The Spirit Survives (15 page)

My head ached and my leg throbbed as my mind drifted into oblivion. Images of Leah entered my mind, but they were blurred by images of my father stabbing her with a knife. I tried to help her, but I couldn’t move. That son-of–a-bitch was killing everything I loved. I had dumped his memory in the back of my mind, never to be visited, but in my weakened condition the recollections were entering to my consciousness. In my delusional mind, the memories were almost more that I could take. My hatred for my father raised its ugly head and consumed me.

Francis Stephen Harris was born to a stern and challenging mother. When he was ten years old his father left, saying that he could not take her unachievable demands any longer. For the next eight years Francis, who was nicknamed Ford, was shuffled between his divorced mother and father. At eighteen he joined the army, primarily to get away from his disjointed existence. The army didn’t suit him either and after nineteen months, he was given a dishonorable discharge for stealing a radio from his bunkmate. When confronted by the man, he beat him senseless with the radio and walked out. The MP’s captured him while he was intoxicated in a local bar with a prostitute. When he returned to his hometown of Wingate, NC, he told everyone that he had received a medical discharge.

Ford went to work in a local textile mill, and it was there that he met my single, slim, and lonely eighteen-year-old mother. They dated for only about three months before they were married. I think she wed him thinking that she could get away from the textile mill and her despondent life. She was one of ten children and was lost in the shuffle for most of her childhood. She was a sweet girl, but mentally weak, with no self-confidence. One year later I was born. Ford couldn’t keep a job and occasionally left for months at the time. My mother was frightened to divorce him for fear of being left alone, even though she was alone most of the time anyway. To support us, she went back to work at the textile mill, relying on relatives to take care of me while she was working.
 

I lived this life for my first six years. Sometimes Ford would be there, and sometimes he wouldn’t. It wasn’t abnormal to me because that’s all I knew.

One hot humid Sunday afternoon in August, the day after my seventh birthday, I was playing in the yard when I heard a scream. Ford had been home this time for four days. I scampered into the house and to the kitchen where the uproar was coming from.
 

I’ll never forget what I saw. My father was straddling my mother on the floor hitting her repeatedly with his fists. Blood was all over the floor and her face as her screams turned into painful grunts. All I could think of was that I had to stop him anyway I could. I ran to my room and grabbed my Louisville slugger baseball bat that mother had given me for my birthday. I darted back to the kitchen, stepped forward on my left leg like they had taught me in little league, and swung as hard as I could. The blow caught him just above the right buttocks. He cried out and turned toward me.
 

The look on his face was both rage and surprise. If Satan had a face, in my mind, I was looking at it. He yelled, “Come here you little bastard!” and got off my mother.
 

As he came toward me, I swung again with all my might. I missed his groin, but hit his upper leg. The force of the blow knocked the bat from my hands, and he grabbed my shirt. He back-handed me with such a force it knocked me against the wall.
 

I spit out two of my baby teeth, and tried to get up and run. He was on me again, slugging me with his fist. One of my rubs cracked. Then I heard a clunk, and he fell off my damaged body. I looked up with tear-filled eyes and saw that Mother was standing behind him holding an iron skillet. He lay on the floor, out cold from the blow.
 

She grabbed me and ran out the door to Mrs. Johnson’s house next door. Mrs. Johnson was shocked at our appearance and immediately called 911. The police and an ambulance arrived in about five minutes.

As they were placing me in the ambulance, I saw the police hauling Ford to the police car. Mother had knocked him unconscious with the iron skillet, but he had been revived. I was scared to death that they were going to put him in the ambulance with me and I was relieved when only mother and I were taken to the hospital. She had a broken nose and had four stitches put in her lip. I had a broken rib and two stitches in my lip in front of the two teeth that he had knocked out.
 

I experienced nightmares for years in my childhood, until I successfully deposited the horrid memory in the back of my mind as a teenager. Mother refused to press charges or to testify against him, and Ford was released after serving six months for assault on a child. If mother had testified he could have received ten years. However, she did divorce him and took out a restraining order against him. He left town after that, and I never saw that son-of-a-bitch again. I always hoped that he was dead, but I never knew.

I forced these horrible memories out of my mind.
 

I tried to think only of Leah and depress the memories of him. Having the wolf by my side gave me some comfort. The animal seemed to know that something was torturing me because he licked my hand and looked at me with those unforgettable watering eyes. I think he also was aware that we were going to die together.

Consciousness abandoned me once again as I was thinking that this was the final moments of my life. I shut my eyes and wandered off into the dreamland of my spirit. I found myself flying toward a very bright light, and I was at peace. I had never experienced such a sensation of calm. I felt no pain in my body and no distress in my mind. I felt weightless and happy. My trials and tribulations were almost over.

“Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh”… The sound was almost deafening. “Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.”
 

I felt something massaging my face; it was moist and felt glorious. I opened my eyes and saw the wolf licking me and whimpering. The whooshing sound cracked the silence of the cave again. It took all my strength to crawl to the area below the hole. I looked up and saw a helicopter hovering there. I attempted to raise my arms, but I had no strength left. The wolf was making a noise that sounded vaguely like howling. Darkness overwhelmed me and I passed out.

