The road was rutted and the car was shaking. The smooth patches were growing more infrequent but I couldn’t let up on the gas. At this speed, I’d still arrive late.

“Hazard in 2.2 miles,” said the dashboard.

Dammit. No time to wait in line and creep up to some accident. I gunned it. The wheel shook harder.

“Hazard in 1 mile.”

There didn’t seem to be any cars up ahead so I was in the clear. What a relief. Just had to pass —

My rear tire blew like a gunshot. The brakes locked up and the car flew.