The Immortality Virus

by Christine Amsden

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Unfortunately, it was the truth. She wondered if Matt knew anything about it. Somehow, she thought the answer might be yes, in which case she might help Ethan kill the man–if she got out of this. The more Ethan talked, the more her mind began to wonder if escape was somehow possible.

  Why not? Nothing was certain until she was dead. All she had to do was to postpone that as long as possible.

  “Grace, it has been a pleasure talking to you, but I’m afraid this is the point where the niceties must come to an end unless you tell me everything you know.”

  “No.”

  Ethan stood. “I thought you might say that. Which is why I poisoned your chocolate. I’d better go before you start losing your supper, but I’ll be back in the morning.”

  “But...but you ate it.” Grace stopped. The chocolate had come in individual pieces, and her stomach was beginning to tell her that her piece may well have contained something bad.

  “Good night, Grace.”

  She tried to double over from a stab of pain, but being tied to a chair, she couldn’t manage it. Instead, she heaved the contents of her stomach onto herself, especially her lap and hands. It tasted awful coming back up, and the feel of it on her body made her gag. But it didn’t end there. Tears filled her eyes and the scent of vomit filled her nose as her insides writhed again and again, past the point where there was no more left. After that, she dry heaved until she thought she might black out to escape the pain.

  Chapter 20

  When it was over, Grace sat there dripping in vomit, unable to move any part of her body save her hands, which reached for and found the lock fastening the binding around her middle. She wasn’t sure why she reached for that lock when she knew she would never be able to open it.

  Bringing her hands back to her front, she tried to wipe the vomit off her shirt and lap, with limited success. She reached behind herself to find a bit of clean shirt to wipe her hands, but this, too, proved only somewhat successful. The stench of bile and orange duck filled the air and grew stronger as time went on. She tried not to look at the mess, but there was little to look at in the plain, brightly lit room, and she often found her gaze lingering over bits of the meal she had stupidly enjoyed. Oh, she had been careful at first, watching to make sure she ate out of the same batches Ethan did, but by the end his ploy had worked–and he had lulled her into a false sense of security.

  It must have been his honesty that had tripped her up. She wasn’t used to that in anyone, and especially not in someone who was admittedly bent on killing her. Looking back over the conversation, she did not think he had told her a single lie, which had been, perhaps, the biggest lie of all.

  Back in college, a Christian acquaintance had described the devil as “The Father of Lies.” Perhaps Ethan had taken lessons from him.

  No one came for her for a long time, not that this proved surprising. Grace understood the game now. No food...no water...no sleep. The bright overhead lights beat down mercilessly and the stiff upright position they forced her to maintain made every bone and muscle in her body ache. She curled and uncurled her toes and fingers to try to keep blood circulating properly, but there was nothing to be done for her legs or butt, which could barely slide an inch in either direction.

  If only she knew what time it was. They had taken her portable again, of course. They would probably be analyzing all the messages for clues.

  Which meant they knew to target Sam. Grace’s stomach twisted at the thought, though she had barely thought of him over the past few days. He had been the love of her life, and now a part of her felt as if she were betraying him with some of the thoughts she had about Alex. It was an absurd thing to feel. She didn’t owe Sam a thing and yet...and yet she had not let her heart get involved with another man since. Her body, yes, but not her heart or her head.

  Grace pushed the thoughts away and tried to fill her mind with pleasant images, but could not maintain them for long. Her mind kept going back to her days on the police force, and she wondered if somehow her entire life had been leading here. Utter nonsense, of course. She didn’t believe in fate. Or destiny. Or even God.

  Not for the first time in her life, though, she wished she did.

  She reached out with her thoughts and asked, tentatively, God, are you there? ‘Cause I could really use some help about now.

  He didn’t answer. Maybe He would after another day without food or sleep.

  It was too bad about Alex getting himself into this mess. Idly, she wondered if he believed in God. Sam didn’t. In fact, he believed strongly that there was no God. She had never been able to manage either act of faith.

  Grace closed her eyes and saw the red glow of the light through her eyelids. She had been avoiding thinking about Alex for some time now. What kinds of games was Ethan playing with him? Would Alex fall for it, or did he know his uncle well enough not to?

  Could he get them out somehow?

  The thought came to mind unbidden. She didn’t want to daydream about rescue attempts. Her knight in shining armor had never come for her and if he did, she imagined he’d be the dragon in disguise. Still, Alex did have the support of some of the farmers. They had fought for him a couple of days ago. Would they fight for him now, with the elder Mr. Cooper gone?

  Don’t count on it.

  That was easy. She never counted on much.

  So then, think. What are the barriers to getting out of here?

  Well, right at the top of her list of struggles was the chair. Her feet were bound together and to the floor. Her torso was bound to the back of the chair. Her hands were free, but not free to do much. The bindings were locked in place, and even if she’d had a bobby pin, like in old movies, the days of being able to break open a lock that way were long over. Keys were part mechanical, part digital encoding. Besides, she wasn’t sure where she would get a bobby pin.

  If she somehow managed to free herself from the chair, there was the door, which was surely locked from the outside and had to be foot-thick steel. The cinder block walls looked quite sturdy. In the movies, a loose cinder block would be the most obvious escape. Conveniently, those blocks were always loose and big enough for a man to crawl through. She’d need to find half a dozen loose blocks in a circle to manage it.

  She spotted the video camera they were using to watch her, so tiny that a casual search would never find it. She could call for the guards and ask for the bathroom, but she didn’t really think they would answer. Besides, with the mess on the floor, she had a feeling she knew what their answer would be. Too bad, because now that she thought of it she did need to use the bathroom.

  Don’t think about it. Why was it always so impossible to not think about something? The moment her bladder came to the center of her mind, it suddenly became harder and harder to concentrate on anything else.

  So if she did get out of here, there was a plantation full of farmers to fight off. She needed to find Alex. He would probably know the codes to get the hovercars working. Escape on foot was hopeless.

  Which meant all she had to do was get out of this chair, out of the room, fight off dozens of farmers, get to Alex, get to the garage, and she’d be home free.

  Plus, she had to pee.

  Think about something else.

  She thought of God again and whispered the prayer of the unbeliever. “If I get out of this alive, then maybe there really is a God.”

  She looked at the walls and at the camera. She waved at the camera and smiled into it for no particular reason at all. She looked at the door. Finally, she looked at the pool of yuck on her lap and at her feet.

  Her stomach threatened to heave again, but she managed to keep it steady. At least she wasn’t thinking about her bladder anymore...oops. She began to squirm and stare at the floor.

  Something shiny glinted out of the mess of vomit on the floor. A fork. It must have fallen from the cart when she began convulsing. Too bad she didn’t have stretchy arms. She tried to push
her foot in that direction and could just brush against the fork with the toe of her shoes, but had no way to grip it.

  She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she went insane. She started writhing, making every muscle in her chained body move to its fullest extent. Her arms, free, managed to do the most damage, which was to say none at all.

  Finally, exhausted, she slumped as much as she could in her chair and closed her eyes again, thinking of nothing, willing herself not to give in to their psychological torture. She was stronger than a day without sleep, sore limbs, the smell of vomit, and clothing soiled with urine and last night’s dinner.

  At least she didn’t have to go to the bathroom anymore.

  Chapter 21

  Time passed.

  And then some more.

  At least, Grace assumed time passed. Since the lights didn’t change, she could simply have been frozen in one long, agonizing instant. Perhaps she had died and this was the afterlife–to relive the last moment of one’s life for all eternity.

  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.