Jason Frost - Warlord 04 - Prisonland (4 page)

The three men laughed.

“Where’d you get her?” Dodd asked.

Krimm shrugged. “Took her. We found her and her folks camping a few months ago. Killed the father, sold the mother for some batteries to these real dummies.” He laughed. “Hell, those boys could’ve gotten a lot more for them batteries than one old broad.”

All three of them laughed again. Dodd laughed with them this time, but his eyes were clear and bright. Eric could see that he was thinking, scheming.

Eric studied the girl. Her blond hair had been sloppily hacked with a knife until it was as short as a gymnast’s. Her body was tall and lanky, the thin legs coltish. She stared zombie-like at the ground.

Dodd looked at her as if he wanted to devour her.

“This is our bet,” Krimm said proudly. “Duchess against everything you’ve got.”

“Done,” Dodd said without hesitation.

The men sat on the blanket. Dodd picked up his hand, looked at the cards again. Krimm, grinning hugely, showed his hand again to his friends. Duchess stood next to the three men until Krimm, annoyed at having her looking down at him, grabbed her leash and gave it a yank. She dropped to her knees without a sound.

“Whatta ya got?” Dodd asked Krimm.

Krimm’s grin widened. “Full house. Fours full of eights.”

Dodd studied his cards again, rearranged them in his hand.

“Well?” Krimm barked. “They ain’t gonna change by shuffling them around in your hand.”

“Guess not,” Dodd admitted and spread his cards on the blanket. “Four deuces.”

The three men stared open-mouthed at Dodd’s hand.

“Not possible,” Krimm gasped. “Not fucking possible.”

“Goddamn luck!” Teasdale spat.

Eric watched Dodd quickly gather his goods, stuffing them in his backpack. He was obviously in a hurry to get out before the others had a chance to let their anger translate into action. Eric had to do something fast.

“Not luck,” Eric said, “just that Krimm’s the worst poker player I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen drunken sorority girls play better.”

Krimm looked up at Eric and growled.

Studebaker and Teasdale, anxious to blame someone for the loss of everything, especially the young girl, nodded. “He never was any good,” Teasdale said.

Dodd said nothing. He used the distraction to cram the rest of his goods into a second backpack.

Krimm stood up and started toward Eric.

“Hell,” Eric continued. “This little girl could’ve outplayed you.”

Krimm was running now, his meaty fist cocked back behind his head, his heavy feet shaking the ground as he stampeded toward Eric. You could insult just about anything about a man—anything except his ability to play poker. Eric braced himself, finding it hard to believe that this was the reaction he’d wanted from Krimm.

Krimm’s fist hurtled at Eric’s face like an avalanche of knuckles. Eric averted his head just enough to take only a glancing blow just above the ear. The recoil to his head kept his ear buzzing as Krimm thumped another fist deep into Eric’s stomach. The wind rushed out of his lungs and the gamey taste of the rabbit he’d eaten earlier washed through his mouth.

But Eric was pleased, because he now had Krimm right where he wanted him. Close enough to whisper, without Dodd hearing. “Cheated,” Eric gasped. “He cheated.”

Krimm backed away a step and looked at Eric. Eric was afraid Krimm would blurt out what he’d said and Dodd would then be obliged to kill them all immediately. But Krimm just stared menacingly at Eric for a moment, then fired another hard fist into Eric’s mouth. Blood dripped down Eric’s split lip.

“That ought to shut him up,” Krimm muttered, marching back to his friends.

As Dodd gathered up the last of his newly won goods, Krimm poked through the deck of cards with his foot.

“Come on, girl,” Dodd said, slipping one of the backpacks on Duchess’s narrow back. She sagged slightly under the heavy weight, but said nothing. “Maestro, a little traveling music please. Thanks for the game, gents, but me and my lady have got to be getting on. As soon as I untie my buddy Eric and fix it so he don’t run too fast anymore.” Dodd pulled out his knife.

Studebaker and Teasdale mumbled angrily and stared at Krimm.

“Just a second, Dodd,” Krimm said, his shotgun pointing at Dodd. “Your buddy said you were cheating us, and looking at these cards I think maybe—”

Those were Krimm’s last words. With startling speed, Dodd threw his knife across the fire into Krimm’s broad chest. The hilt thudded hollowly against ribs. Krimm looked confused a moment, the shotgun dropping from his hands. Then he fell backward, his few remaining fingers groping in the air as if looking for something to hold onto. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Studebaker and Teasdale dove for their guns.

Dodd grabbed the girl’s leash and pulled her after him as he ran into the dark woods. She stumbled behind him. Studebaker fired his gun blindly into the night.

Teasdale ran after Dodd and the girl but came back puffing within a couple minutes. “Shit! They’re gone.” He went over and kicked Krimm’s lifeless body. “Shithead!”

“We should go after them,” Studebaker said.

