Steph went around the yard, securing everything down that might get blown around. While she was doing this, Vanessa Johnson, her neighbor across the road, walked into the yard. Steph called a cheerful, "All set over at your place, Mrs Johnson?" She looked up at the older woman and was shocked at the ashen, stunned expression on her face. "Mrs. Johnson, what's the matter? Is something wrong with your husband?"
"They... they bombed the president."
"The president. They blew him up in Crawford."
Confused, Steph took Mrs. Johnson by the arm and started leading her back across the road. "Look, Mrs. Johnson, maybe you need to get your house ready for the storm or whatever is happening."
"But, they blew up the president!" The old woman stopped and took Steph by the hand. "When I was in high school, they said we should duck under our desks. They said that would save us from the bomb."
Steph was really concerned about Mrs. Johnson's sanity, now. She tried to be soothing, saying, "Mrs. Johnson, we gotta get ready here, but let me take you back to your place and we'll get you all safe there, OK?"
"There's no place safe, now," Mrs. Johnson said, dissolving into tears. "It's just like Richie Mangrem said in high school, desks can't stop the bomb." She was sobbing, clutching her sides and rocking back and forth.
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