Albert sat in the corner, arms folded in front of his stomach, rocking slowly back and forth.
Outside, Dewayne asked the Sheriff, “What’s wrong with Al?”
“I guess he’s just had enough.”
“I didn’t think having had enough was an option.”
The Sheriff chuckled at the black humor, before remembering he was supposed to act like a leader. “Let him be... maybe he’ll snap out of it.”
“I hope so, he’s our best shot.” Albert could have been a sniper: he was a magician with a scoped rifle.
“Maybe that’s it. Maybe he’s sick of seeing all those heads explode.”