Aground On St. Thomas
“Thomas ~ 27 ~ Calling Senator Bobo INSIDE THE UNUSED cistern that was serving as KRAT’s temporary broadcast studios, yet another loud thunk sounded against the ceiling. A rock rolled across the roof, slid through the open portal, and plopped onto the concrete floor.
Whaler glared up at the ceiling, threatening the perpetrator with a clenched fist.
“If that kid throws another rock at us, I’m going to go out there and . . .”
Dread cut in, waving him off. “Any other day, and I’d help you squelch the little bugger. But we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
He pointed to the transmission line that Whaler had been trying to fix before the last rock was launched. “We’re barely hanging in here, signal-wise. How’s it coming with that line?”
Whaler looked dubiously at a piece of aluminum foil he’d been using to try to amplify the signal.
“That’s the best I can do.
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