Her Last Defense. Vickie Taylor
isn’t going to be an evacuation,” she said. Worry lines fanned out from the corners of her chicory-coffee eyes and her mouth.
“What do mean, no evacuation?”
With one last, suffering look, she ducked away. Her hands shook as she screwed the cap on the peroxide bottle and shoved the bloody gauze into a plastic bag.
“They—” She cut herself off, stumbling over her words. “It’s safer if everyone just stays in their homes,” she claimed, sounding as though she was reading a prepared statement. Or propaganda. She kept her eyes carefully averted and her hands busy, closing the first aid kit and stowing it in her trunk.
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