The Immortality Virus (20 page)

In the ensuing chaos, Grace managed to get to her feet and into a fighting stance. No one seemed to be paying her much attention anymore, not with so many attackers. In the sea of gray, it was hard to always know who was who.

When a man made a mad dash with a knife in his hand, Grace didn’t hesitate long enough to figure out which clan he called home. She put one leg in front of him and grabbed his knife arm, using his own momentum to twist the arm until it snapped. He screamed, and Grace saw he was, in fact, one of Jane’s.

Which meant she had killed him.

“Grace!” Meg’s voice rang out from somewhere behind her, but Grace had no time to answer.

Hook Nose rushed toward her but stopped a few feet away. He seemed to have learned the risks of a bull-rush attack from his fallen comrade. Instead, he threw a series of punches that Grace had to block in quick succession.

Vaguely, Grace began to notice they had more room to fight. The crowd was lessening, the sea emptying of its grays. Off to her left, she saw Jane and Sharon circling each other. Everyone else seemed to be standing back, watching.

“Fight!” Jane called out, but her clan did not respond. Grace wondered if they were afraid of possible injury and death.

Hook Nose tried a kick. Grace stepped to the side, grabbed the leg, and twisted, sending Hook Nose sprawling to the ground.

“Don’t make me break something,” Grace said.

He crawled away, and Grace turned to walk over to Meg and the rest of her clan, who were intent on watching Jane and Sharon.

A look on Meg’s face told Grace something was wrong a second before it happened. Grace stepped to the side, spun, and caught Hook Nose by the arm. She didn’t have the right angle to break it, but Hook Nose didn’t seem aware of that because he screamed as he wriggled free, spun, and ran back to his clan.

“Thanks,” Grace said when she stepped in next to Meg.

“We take care of our own,” Meg said firmly.

Grace watched Sharon and Jane circling, wondering if she could be one of their own any longer. Jane’s clan may not have captured her, but they knew where she was. A word to the right person may not be worth quite as much as a live body, but she didn’t think she would remain hidden for long. Whoever wanted her, and for whatever reason, she would have to face it soon. The question then became, did she wait for them to find her or did she go to them?

Sharon and Jane were evenly matched, which made for long, slow progress. They both seemed to be about the same size and shape, too. In fact, seeing them together like this made Grace see a number of similarities between the two women–facial features, bone structure...

“Are they related?” Grace asked.

“Sisters,” Meg confirmed. “Longest lived pair on the farm. They hate each other.”

That was an understatement. Their eyes burned with loathing. Grace could have imagined such a look on Jane, but found it shocking on Sharon. It, more than anything else, drew out the similarities between them.

Suddenly, the two women flung themselves upon one another, clawing, biting, and pulling hair. It was the worst kind of chick fight–they drew blood and pulled out tufts of hair. Grace didn’t know what would end it until she spotted a small patrol of farmers rushing forward.

“What’s going on here?” one of them demanded.

The women did not separate.

The other farmer snapped his electric whip at the pair, and they finally fell apart, panting heavily.

“Let’s get out of here,” Meg whispered.

Grace agreed. Now that the rumble with Jane’s clan was over, she could once again hear the sounds of disruptor fire here and there from near the factory and silo. The intensity had died somewhat, but whether that was because someone was winning or everyone was dying, she couldn’t know.

“I can’t believe this,” a woman Grace knew as Jenna said. “They’ve never fought each other before.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Meg said.

“I do,” Grace said. “I’ve got to turn myself in.”

Meg shook her head violently. “You can’t! You don’t even know what they want with you.”

“I know they’ll find me. Jane will see to that. At least this way I can throw the credit to my own clan.”

“How?” Meg asked.

“You’re going to bring me in,” Grace said, her eyes fixed on Meg in a no-nonsense look. She would not take no for an answer.

A siren sounded, startling Meg out of answering at all. They both stared at one of the raised speakers that the farmers had not used in Grace’s short time on the farm.

“All slaves return to barracks,” came a loud, clear voice.

“Let’s go,” Grace said, taking Meg’s hand and pulling her away from the protection of the rest of the clan.

They ran between barracks buildings, ducking slaves on their way back to their own homes. The others were preoccupied, afraid. Tension ran high and a few small scuffles broke out, but nothing Grace couldn’t navigate. Finally, they emerged from the grid of barracks buildings to face the looming plantation house beyond.

A row of farmers stood guard, each looking more confused and uncertain than the next. They all had weapons out, but did not fire at one another. Rather, they set their eyes off in the direction of the distant farm buildings where most of the action seemed to have taken place.

It might be over. Grace did not hear any weapons fire as she approached the house, hands held out so the farmers could see she had no weapon. Meg followed a few steps behind, muttering something incoherent.

“Return to your barracks!” the middle farmer in the line called out. Grace recognized her–Barb. The familiar face did nothing to calm her nerves or steel her resolve. Barb had tried to kill her, even if it had not been a direct attack. She had known what would happen in Jane’s barracks.

Grace stopped briefly, indecisive. She glanced back at Meg, whose resolve seemed to have stiffened. She stepped forward, grabbed Grace’s injured arm, and pulled back the sleeve.

“It’s the one you’re looking for. I’m turning her in.”

Silence met Meg’s pronouncement. Eyes flew to Barb, whose own eyes went from Grace’s bone-setter to her face and back again. The deep lines around her mouth highlighted an impossibly deep frown. Of course, Barb hadn’t wanted to see her alive again. She had tried to have Grace killed.

“Now what?” asked the man standing next to Barb. Grace recognized him as Cohen, the overseer at the silo. “You said she was probably dead.”

Barb didn’t answer.

Cohen pressed her, though. “You said it didn’t matter who we turned her over to because she was dead.”

