Morning Star

Part 1

The crash of the screen door, raced through the house like a shotgun blast. Loud footsteps tromped through the entrance hallway, waking the sleeping cat contently napping on the steam radiator. The footsteps stopped and the room fell still. Only the sound of the rain tapping on the tin shed outside broke the silence. In the center of the room stood a terrified young man, dripping water on the floor and shaking from the cold. For a moment, the room was quiet and the cat laid its head back down, squeezing its eyes shut for another nap.

Mother! screamed the boy from the kitchen. Mother help! Dad’s been hurt! The stillness was again broken, but this time by the sound of hurried, muffled footsteps from above. He looked up and listened to the footsteps scrambling from the upstairs bedroom, across the hallway and down the staircase. The door swung open at the bottom of the staircase striking the wall behind. His mother entered the kitchen and stood, panicked, winded and wide-eyed. Before her stood a boy of fifteen years of age, soaked from head to toe, and covered in mud.

His horrified mother looked into his eyes perceived his fear, and hot lead shot through her veins. What is it Jesse? she asked. It was hard for her to remain calm.

It’s Pa! he cried. The tractor rolled him over and he’s stuck underneath!

She stared at him in disbelief, lost in the moment of confusion, keeping her eyes riveted to his. Is he alright? she asked. Her hands began to tremble, and she tingled all over.

I don’t know, he replied. He looks real bad, you need to call the sheriff, he cried, And the neighbor’s. The boy looked out the window at the storm. He was lost in a daze. I need to get back out there, he said with a tremble in his voice.

Go! his mother, yelled at him. Do what you can, I’ll get help! "He scrambled back out of the kitchen letting the screen door slam behind him. Quickly, he dashed through the front gate, through the mud, to his pick-up truck idling outside the house. He opened the door and jumped inside slamming the door shut behind him. His mother ran to the phone and turned the crank until the operator came on the line.

Central, how may I place your call? the operator asked.

I need the sheriff! she cried. My husband’s been in an accident!

Hold the line and I will connect you, the operator replied.

Depressing the clutch, the boy shifted the truck into gear and spun out on the mud-covered driveway. His hands gripped the steering wheel tight, and his heart began to race as he turned the corner, heading towards the barn. The windshield wiper swished back and forth clearing the rain from his view, and he strained to keep control of the vehicle on the soft ground. The boy passed the woodshed and drove to the barn. He slid to a halt, put on the brake, and jumped out of the truck letting it idle on the muddy roadway. His first steps were uneasy, slipping on the rain soaked ground finding it difficult to balance.

Steadying himself, he ran to the tool shed attached to the hay barn. Once inside, he pushed aside a wheelbarrow and knocked over several pitchforks in attempting to locate a section of tow chain that he knew was buried under a pile of sheet metal stored inside. Pushing an oil barrel aside, he located the chain under a pile of rusted machine parts and gripped it firmly. He stood and pulled hard.

The chain dislodged abruptly from under the pile knocking him off balance, knocking him to the ground. He reached up to get a grip on the workbench, and cut his hand on a sharp edge of angle iron. With no time to waste, he gathered the chain into his arms and lifted.

The chains’ massive weight strained his shoulders and back and its length was awkward to control. Scrambling to his feet, he darted out into the rain and lifted the chain into the back of the truck. The liquid steel mass of chain landed with the rattle of a metallic snake. He opened the truck door and jumped inside, wiping the water from his eyes, smearing blood and grease across his face and neck.

Looking in his rear view mirror, the boy saw his mother standing at the doorway of the house watching him. He knew the phone call to the sheriff was made and help must be on its way. This comforted him some as he slammed his foot down on the clutch and grabbed the gearshift. Mud shot out from under the rear tires and he spun out down the road towards his father.

Hold on dad! he said out loud. His attempts to keep the truck centered on the road ahead were strained by the abnormal slant of the surface, combined with the slippery mud. Past the barn, the road dipped slightly, declining past the bullpen towards the pasture. The road then evened off for a hundred yards to the cattle gate at the far end. He scanned out his drivers’ side window noticing the bull, ankle deep in water, standing in its pen by the feed troth. The bulls’ dark eyes followed the truck as it passed by seemingly unaffected by the storm.

His father was feeding the cattle when the accident happened, and seeing the bull reminded him of what his father was doing, making him flush with anger. It was over a mile though the pasture to where his father was lying pinned under his John Deere. He passed through the open gate to the pasture, finding the ground more solid. He was able to drive alongside the road, on the grass avoiding sinking in any farther, making better time to the accident scene.

The sky was gray, and the rain continued to pour as flashes of lightning and crashes of thunder shot across the countryside. Scanning through the windshield, he could see his father’s cattle gathered together in a huddle. The cattle had been congregated around the tractor while his father was dumping hay on the ground, but for some reason they had now moved off some distance from where they once were.

