His hand slammed down on the radio, trying to get the signal in clearer.
"You heard it, right?" Max asked the others. "Tell me you heard that!"
Franklin stood over the radio and glanced at Peters, Nestor and Womack, who were sitting at the kitchen table. All of them exchanging looks as if their intrepid leader had gone insane.
Max's attention went back to the old radio, his head pressed against the speaker. To Franklin and the others the radio was unplugged and broken, covered in layers of dust and cobwebs. It couldn't work since there was no electrical current running through it.
"He's losing it," Womack said in a hushed tone. She unhitched her holster. "One more crack like that out of him and he'll blow our hiding space."
"We got to do something," Peters said. "We've been hiding now for weeks and it's not getting any better."
The five of them had been holed up for a while now, itching to get back into the fight. But under orders they were told to hold up in this abandoned shack until a sentry returned to get them.
"This is damn maddening," Womack said. Her long silver hair was radiant in the candle-light; she was beautiful at her age. She looked like a war-hardened Helen Mirren, and maybe, just maybe, Nestor thought, she was.
In the other room, Franklin stood over Max. He hated to see him go through bouts like this. Every now and then the 'crazy' would seep in and Max was off in his own world. But these days it had been getting longer and longer. Franklin didn't like the idea of putting a bullet in his head...
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