Jason Frost - Warlord 04 - Prisonland by Jason Frost - Warlord 04 Read Free Book Online Page A

a wary eye on him, certain he’d make a move for her.
    “You gonna give me one of those guns,” she asked. “To protect myself.”
    “You know how to shoot?”
    “Point and pull the trigger, right?”
    “Something like that. Only it takes a little practice, and we don’t have the ammunition to spare for that. I’ve got something else in mind for you, a different weapon.”
    “Yeah? What?”
    “I’ll show you tomorrow.”
    “It is tomorrow.”
    “Daylight then.”
    “It’s not a bow, is it? I was always terrible with those things. They made us shoot them in gym class and I swear, I nearly stuck Mrs. Gibson in the butt. It better not be a bow.”
    “It’s not a bow.”
    “Then what?”
    “Get some sleep.”
    She sighed angrily and laid her head back.
    Eric touched their clothing. Still damp. He stared into the fire, the flames cresting like a stormy surf. He thought of Tim, felt the hot pangs of agony in his heart for his lost son. Now he had someone else’s child to take care of, someone dragged out of childhood into the terrifying world of adulthood at its worst. And what bothered Eric most was knowing that Tim was going through the same metamorphosis himself. Only the man guiding Tim’s change was Fallows, the most ruthless, evil man Eric had ever known. To catch Fallows, Eric had to become like Fallows. Become just as ruthless, just as cruel. Sure, he was taking D.B. with him, but would he have if she hadn’t threatened to withhold Dodd’s whereabouts? He could have found the trail himself eventually, but losing how much time? He told himself this was a temporary condition, this Fallows-like attitude, a disguise he wore only until he freed Tim. But was it? Or was this who he really was? Had the kind and sympathetic professor, Dr. Ravensmith, been the disguise. Had the disaster in California only torn away that false disguise and revealed him as he really was? The same as Fallows.
    Eric tossed another piece of wood on the fire.
    He heard her voice softly drifting, barely audible above the crackling fire. It was a strong, clear voice, much better than Eric had thought. He looked over and her eyes were closed and he realized with some shock that she was indeed singing in her sleep. He dropped another log on the fire and listened as Eric—the father, teacher, husband—used to listen.
     
    “I came upon a child of God
    He was walking upon the road
    And I asked him where are you going
    And this he told me ...”
     
    Eric recognized the song. “Woodstock.” Annie had been there during the great festival. Eric had been in Vietnam, following Fallows deep behind the DMZ. He’d rather have been at Woodstock. In the same way ’Nam had shaped much of what Eric was, so had that weekend of music and affection shaped Annie. Eric had learned that his experience wasn’t anymore “real” or valuable than hers. In the end, they had both been changed by each other more than any single experience.
    But this wasn’t Woodstock. It wasn’t even California. It was a hunk of land with roaming bands of marauders, with encampments and fortresses and groups of people practicing everything from Satanism to cannibalism. Some groups strove for meaning, a cosmic sense of what had happened to them. Others just wanted clean water and food. The rest wanted whatever they could take, no matter what it was. Their religion was in the act of taking. That’s what gave them meaning.
    So much for Woodstock.
    Eric took the leather tongue he’d cut from Studebaker’s shoes and the rawhide laces from Teasdale’s boots and began fashioning D.B.’s weapon. Tomorrow he’d teach her how to kill with it. As he fashioned the weapon, he hummed along while she sang in her sleep.
     
    “We are Stardust, we are golden
    And we’ve got to get ourselves
    Back to the garden...”
     

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SIX
     
    “Again,” Eric shouted from behind the tree. “Harder.”
    “It doesn’t work,” she complained.
    “What’s not to work? It’s a