The Heronmaster

Until the meteor fell, nothing notable had happened in the town of Madison since the year of its founding. The night it fell started cold and snowy. Nobody with any sense was out and about except for Frank Madison. He sat on the icy metal seat of his old Ford tractor driving toward the first of the driveways he would blow out. The owners of oversized piles of bricks hired him so they'd be able to drive their Mercedes and Jaguars off to their cushy jobs in the city. None of them gave Frank a second thought unless he was late with the tractor. Frank had so many layers on that he had difficulty moving. It wasn't much of a problem since he was used to it. It did mean he had to look straight forward. That was why he saw the shadows first, then the intense light which cast them. They stretched in front of him as if one of those big rigs that used to come to the plant had plumped down in the middle of the road behind him. He couldn't turn to look back so he prayed that death would be quick. At least he wouldn't be so damned cold anymore. The shadows shortened, but the crash didn't come. Instead, a ball of fire streaked over his head and smashed into the frozen field on his right. Frank felt a wave of warm wash over him, and without thinking about it, he turned the tractor into the field. The bumps and dips of the frozen furrows beneath the snow almost tossed him from his seat, but he persevered until he parked on the edge of a small crater that steamed with melted snow. At the bottom of the crater a large rock glowed vivid orange. It dimmed to red as Frank watched, then even the red faded, leaving an ugly black rock that looked a little like the cinders on the rail line. Heaving himself from the tractor, Frank pulled out the chain that he used to rescue the cars that landed in the ditch outside his ramshackle farm. The heat was incredible, but he got a loop of chain around the rock. It took most of the rest of the night, but Frank managed to hang the rock from the bucket in front of his tractor. He had peeled most of his layers off and was able to twist and look back as he reversed the old tractor out of the field onto the road. The snow had stopped and the night was stunningly clear. Screw the Fat Cats, I'm going home. He shivered as he parked the tractor in his shed, but still took the time to untangle the chain and leave the rock in a corner of the shed, covered with a tarp. It was cool enough now to touch. The warmth from the rock suffused him and his shivering stopped. He felt reborn. *** In the morning Frank rolled out of bed and made it to the door before he realized that the alarm hadn't gone off. A quick check of the alarm clock showed that he was actually early though he felt completely rested. He switched off the alarm and went to make his breakfast. After breakfast were his morning chores. He whistled as he fed and watered the animals that shared his farm. He took great pleasure in caring well for his livestock. Since Frank had never married and had no children, the animals took the place of family for him. He knew that his father had hoped that he would carry on the Madison name, but Frank had never found a woman who would put up with him. With the plant closing, the town seemed likely to die, so it was reasonable that the name should go too. Only after all the livestock had been cared for, did Frank return to the shed and the mysterious rock from the night before. He pulled back the tarp and looked at it. It was as black and ugly as ever, but something drew him to it. He put his hands on the rock and felt an echo of the warmth it had held. "I don't know what I am going to do with you," he said as he looked at the rock from all angles. It was egg-shaped and about a meter from end to end. He tried to roll it over to look at the bottom side and couldn't budge it. "Heavy beggar." A magnet stuck firmly to the rock, but when he checked, nails didn't. He covered the rock with the tarp. Frank's truck was only slightly newer than the tractor, but it took him into town as it did every day. He parked it in front of the coffee shop and went inside. The regulars waved or nodded at him while Alice put a cup of coffee in front of him. "Hey, Madison, you didn't plow my driveway last night." Bruce was the only local who hired Frank to clear his drive. He used to be the manager of the plant that had been closed by the bank. He still wasn't used to thinking of himself as just another person again. "Nope." "Why the hell not?" "Not enough snow," Frank said. "Wasn't worth the trip." He took a sip of the bitter black treacle Alice thought was good coffee. "I want it cleared out. Now." "Nope." "What?" "I'm drinking my coffee." Frank took a long sip to demonstrate. "Maybe later, if I'm not busy." Bruce looked like he was going to explode on the spot. He tried several times to put words together, but only spluttering noises came out. "You're fired!" he finally said. "OK." Frank took another sip. Alice's coffee was like that. It grew on you. "So," Bruce said, "Who's going to clear my drive?" No one said anything, or even looked at him.