“I thought she was,” Barb said stiffly.

“She still could be,” a woman from down the line piped in. “We didn’t have to see her.”

Cohen shook his head and whispered something in Barb’s ear. She nodded, slowly, never taking her eyes off Grace.

“So who do we hand her to?” Cohen asked loudly enough for all to hear.

After a moment, Barb said, “Looks like she needs the medic to remove that bone-setter. Bone’s probably healed by now. Leave it to her.”

There seemed to follow a collective sigh of relief.

“This is over!” Barb said. “Do you understand? Over! If I hear of any more fighting I will turn you out. We’ve got half a dozen dead over this nonsense. Mr. Cooper ain’t dead yet, and until he is, you take orders from him–which means me.”

She turned and stared down the line, challenging everyone with a glare. “Cohen, take her to the infirmary.”

Cohen stepped forward, and Meg gave Grace a little push towards him.

“Who are you?” Cohen demanded of Meg as they neared the line.

“Barracks 79,” Meg replied.

“Good job turning her in. You’ll get extra food for two weeks.”

Grace turned and gave Meg one last look. She hoped to convey thanks in that look, but Meg seemed to respond with anger and sadness. As Meg turned to walk away, Grace wondered if she’d ever see the girl again.

“Let’s go.” Cohen grabbed her roughly by the arm and marched her past the line of farmers. The plantation house, about twenty yards beyond, rose like a vast giant out of the ground. In a minute, it would swallow her alive.

The bowels of the great giant did not look as they had the last time Grace was there. Everywhere, people moved up and down the hallways on frantic errands, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. A few of the pictures on the wall were askew or broken, as if fights had taken place but no one had picked up afterward.

“Left,” Cohen grunted as they reached a junction.

Grace went left, but to her surprise, there was only one room down that way. After a quick glance at Cohen, she opened it and stepped inside a large storage room.

“W-what’s going on?” Grace asked. She remembered the whispered exchange between Barb and Cohen and had a sudden, horrible premonition that the inside of this closet might be the last thing she ever saw.

“I didn’t bring you here to kill you,” Cohen said, correctly interpreting her look. Good thing she didn’t try to make a living as a fortune teller.

“What, then?” Grace asked.

“I got questions,” Cohen said. “Barb wants you taken to the doctor so she doesn’t have to figure out whose orders to follow and whose to ignore. That’s fine for her, but when I drop you at the infirmary, the doc may force me to make those choices. So I want to know what’s going on.”

“I don’t know anything,” Grace said.

“Something’s got this farm riled up,” Cohen said. “What makes you so special the farm’s owners are tearing us apart over this?”

“I didn’t know they were.”

“Bull shit.” Cohen fingered his disruptor, but left it in his holster. “You couldn’t have missed the in-fighting going on this morning. Carl Lacklin and Roy Cooper paid some of the farmers to find you for them. Mr. Cooper was trying to find you, too, but he’s sick, and some people are wondering if they shouldn’t begin to ally themselves with his son.”

“I don’t know anything about the politics here,” Grace said.

“No, but you do know why they’re after you.”

Grace didn’t answer.

“After I take you to the infirmary, the doc’s going to have me fetch either Carl or Alex Lacklin to come get you. Barb can try to stay as neutral in this as she likes and she’ll hold the line, but I’m going to have to make a choice and I have a feeling you’d rather I choose Alex. Carl’s a bastard antique. Everyone knows that.”

Grace didn’t respond. She fleetingly considered telling him she’d rather he take her to Carl, but didn’t think it would work. She had no idea if he’d make his choice based on her words anyway. For all she knew he was working for one of them, trying to wring the truth free.

“Well?” Cohen asked.

“I killed one of The Establishment.” It was true, so it was easy to say. Whether or not he bought it, though...

Cohen snorted. “Yeah, like sixty years ago. They blackballed you. I’m not stupid.”

“No, of course not.” It could never be that easy. Now she had to lie. “The trouble is they think I killed another one. They don’t have proof, though.”

“So why not just kill you?” Cohen asked.

Don’t blink. Blinking gives it away.
“They want proof that one of their own hired me to kill his father.”

“You’re saying you didn’t?” Cohen’s voice was a clear challenge.

“Yes.” That was easy. It wasn’t a lie.

“So why’d you come here?”

“For the job he did hire me to do–corporate espionage. I’m supposed to get into Alex’s research.”

“What for?”

“He didn’t hire me to understand it.”

Cohen shook his head. “You’re a liar. You’re not too bad at it, but it’s still a lie. I suppose I should have figured you couldn’t tell the truth, though. That gets out and you go from wanted alive to wanted dead or alive.”

He opened the door to the storage room and stepped out, turning to motion for her to follow.

“Now what?” Grace asked.

“Now you go to the doc.” He pointed down the hall in the opposite direction.

Grace began to walk, but not for long. After the second door, Cohen ordered her to stop and go inside.

The infirmary looked like a small hospital to Grace. She couldn’t see the end of the ward, which had mobile walls dividing the space into dozens of separate sections. Nearby, a few beds held seriously wounded farmers, each one attached to machines. A nurse kept a close eye on them while transcribing notes onto a portable. Privacy curtains could have been drawn around these few, but it seemed other factors outweighed concerns for their modesty.

“What?” a harried-looking woman in a blood-stained lab coat demanded when Grace and Cohen entered the room. “We can’t handle any more.”

“I just need you to take off this bone-setter,” Cohen said.

The doctor gasped and then looked at Grace properly. She grabbed her by the injured arm. “Does Mr. Cooper know about this?”

“Which one?” Cohen asked.

“The one who’s still alive and still owns this farm! His spoiled son has been acting like a monster, and here’s the evidence of that!” She gestured at the beds full of injured men and women.