He buys fireworks over a set period of time, from multiple vendors, in various amounts. He chooses farmland near a busy motorway and waits for a foggy night. It comes. He sets them alight near the road, obvious even in the restricted visibility, so drivers will be tempted to look away from the road, distracting them.
Perched on the hill overlooking the road, the fireworks to his right, he takes aim at a car with a catapult. He fires, but does not hear the crack of impact, only his eyes provide evidence of success as the driver panics. The car screeches, attempting to halt, swerving into the divider. Metal tears metal.
Before the vehicle has come to a complete halt, another car behind it collides, failing to break in time. The one behind swerves into another lane to avoid the crash, only to be hit in the rear by yet a different car. A pile up ensues. Horn after desperate horn merges with the screech of tyres, like whining horses, before metallic thuds. Then the screaming began, struggling to be heard over mechanical collision, both growing and growing.
He leaves by the time the fire started, long before any emergency services arrived. With any luck, the whole thing will be pinned down to a mixture of weather conditions and irresponsible firework displays. He does not use a torch, his eyes working with the light given, like a hunter in ages past. No witnesses, no phone, no packaging dumped in an obvious way. Clean slate.
He goes to work the next day, tired, his work all over the news. What a tragedy.
Where does this all begin?
Thought Horizon 