Rifle and machinegun fire hammered relentlessly into the building until the rebels inside the Mendicity thought their heads might explode. It began to quiet down by Tuesday night, but the lull was an ominous one – it only meant that the soldiers outside were creeping closer. Edward could see them in the dusk from his post on the highest floor of the institution.
“Ammunition is running low,” McCarty said as he came up behind Edward. “Some of the lads are talking about trying to catch the grenades that the Brits have started throwing and throw them back out before they explode. It’s madness.”
Edward shrugged. “It might work. I saw someone do it at the GPO earlier.”
“Well, desperate times call for desperate measures,” McCarty allowed with a sigh. “Good thing the shoulder I dislocated last week was not the one attached to my throwing arm.”
Edward had a snappy comeback ready on the tip of his tongue, but he never uttered it as an unearthly scream pierced the night.
“Sweet Jesus…” McCarty muttered. “What was that?”
***
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