It was just turning dusk when a thunderous explosion ignited the dark Wyoming sky turning it to a cloud of radiant orange. The blast shattered trees, split rocks and pulverized the earth. Twenty-three year old Adam Bishop heard the detonation, saw the brilliance of the strike and felt the horrific force of the shockwave as it slammed his six-foot frame to the ground. As he lay motionless on the wet grass he sensed the presence of the Grim Reaper and wondered if he would live until his August birthday. He silently accepted what fate had dealt, but then the blackness of death simply turned away and disappeared without a backward glance.
