Free Jason Frost - Warlord 04 - Prisonland by Jason Frost - Warlord 04

Eric’s chest. “How about some of this, sport?”
    Eric ignored him. “This is only a sample. There’s more hidden.”
    Hanks stooped down, pinched some of the ground plants between his fingers. He sniffed it, dabbed some on his tongue. He frowned. “Yuck. I wouldn’t smoke this shit.”
    Eric shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll sell it somewhere else. Maybe the guards at a post down the line might be more interested.”
    Grub and Hanks exchanged glances.
    “Hold on, sport,” Grub said. “How about a taste, a few tokes just to check it out?”
    Hanks said, “Yeah, a taste, like them little spoons of ice cream they give ya at Baskin-Robbins.”
    Eric pretended to think it over. “Sure. Got a pipe or some paper?”
    “I’ll get some,” Grub said and ran off.
    “How many people you got inside?” Eric asked while they waited.
    “Dunno,” Hanks said. He was eyeing Eric’s minced plant with a hopeful longing. “Nobody’s counted. Maybe five hundred permanent. A couple hundred more come here for the dealing or for the antibiotics.”
    “Nobody inside has it?”
    “Nope. Clean as a cat’s ass. We got our own doctor and everything.”
    “And Thor runs the place.”
    “Yeah,” Hanks said, but Eric could see him stiffen slightly at the name, as if he feared mentioning it might bring him, like some invocation. Apparently, Thor controlled these men very tightly. Considering the kind of men they were—convicts, murderers, thieves, pirates—that said a lot about Thor’s own power. Eric hoped to avoid him.
    “Friend of mine told me about this place. Name’s Dodd. Probably came through here a few days ago.”
    Hanks shrugged. “Lots of people come through, either here or at one of the other gates.”
    “Big man. Black beard. Carries a black crossbow with brass plating.”
    “Oh yeah. I seen him around camp. I tried to buy that bow. Real beauty.”
    Eric felt his heart thumping. “He still here?”
    “Can’t say. They come and go, you know?”
    Grub ran up, jumping up onto the Rolls’ hood, denting the black metal. He leaped off next to Hanks. “Got some paper from Timmons. Wanted to know what we was gonna do with it.”
    “What ya tell him?” Hanks asked.
    “Nothing. Just that you and me was experimenting with something we found growing.” Grub turned to Eric. “Timmons been trying to grow maryjane for months, ever since our stock of drugs run out. So far a big zero. Weeds and bugs is all.”
    Hanks and Grub jeach rolled a cigarette from Eric’s sample. Grub lighted both cigarettes and they began to take deep long drags.
    “Jesus,” Grub coughed, making a sour face. “I’m not sure it’s worth getting high if you have to taste this.”
    Eric waited. Within minutes both men’s faces relaxed as they puffed hungrily on their joints.
    “Shit ain’t bad,” Grub said. “What’d you say this was?”
    “I didn’t,” Eric said.
    Grub grinned. “Hadda try, sport.”
    “How much more you got?” Hanks said, huffing a lungful deep into his chest.
    “Plenty. Some here. More further away.”
    Hanks grabbed Grub’s arm and pulled him over to the side of the Rolls. They talked briefly then returned to Eric.
    “Okay, sport,” Grub said. “We’ll take this for your entrance fee. It’ll take a like amount to get you your tetracycline inside.”
    “Agreed,” Eric said. He gathered the corners of the T-shirt and knotted them. He handed the bundle to Hanks.
    “Go and get the rest of your stash.”
    “No need.” Eric whistled loudly, a coded series of sounds. Within seconds, D.B. came running from across the street, dodging debris and hopping over huge chunks of concrete.
    “Jesus,” Grub said, eyes wide.
    D.B. ran up to Eric and handed him a canteen filled with the plant. Eric took it, then grabbed the leash, jerking it until the choke collar pinched her throat, causing her to stumble a few steps forward.
    “When I whistle,” he yelled, “you come immediately.”
    She lowered her