I sit up, slide my butt up toward the head of the bed so I can lean against the wall. My gaze settles on my black jacket, hung over the back of the room’s single chair. The back of the jacket’s scorched, the synthleather delaminated and blistered in places by extreme heat. All I can figure is that the fireball from the exploding missile spread forward through the passenger compartment, was deflected downward by Cat’s raised seat, and hit me in the small of the back to lick up toward my shoulders. Same with the shock wave, except it probably "echoed" in the space under Cat’s seat, delivering enough energy to crack the monocoque at its weakest point, the front wheel-wells. Pure luck I’m still alive, then. Luck that favored me and deserted Cat.