A Bloody Storm

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Flames from the engine licked across the Vauxhall’s undercarriage and raced like a firecracker fuse toward gasoline squirting from the sedan’s ruptured gas tank.

Derrick Storm was fifty yards away when the tank exploded, causing an ear-punishing explosion that sent the car’s steel carcass flopping into the air before it came crashing down.

Only moments earlier, Storm had deliberately driven the speeding Vauxhall off the highway into the stone wall of an abandoned farmhouse, sending his passenger, a Croation vixen named Antonija Nad, through the windshield. She had been pointing a pistol at Storm at the moment of impact. Now her lifeless body was limp in the grass beside the burning car.

Storm had cheated death thanks to a seat belt, a driver’s air bag, the car’s crumple zone, and Nad’s foolishness in not buckling up and in assuming that no one would be crazy enough to nosedive into a wall at nearly a hundred miles per hour.

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