"It doesn't matter what it was," I say. "It was some sort of missile,
I think. They must be even nearer to war than we thought."
We wait. What for, I don't know. Another missile, perhaps. No more
come.
At last Mr. Yardo stirs. His voice sounds creaky.
"I guess," he says, then clears his throat, and tries again. "I guess
we have to go back up."