just follow the cat

Chapter 20: falling

10:30AM PST, January 28th

above Los Gatos Creek near Coalinga, California

("The mass grave was 84 feet long and seven feet wide...only 12 of 28 could be identified...the remainder were placed in caskets marked only with letters of the alphabet... one woman was found with baby clothes beside her... crew members were sent to their homes for funeral services.") 

– The Fresno Bee

Falling through the air wasn't what Jésus had expected. For one thing, it was much colder than he thought it would be. For another, it was much noisier. In the end (the very end), those two factors threw off his plan. Not enough to change the outcome but enough to upset his final moments.

While it may seem unthinkable, Jésus never intended to tell his wife the plan he had devised for saving their son – at least not until they were both falling. That way, he figured, it would be too late to argue about the details. After all, the plane they were in was crashing, and they had no time to discuss much of anything. However, as soon as Jésus heard the thunder of frigid air rushing over his body, he realized that he'd have to execute his plan alone. He couldn't risk having Maria help him now.

Holding Francisco in one arm, Jésus hooked his other arm around Maria's elbow. Then he grabbed a fistful of her coat. Maria felt his large rough hand push against her side. Even as she was falling, she thought of how beautiful his hands were. Crusty loaves of bread. Crusty but still tender enough to cradle a baby or cup her cheeks as he kissed her.

As well as he could manage, Jésus spread his jacket and Maria's coat to form a parachute of sorts. The air rushed around him and the smooth ride down suddenly felt bumpy. Unsure of where the ground was, Jésus glanced over his shoulder to make sure that he hadn't already landed. It seemed like a foolish thought. Surely, he would know when that happened. But still, he smiled for a moment and then wished the most common wish on Earth. He wished he had a little more time. Time enough to tell Maria what he was thinking as he fell.

In those last seconds, Jésus might have looked into his wife's eyes and told her that he loved her. But instead, he kept his head turned so he could see the Earth approaching. When it came near, he unhooked his elbow from Maria's and pushed her away with his beautiful hands. Instantly, he felt the warmth of her body slip away. Then he put one of his magnificent hands under Francisco's head and the other under his son's bottom. At the moment just before he expected to hit the ground, he thrust his infant son into the air – a great and mighty heave – with every bit of his strength.

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The foreman of the Fresno County Road Work Camp counted nine people jumping or falling from the plane. Most flailed as they fell, but he recalled that a couple dropped like bales of hay dumped from a loft. In the middle (the very middle) of any chaotic moment, this is not what we think. Descriptions such as these don't enter our minds right away. Those fancy words come later. At first, all we see are pictures and all we feel is the pull to help or the push to run and hide.

Without being ordered, the work crew dropped their tools along the side of County Road #496. All but one of them followed their foreman as he raced across the empty field.

Seconds later, the plane crashed into the dry banks of Los Gatos Creek. The crash site was like most crash sites. The flotsam and jetsam of the wreckage littered the undulating ground in a characteristic Y-shaped pattern. In the tail of the Y were duffel bags, knapsacks, rucksacks, and two dozen pairs of shoes. Some of that debris was burning because aviation fuel had showered the Earth after the plane exploded. In the rest of the Y-shaped pattern, the foreman and the work crew found the bulk of the debris. All of that was in flames.

There were bodies scattered everywhere along the creek bed. (Well) to be precise, there were only a few intact bodies. Most of them were in parts. What was left of the twenty-some people had gotten twisted at crazy angles and torn into pieces.

Flames were everywhere.

In a normal year, Los Gatos Creek would have been an actual creek but that winter had been unusually dry. There was no water between the narrow banks. Nothing to put out the flames. A week later (when rain finally did fall), the creek was a torrent but not on this day.

The work crew circled the wreckage. They stooped at the waist and then squatted down on their haunches. One by one, each man did the same. All of them checked to see if anything inside the wreck was moving but nothing was. A stillness filled the center of the fire. A stillness amid an inferno that crackled in search of something that wasn't yet burned.

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