Insurance Journal - Outside the windows of Steve Foster’s pickup, Armageddon was coming. A rampage of smoke — white and streaked with black — crested the ridge to his left and bore down. It began blocking the sun, turning daylight to twilight. Glowing, tracer-bullet embers zipped by on the road behind him. He could hear the fury inside the charging plume, and it reminded him of a jet engine gaining thrust. 600 yards away. Now 500. 400. Driving out of the neighborhood, Foster convinced himself the fire would just scoot by. My house will be OK, he thought. My friends will be OK. - Go To Story