As he came over the hill, he now realized why the cattle had moved off. The John Deere tractor was scarcely visible over the horizon, and sinking slowly into the soft ground. He parked the truck thirty feet from the accident scene, and exited the vehicle. Running as close to the tractor as he could, he searched for his father who was pinned underneath.

To his astonishment, he could no longer see him. A large sinkhole had formed, and the tractor was slowly being swallowed up along with his father. Mud and water were puddled at the bottom threatening to drown his father before he would be saved. Dad! Jesse yelled down to his father. Silence. Then a moan and cry of pain. Dad! The sheriff is on the way. Jesse stepped in closer and felt the ground start to give way under his feet near the edge of the crater. He backed off and watched the mud sliding down the embankment, into the hole from where he had stepped and moved back a safe distance.

Jesse ran around the edge to get a better look at his father and realized he was no longer making any sounds. The hole, already six feet deep, was visibly getting deeper by the minute, and his father was difficult to see under the tractor surrounding the John Deere were bubbles that surfaced from below the water, creating the illusion of the tractor boiling in a pond.

His father was no longer visible and he struggled to get a better view running back and forth near the edge of the hole. The splatter of rain on the pasture and the beating of his heart were the only sounds audible now. He needed to act now or lose his father forever. Wiping his hands on his jacket, he turned around and ran back towards the truck, which was idling quietly alone in the rain. He found it difficult to run, slipping and sliding on the wet ground falling to his knees, muddying his trousers.

Upon reaching the truck, he lifted the door handle, got inside and stepped on the clutch. The gearshift was pushed into first gear and he slowly moved the truck forward towards the hole. Edging at a snail’s pace, feeling out the soft ground, he drove until he could no longer see the hole over the hood of the truck and stopped letting the truck idle, he jumped out, ran to the back and dropped the tailgate.

He leaned over and grasped the tow chain with both hands, pulling it to the open end with a loud scraping sound. The cuts in his hand burned as he lifted the chain out and drug it around to the front of the truck where he fastened one end to the bumper with the hook. The other end of the chain he dropped down the edge of the hole, letting its plash in the puddle of water next to the tractor.

He noticed the tractor was now nine feet deep and still sinking. Hold on Pa! the boy, yelled as he shimmied down the chain to the tractor below. The mud and water made his grip on the chain shaky at best. Holding tight, he slid slowly down the embankment to the overturned tractor at the bottom. Near the bottom, he reached out to the axle of the John Deere and used it as leverage to put his leg on the frame. He pulled himself on top of the only solid object around him and balanced on the narrow frame.

Dad! Are you ok? Jesse asked, craning his neck to look under the tractor. With no response, he grabbed the chain and started wrapping it around the axle, pulling out as much slack as he could. When the slack was completely used, he connected the hook on the end to the chain itself and looked back up at the edge of the hole, which was getting further and further away.

The chain became taut as they slowly descended deeper into the hole, causing the tractor to shift with the moving ground. Jesse grabbed the chain and with all his strength began to climb up; knowing at any moment the chain could give way and snap back at him injuring him severely. The grease of the chain in combination with the mud, water and blood made his journey difficult at best, impossible at worst.

Hand over hand he continued upwards unwilling to let his father die this way, not looking back at the rim he was belly flat on the mud kicking and straining to find solid ground. Every bit of struggle sent more mud and rock sliding down to the bottom of the hole splashing water on the tractor and his father. He could hear plopping sounds from below as the mud clods broke the plane of the water surface. At the top of the hole, he rolled over on his back and struggled to stand. He ran back to the truck, which was still in idle, and put it in reverse.

Slowly he gave it gas attempting to pull the tractor out of the hole. Maybe from a lack of experience, maybe from the excitement of the moment, the boy did not realize that this chain had no way of ever pulling the massive weight of the tractor out of the hole. He did not even realize that he may be injuring his father, or even be killing him. The tires spun and lost traction. The truck slid forward, closer and closer to the hole while the tires spun in the opposite direction.

The boy’s heart now was in his throat and he felt a hot flush now realizing his mistake. He immediately turned off the engine, leaving it in gear, and stopped the wheels from moving. He then set the parking break and looked out his window to see if this stopped his forward progress. The movement had slowed, but he now heard the sound of the bolts in the bumper starting to creak and snap. From behind, he heard the unmistakable sounds of police sirens and turned to see two vehicles passing through the pasture gate. An overwhelming feeling of relief struck him, knowing help was on its way. The sheriffs’ car was followed by his neighbors’ red grain truck, which was more suited to the muddy ground with its wide tires.

Just then, the bottom gave way in the sinkhole, and the rear of the tractor fell in leaving the entire support of its weight on the chain. The pickup truck jolted, quickly picked up momentum and slid towards the hole. The closer it slid, the quicker the pace picked up, and the more terrified the boy became.

