It was almost a relief when the bombs fell. After all those years of cowering and anticipation, the blast that took out Westover was a blessing. It gave us all new rules. We knew what to do. Some of us. I was on my bike, when the northeastern sky flashed sun white. I knew what it was. Some luck, I was in my uncle Charlie Zapharodni's driveway. I dropped my paper bag and bike, scooted up his driveway, pounded at the back door. His wife opened. "Mrs...