“Go after ’em? Hell, Horace, you seen the way that Dodd handles himself. He knows what he’s doing out there. You and me used to fix vending machines. We can’t track them down.”

There was a long, angry silence.

“I can,” Eric said quietly.

“You can what?” Teasdale asked.

“I can track him down.”

Teasdale and Studebaker exchanged glances.

“Christ almighty,” Studebaker wheezed as he leaned up against the tree. He mopped the sweat from his forehead with his ragged sleeve. “How much further?”

“Soon,” Eric said.

“How soon? We’ve been jogging through these fucking woods like fruitcakes for hours. It’s almost daylight.”

“Soon,” Eric said.

Studebaker shook his jowly head at Teasdale. “Let’s just blow this chump away and take our loss, man. All that stuff Dodd took from us, hell, we can just take it from somebody else. The whole fucking state’s filled with pigeons waiting to be plucked.”

“What about Duchess?” Teasdale said.

“We can find another broad. A dozen broads.” He patted his shotgun. “Take them too.”

Teasdale frowned. “Not like Duchess.”

Studebaker didn’t answer, but he stared off as if in agreement.

“She didn’t say much,” Eric said.

“Who asked you?” Studebaker said, sliding to the ground to rest. The front of his shirt was dark with sweat where it stretched over his fat gut.

“Just curious.”

“You just lead us to that bastard Dodd. Rest of the time you shut the fuck up.”

“Sure,” Eric said.

“Never spoke,” Teasdale said dreamily, cleaning sweat from his glasses with the tail of his shirt. “Not since we took her with us. Don’t know if she was born that way or what. Just know she never spoke to us. Not one damn word.”

“Maybe not to you, Teasdale,” Studebaker said with a leer. “But when me and her was making it, she had lots to say. Moaning and groaning. Whispering in my ear the whole time, begging me for more. I swear.”

Teasdale gave him a weary look. “You’re the biggest liar I’ve ever seen, Horace.”

“Fuck you too, Teasdale.”

The two men glared at each other, pausing to catch their breath, as the darkness slowly evaporated into day. The sky was filling up with hazy orange daylight the color of iced tea.

Eric sat quietly against the tree. His toothache was gone, but the burn on his neck still had a sting to it. He’d been leading them around in circles the whole night, taking them over the roughest, most tiring terrain he could find, always assuring them they were getting closer and closer to Dodd. But Eric knew better than to even try to catch up with a man of Dodd’s skills. Not with these two along. Even if he could get them to move fast enough, it would just be a matter of time before Dodd slipped into camp one night and slit both their throats. And with Eric unarmed and probably tied up, his fate wouldn’t be much better. Severed Achilles tendon and a one-way ticket to Fallows’s waiting hands.

Instead, Eric had other plans. But first he had to get rid of these two. And soon. They were starting to lose any hope for catching Dodd. Eric couldn’t count much longer on Teasdale’s obsession with the girl. Sooner or later fatigue would wear even that passion away and they’d simply kill Eric and move on to rob someone else.

“I’m hungry,” Studebaker said. Absently, he patted his grotesque pot belly.

This was just what Eric had been waiting for them to say.

“Yeah,” Teasdale agreed. “We need some food.”

“Don’t you have any left in your pack?” Eric asked.

Teasdale shook his head. “Dodd took it all.”

“We’ll hunt some down,” Studebaker said. “This fucking woods has got to be full of rabbits and shit.”

“Sure,” Eric said. “But you can’t use your guns.”

Studebaker turned his shotgun on Eric. “Who’s gonna stop me?”

“No one. Only Dodd will hear it, know where we are.”

“Hell,” Studebaker sneered, “he might think it’s just some other hunters. He don’t know we’re coming.”

“He knows,” Eric said.

“Bullshit. How do you know what he’s thinking?”

“I know.”

Teasdale nodded nervously. “He’s right, Horace. You saw the way Dodd handled himself back in camp. The way he knocked that shotgun away from Yardley and stuck him with that knife. And what he did to Krimm. You don’t just make moves like that without some training.” He turned to Eric. “That guy is some kind of soldier, right? Both of you?”

“Once. Long time ago.”

“ ’Nam?”

Eric nodded.

Teasdale looked around suddenly, peering through his thick glasses at every shadow in the woods. He didn’t bother hiding his fear.

“I’m not scared of him,” Studebaker said. “Just a fucking grunt like the rest of them. Most of them guys in ’Nam was either high on dope or screwing gook whores. We catch up to him, I’ll show you just how tough he is.” He tapped the barrel of his shotgun against Eric’s chest. “That goes for this jerk too.”

“In the meantime,” Eric smiled, “we’ve got to eat.”

“I say we hunt something down. Like we always done.”

Teasdale shook his head. “No. Ravensmith is right. Dodd will hear the 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.