Jason Frost - Warlord 04 - Prisonland Read Online Free PDF Page A

shots.”
    “You scared, Teasy?” Studebaker grinned.
    “Damn right. At least I’m smart enough to be.”
    Studebaker’s beady eyes narrowed and he took an angry step toward Teasdale.
    “We’ll eat these,” Eric said, interrupting. A confrontation between Teasdale and Studebaker wouldn’t do Eric any good right now. In the end they’d only realize they still needed each other and make up. Then they might just decide to forget Dodd and blow Eric away.
    “Eat what?” Studebaker said. “That tree?”
    “Close.” Eric pulled a couple bracken ferns out of the dry soil. “These.”
    “Shit. I’m not eating that.”
    Eric shook the dirt off the rootstocks, flicked a couple insects off the soft, hairy fiddleheads. He smiled at Studebaker and took a bite out of the light green leaflets, chewing and swallowing. “Gentlemen, the salad bar is open.”
    It didn’t take much more convincing. Soon both men were gnawing on the ferns, eating heartily after their all-night trek. Eric, however, ate only a small amount, knowing the effect too much could have. Waiting for it to happen to Studebaker and Teasdale.
    “They taste even better cooked,” Eric said.
    “Then cook it,” Studebaker said.
    Eric gathered kindling. “Matches?”
    “Dodd got them, too,” Teasdale said.
    “Lend me your glasses.”
    “Huh?”
    “Your glasses. So I can start the fire.”
    Teasdale reluctantly handed over his thick glasses, which Eric used to direct a sharp beam from the sun onto the dry leaves and kindling until the fire puffed into being. Then he handed the glasses back.
    Studebaker huffed. “Big deal. I used to do that as a kid, with my dad’s magnifying glasses from his stamp collection.”
    “Then why didn’t you think of it?” Teasdale asked.
    ” ’Cause we’ve always had matches.”
    Eric roasted the rootstalks, peeling back the inner starchy part for them to eat.
    “Eat up,” Eric encouraged, “we’ve got a long march ahead of us.”
    Studebaker and Teasdale complied, devouring many of the plants, patting their swelling stomachs.
    “What’s it like north?” Eric asked. North is where Dodd’s real trail led.
    “Not much,” Teasdale shrugged, stuffing more cooked ferns into his mouth.
    “Any major encampments?”
    “We seen a few. Ft. Dixie near Palo Alto. Seen it, but didn’t go in. One in Silicon Valley. Bunch of computer whiz kids. Nothing much there.”
    “Asgard,” Studebaker said, munching his ferns.
    “Yeah, Asgard,” Teasdale nodded. “Hell of a place. Tough place, we hear. Haven’t been there yet.”
    Eric served them each more ferns. “Asgard, huh? What else do you hear?”
    “It’s on the bayside in San Francisco. Run by a bunch of cons who escaped from San Quentin. Real trash.”
    “Shit,” Studebaker laughed. “That ‘trash’ runs the whole fucking harbor. I’d like to be in with them, man. That Thor must be doing something right.”
    “Thor?” Eric asked.
    Teasdale answered. “That’s what he calls himself. He’s the leader of the prisoners. We’ve heard some weird stories about the place. Real strange shit.”
    When they were full, Eric led them back through the woods on yet another series of circles designed to exhaust them. Within a couple hours both men were not only dragging, they were looking a little pale. The ferns were taking effect.
    “Let’s stop a minute,” Studebaker said, his hair matted with sweat across his forehead. His jowls sagged like pouches under his chin and neck. He pressed a hand against his bulging stomach. “I’m not feeling so hot.”
    “Me too,” Teasdale said, sitting on a large rock.
    “It’s that shit we ate this morning, those fucking plants.”
    They looked at Eric. “I feel fine.”
    “I’m gonna be sick,” Studebaker said.
    “Puke sick?” Teasdale asked.
    “No. Just sick.” Studebaker staggered off deeper into the woods, fumbling at his belt and pants as he ran. “You keep an eye on him ’til I get back.”
    “Hurry