks 37 Jane.

She clamped her mouth tightly shut.

The door slid open again and the guard returned, forcing a worse-for-wear Alex before him.

He still had clothes, but they were torn and every inch of exposed skin was covered in lacerations. He had several day’s growth of facial hair, which gave Grace her first clue as to how long they had been down there. She had been figuring two days–a long time for a human to go without water but not too long. Time enough to torture her still.

“Hello, Alex,” Ethan said, politely. “I was hoping you would be able to tell me where the diary is and what it says. I know you got your hands on it. It’s here, somewhere.”

Alex shook his head but did not speak.

“You forget, Alex. I know your weakness.” Ethan pressed a button and Grace convulsed so hard it almost broke her back. She screamed, a bloody scream that ripped her throat in ways she thought might never heal.

“You can make it stop, Alex,” Ethan said. “Look what you’re doing to her.”

Alex gave Grace a haunted look, and in that instant, she knew he could crack. The man might be able to handle his own torture, but for some reason she felt he couldn’t handle hers.

“Don’t say anything, Alex,” Grace croaked. She wasn’t sure he would hear her with that horrible rasp in her voice. “I can handle it.”

“But he can’t,” Ethan said. “He hasn’t told you all about himself, has he? He’s rescued slaves from this farm, found them work, and sent them away. He’s found a perfect food source to feed all of humanity but is holding it back because if he tells anyone before other arrangements can be made, all the slaves will be turned out with nothing.”

Really?

“Oh, and it gets better,” Ethan said. “This is the man who purposefully estranged himself from his daughter when someone found out so they couldn’t use her against him. The man died a couple of months ago. How has she responded to your attempts to win her back now that she’s safe?”

Alex tried to spit at Ethan, but seemed to have as little moisture in his body as Grace. The effort was wasted.

“Don’t tell him anything,” Grace said. She wanted to go on, but the pain was back and kept her from speaking. She had to fight not to bite her tongue as her body convulsed once more.

When the pain eased, Grace started talking immediately. “Alex won’t say anything. He’s a humanitarian. You’ve misjudged him. One life for hundreds of bill–”

“Stop!” Alex shouted.

The pain stopped. Grace couldn’t speak, though. All she could do was gasp for air. She felt like her lungs would collapse the next time Ethan turned that thing on.

“Yes?” Ethan asked. “Where’s the diary?”

“It’s in my quarters.”

“We already–”

“You didn’t pull back the carpeting and find the secret compartment there.”

Ethan hesitated. “If you’re lying, this moves to the next level. You can only do so much with the cuffs, you know.”

“It’s there,” Alex said. He sounded like he meant it, too. Grace kept her head down and did nothing to show, through word or action, that she was surprised by his lie.

“Fine. My guards will begin the search. You two can have ten minutes together as a reward.” Ethan stood and left the room, trailed by two guards. As they left, the room shook again.

Alex’s hands were cuffed behind him but his legs were free. He took a quick look around the room, found the video surveillance, and moved close to Grace so his back was blocking her from the scrutiny of the camera.

She suddenly became aware or her nakedness. A stupid and useless line of thought, of course, especially since she hadn’t cared about half a dozen strangers seeing her that way.

Then Alex leaned in close and whispered, “They’re listening.”