From the back of his spotted brown Saddlebred, a weathered cattle farmer checks his heavy silver braced watch. Then he looks around the fields for his cattle. With rain maybe coming he knows most of the herd has already made its way back down towards the creek bed. He imagines the sense of unease that the animals must have with the weather like it is. In fact, he does not need to imagine it. Since where the ground is still wet it’s mashed with hoof prints he knows they began moving about two hours ago at 14:00. Frank Frederick still thought in military time since his days in the Army. He glances to his watch again. His vet will be out to meet him in thirty minutes or so. He clicks his tongue and pulls Leland back to the left to make their way down toward the creek bed. Dr. Turner will know where he and the herd went.

Then a noise turns Frank’s head. The sound’s beginning leaps out of the moist silence and rolls over the low hills in a tide. Frank’s mind begins to put the picture together. He can’t see anything—the highway is up and over the next hill about a half a mile away. As the sound rolls on like the sky, Frank squints his eyes like a man in pain, as if to deafen himself from what he may or may not hear next. A second short percussive smash follows the screams of the tires, and Frank lowers his head a touch in admission. Seconds pass and Frank is only left with the sound of the wind curling in the back of his large ears. Still he waits, listening for more though he knows it is over.

He slips a hand into his flannel vest and pulls out a hand-held CB. It cackles for a moment as he adjusts the squelch and presses the call button. “Marilyn?”

There is frustrating silence for a moment as the wind settles, and Frank chews his lip and adjusts the squelch knob again, checking his watch right afterwards, to be sure of the time. “Marilyn?”

“Yeah?” a voice calls through the static. She still sounds irritated from this morning. They had argument about insurance, although they had both just been in a mood because of the weather.

“There’s been an accident. Call the highway patrol. I’m gonna’ go take a look.”

“Ya’ didn’t see it?”

“Nope. Heard it though. Didn’t sound good.” There is silence for another moment before the wind comes rolling in low again, pressed for space by the weight of the heavy clouds. His hat shifts in the breeze. He’s not sure but thinks he can hear a low whine coming to his ears from just beneath the hollow sound of the breeze. As it comes and goes he wonders if it’s a trick of the tree branches, or the sound of some errant engine part dizzyly scraping against other twisted pieces of metal. Before he can decide if it’s his imagination or not, the radio cackles to life again. “All right. I’m callin’ ’em, hon’.”

“I’ll come in right soon as I take a look. Ask Doc Turner to jes sit a spell.”

“All righty. He won’t be in for a bit yet. You be careful.”

Frank smiles. She doesn’t sound mad anymore. “Yes ma’am.”

Read the whole thread: A Low Cloud Reflex

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