Jason Frost - Warlord 04 - Prisonland Read Online Free PDF

up,” Teasdale shouted, obviously just as anxious to run off into the woods.
    Eric leaned up against a tree while Teasdale aimed a Smith & Wesson .38 at him. Teasdale grimaced, took a deep breath, fighting to control his bowel muscles. But there wasn’t much he could do. Not being used to the ferns, and eating as much as they did, was like going down to Mexico for the first time and drinking a couple gallons of local water. They would have diarrhea for at least a couple of days, probably longer.
    “Hurry up, goddamn it!” Teasdale hollered after Studebaker.
    Finally, Studebaker wandered back, his eyes heavy-lidded, his hand still clutching his stomach. “Jesus, I think I have to go again.”
    “You had your turn,” Teasdale said, already tugging at his belt as he hopped off the rock.
    And just for a second the two of them stood side by side, Teasdale’s .38 lowered as he pulled at his pants’ snap, Studebaker’s shotgun dangling limply from his hand.
    That’s when Eric uncoiled into action, springing at them with a double body block that knocked both men to the ground. Eric landed on top of them, Studebaker’s bloated body absorbing most of the shock. There’d been a time when Eric would have been able to knock one of them unconscious on the way to the ground, but this was not then. Now he settled for just unbalancing them, scrambling for one of the guns before they recovered.
    Teasdale was first to roll free, still holding his .38. Eric groped for the shotgun, yanking it free from the still dazed Studebaker. Teasdale came out of his roll with the .38 lifted toward Eric’s face, but Eric jammed the shotgun against Teasdale’s stomach and pulled the trigger. Teasdale’s middle flew backward, bits of buckshot, flesh and chipped spinal bone scattering through the trees, ruffling leaves like a flock of suddenly frightened birds. Teasdale’s mushy body flopped in the dirt five feet away, folded neatly over in the middle like a dish rag.
    The recoil from the shotgun rocked Eric backward into the thick powerful hands of Studebaker. The large man wrapped his fingers around the shotgun and jerked it tightly against Eric’s throat. Eric felt the hot metal denting his windpipe as Studebaker pinned Eric’s head between the gun and his own massive stomach.
    Eric was surprised by the enormous strength of the man. Try as he might, he still couldn’t budge the barrel crushing his throat. He’d have to work on the hands.
    Eric grabbed Studebaker’s little finger with both hands and pried it easily from around the gunstock. His eyes were watery as he rasped for what little air that scraped past the barrel. Concentrating, he bent that little finger back further and further until he heard the sickening crack like dry twigs snapping. Studebaker yowled from pain. The finger was broken.
    But still the gun pressed tighter against his throat. Breaking the finger didn’t seem to affect Studebaker’s strength.
    Eric grabbed the next finger with both hands.
    This one was more difficult to pry loose, but finally he did, bending it back until it too snapped and Studebaker cried out. Yet still the man held firm, doubling his efforts to strangle Eric.
    Eric snorted for air, but none came. He felt a wooziness in his head, a lightness that seemed strangely relaxing. His eyes closed for a moment and he wondered if maybe a short nap wouldn’t help him regain strength. Just float lazily on the pool he pictured in his mind.
    He bit his lip, chomping down hard enough to send a jolt of cold adrenaline through his stomach. Quickly he grabbed Studebaker’s middle finger from the same damaged hand and yanked it backward. The bone popped right out of the socket. Studebaker’s sudden yell shook the forest. Now Eric was able to grab the shotgun, twist it out of Studebaker’s hands. He somersaulted free, gulping air as he rolled. When he came up, he saw Studebaker lunging for Teasdale’s .38.
    Eric pumped a new shell into the chamber and pulled