Grasping the door handle, he lifted it and shoved out. He was too late to get out, and the truck was pulled into the hole disappearing from view. Jesse’s mother, riding in the patrol car, could hear the sound of metal on metal as tears welled up in her eyes again.

Part 2

Two hours passed until the sheriff could locate a construction crane and transport it out to the accident scene. The rural fire fighters did not have the type of heavy equipment necessary to retrieve such a heavy object from so far below, and had to scramble to find something suited for a job of this nature. The pickup truck had come to rest on top of the submerged tractor; the truck half buried in the soft mud. By this time the rain had slowed to a drizzle and the scene was a mess of emergency vehicles, emergency personnel, and horrified bystanders.

The hole receded twenty-five feet and the vehicles at the bottom came to a final rest, no longer sinking deeper into the Earth. The crane was belching black smoke and the operator swung it into position over the pickup truck. A hook was attached to the cable, and a man hung from a strap attached to the hook, dangling precariously above the hole. Jesse’s mother cried as she watched the man descend into the hole to retrieve her son.

Ten more feet! a fireman yelled to the crane operator. The cables lowed its descent and everyone watched the action unfold. Hold it! he yelled and the cable came to a halt. The man on the cable unhooked himself and balanced on the drivers’ side of the truck cab. He bent over and wiped mud away from the window trying to see the boy inside. A moment later he yelled, He’s alive! to the amazement of the crowd. The man tried in vain to open the door, which was jammed shut in the crash. We have to take the whole thing out! he yelled to the sheriff standing watch over the entire operation. Hearing this, the sheriff ran to the crane operator and spoke with him briefly. The operator nodded his head and the sheriff returned to his post alongside the sinkhole.

Can you tie the cable around the axle? the sheriff yelled to the man in the hole.

Yes, he replied and he returned to the task at hand. Minutes later the rescuer gave the ok and he climbed back up onto the cable, keeping his feet on the steel ball above the hook. The sheriff gave the signal and the submerged truck jerked hard almost knocking off the man on the cable. A moment later the truck gave out a groan as it lifted out of the pool. Mud poured out from the bed and cab as it slowly rose from the depths below.

Hold it! yelled the sheriff to the crane operator, noticing the chain was still attached to the bumper of the pickup truck and sunken tractor. The sheriff gave the signal to lower the truck again and stopped it when the chain went slack. The rescuer then leaned out over the hood and disconnected the chain letting it disappear into the mud below. The crane lifted again taking up cable, until the truck was clear of the hole. It then slowly swung to the left, hovering over solid ground. The sheriff waved his hand and the crane operator gently set the truck down.

The firemen and sheriff’s deputies rushed to the vehicle and tried in vain to open the doors that were jammed shut from the force of impact. One of the firemen, axe in tow, broke out the glass on the passenger side window allowing the firemen to extract Jesse to safety. The boy was laid to the ground conscious and lucid.

Mother! he yelled to the crowd wiping mud from his eyes.

Jesse! his mother shouted back as she pushed through the crowd. She knelt down; her heart filled with relief as a huge weight was lifted from her spirits.

I’m sorry, he cried. "I tried to get him out.

I know, his mother replied, tears streamed down her face. The boy was set on a stretcher and placed into the ambulance. His mother watched as the ambulance drove away with her son. She wandered back over to the sinkhole and looked down into the pool knowing her husband was still under the tractor beneath the pool of muddy brown water. It was getting late and the gray skies had started to turn red. It was difficult to see anything now and she asked for a ride to the hospital. Over the horizon the sun, hidden behind the clouds, was setting for the evening. The task of body recovery would have to wait until morning. The crowd dispersed and night set in

Part 3

The next morning an attempt was made to recover the dead man’s body. The skies were now clear and the storm had blown over the night before. The sun, rising over the horizon, reflected in the pool at the bottom of the sinkhole shooting a shimmer of red light against the side of the pit. The water was still.

Two men were lowered into the hole on the crane wearing fishing waders and rubber boots. Attached to the giant hook on the end of the cable were several heavy-duty construction chains capable of supporting the weight of the tractor. Penetrating the surface of the mud, the men felt around in the slime for key places to attach the chains to the frame securing it as best they could.

They signaled the crane to lift, and it groaned and whined as it pulled the massive beast out of the sucking mud, into daylight. The tractor rose out of the hole dripping mud and water back into the pit from whence it came. It was swung out of the hole and was placed next to the smashed pickup truck. The truck was still covered with drying mud and dents covered its surface.

Frustrated, the sheriff stood alongside the rim of the hole with his hands on his hips, shaking his head in dismay. He stared blankly down at the muddy pool below where the tractor once was. On the left bank of the hole