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

were wearing the lab coat without any authorization—we do accept a certain, uh, moral obligation ...”
    “Bullshit,” Riva said.
    “... to see you off Alcatraz and back to the mainland.”
    “Fine,” Eric said. “Just lend me a boat and I’ll be on my way.”
    Lynda Meyer still stared out the window as she spoke. “No boat.”
    “What Lynda means,” Maggie said, “is that we can’t afford a boat right now.”
    “Have someone row me back.”
    “Can’t risk it. Not after we just hit them. They’ll be waiting for us.”
    Eric threw up his hands. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on’around here. What your sad story is or the story of those maniacs across the bay. I don’t really care. I just want off this island. I have unfinished business back there. The rest doesn’t concern me.”
    “Your compassion is touching,” Maggie said.
    “Don’t hand me that crap. If D.B. here hadn’t backed my story, you’d still have that rope around my neck thinking I was Doctor Fishbine.”
    Maggie glared at Eric now, her dark brown skin glistening in the damp heat. Her black kinky hair was cut into a one-inch afro. She was maybe 25, though the rich color of her skin could have masked five more years. “I assume D.B. is the name of this young woman. However, she has not confirmed or contradicted anything about your story. She has not uttered a single word. Whether this is physical or psychological impairment, I don’t know. Perhaps she’s simply afraid of you.”
    “Or you did something to her,” Riva added.
    Eric looked at D.B. She stared ahead with dull unfocused eyes, the same expression she’d adopted when Eric had first seen her. “Tell these people I haven’t been abusing you, D.B.,” he said.
    D.B. said nothing. Just stared at the wall.
    Riva smiled contemptuously at Eric. Maggie radiated controlled hostility. Lynda gazed toward Asgard.
    “Come on, tell them.”
    D.B. stared.
    “Christ.” He shook his head. “Just be glad for the silence. Once she starts up again you won’t be able to shut her up. Half the time she’ll be singing Herman’s Hermits medleys.”
    “You’re a sick freak,” Riva said, touching the bruise on her own jaw.
    Lynda Meyer turned away from the window, her face more solemn than before. Her eyes were rimmed with red, but her voice was just as steady as before. “There’s no advantage to calling him names, Riva. Maybe he found the child like that, maybe he’s been protecting her.”
    “Ha! Fat chance.”
    “It doesn’t really matter either way.” Lynda Meyer looked at Eric carefully. Eric thought he detected something in that look, a flicker of guarded hope. “We’ve heard of you, Mr. Ravensmith. Some of our citizens have anyway. They call you the Warlord, right?”
    “Some have.”
    “I saw the movie,” Riva sneered. “Charlton Heston you ain’t.”
    “Not nearly as much as you are,” Eric said.
    Maggie Shreeve smiled.
    “Smartass,” Riva said.
    “Knock it off, Riva,” Lynda Meyer said. “We aren’t here to insult the man. We’re here to make a proposition.”
    “I’m not interested,” Eric said immediately.
    Maggie was angry. “You haven’t heard it yet.”
    “I don’t want to. You heard from somebody that heard from somebody else that Eric Ravensmith was called the Warlord for some reason none of you know about. But you figure ole Eric must be for sale then. Some hired gunslinger.” Eric stopped himself. He was getting angry and there was no sense in that. He still needed their help in getting off this rock and back to Asgard, back to Dodd. “Listen,” he said quietly, “I’m sure your cause is just, your problems real. It’s just that I can’t help you.”
    Riva nodded at D.B. “Too busy, huh?”
    Eric didn’t respond. He walked by D.B. and frowned at her, whispering, “Thanks for your help here, kid.”
    She continued to stare dully at the floor.
    Whatever glimmer of hope had been in Lynda Meyer’s eyes evaporated as