Chapter 37

The radiant sunshine had no clouds to intercept its rays on this gorgeous August morning. The air was totally calm, which was unusual for Lookout Mountain this time of year. The wild flowers were in full blossom and the evergreens were a handsome shade of green. Rex Herns and Chief Henry had been up for hours, even though it was seven in the morning. They drove up the mountain with a crew of seven forensic and investigative officers following them. They had two priorities this morning, the continuing investigation of the murder of Officer Tyrell and the search party for Leah Hamilton. The untimely death of Tammy Tyrell had briefly suspended the search party, but today it would resume its mission. Rex had reported the sighting of the smoke to the Chief and the helicopter pilot had been notified to report to the scene at 8:00 a.m.

Rex had volunteered to lead the search party and Chief Henry would be in charge of the murder investigation.
 

Rex dispatched his three-man team to search the immediate area for signs of Leah Hamilton while he took the police car to the area where he had spotted the smoke. He recalled the exact spot and arrived there quickly. He got out of the car and focused his high-powered binoculars to the area on the side of the mountain. He meticulously scanned the obvious path of the tornado until he came to the spot. Rocks, splintered trees and boulders littered the terrain. He focused again and observed what appeared to be a hole or a gap between the boulders. He was certain that spot was where the smoke came from the day before. Today there was nothing but the bright sunlight glittering off the huge rocks. His thoughts were interrupted by a transmission coming from the police car radio. It was the helicopter pilot trying to raise him. He rushed back to the car and answered, “This is Rex Herns, do you hear me?”

“Yes sir, this is Phil Andrews. The chief told me that you had a precise area for me to look at before I searched the entire mountain. My spotter is Jockey Woods. She’s also an expert pilot and the best there is at her job.

“Good to work with both of you,” Rex replied, “Yesterday I spotted smoke coming from an area up the mountain where the tornado passed through. I have my police car parked below the area in question. Because of the destruction, it’s impossible to get there on foot. Fly up the east side of the mountain until you see the police car and me. I’ll direct you from there.”

“Yes sir, we’ll be there in a minute,” Phil replied and signed off.

Chapter 38

Phil Andrews and his girlfriend, Jockey, piloted a two-seat Apache helicopter. Their services included passenger charters, flying lessons, aerial photography, and aerial surveys for real estate. For the past two years, they had also been flying search-party missions for missing persons, working with various police departments from Milwaukee to Green Bay.
 

This would be their first assignment with the Tomahawk police department. However, they were very familiar with Lookout Mountain, since they had flown numerous passenger charters to the area. The job, as described to them, was simple. A woman’s abandoned car had been discovered on Lookout Mountain. The assignment was to survey the area for any sign of her. The odds of finding something had increased after the sighting of smoke by Assistant Chief Rex Herns the day before. The first order of business was to solve that mystery and then survey the entire mountain. Jockey spotted the police car with Kerns standing outside. She picked up her hand-set and called him. “Sir, we have you in view. Is that the area north of where you are standing?”

“Yes Jockey,” Rex pointed to the spot. “About halfway up the mountain is where I saw smoke yesterday. There appears to be a hole or crevice there.”

“We’ll take a look,” Jockey replied. “Will call you if we spot anything.”

While Phil flew to the area, Jockey grabbed her Steiner 15x80 Commander Military C Binoculars. With these babies, she could view the wings of a fly on an elephant’s back at one-hundred yards. When she looked at the area, she was astonished at the scope of the damage the tornado had delivered to the gorgeous mountain side. She noticed what appeared to be a hole in the mountain alongside a pile of boulders. Jockey guided Phil to the area, and after some maneuvering Phil had the copter directly above the hole.

Jockey focused the binoculars and looked directly into the hole. A gasp escaped her lips at what she saw. Lying on the rocks at the bottom was a man, who looked dead, while a wolf stood over him licking his face or biting him—she couldn’t tell which.

“Chief Herns!” she yelled into the radio, “There’s a man down there with a wolf standing over his face. I can’t tell if he’s alive or dead.”

“Can you get to him, Jockey?

“We’re equipped with a rescue seat. If you give the go ahead, I can lower Phil into the hole and we can try to pull the man out. We have a problem with the wolf. Phil has a pistol and he may have to shoot it if it tries to attack him.”

“It may be Ben Harris,” Rex said, “He was reported missing the day the tornado struck. By all means bring him out.”

The lowering of the rescue seat with a person in it is a delicate and dangerous operation. Even for specialists like Jockey and Phil, injury is always possible both to the person attempting the rescue and the person being rescued, particularly if hard contact is made during the hoist operation.

Phil expertly strapped himself into the rescue seat, checked his pistol to be sure there was a bullet in the chamber, and told Jockey that he was ready. He opened the side door to the helicopter and slid out holding the cable. Jockey kept the copter as still and steady as possible while lowering Phil down to the hole. The position of the copter was almost perfect as he approached the opening.
 

Just as Phil was passing into the opening, a gust of wind struck his rescue seat and slammed him hard into the side of the hole. Sharp boulders cut into his skin as he bounced off the rocks.
 

Jockey was horrified at the sight but held the copter firm until Phil stopped swinging. She instantly commenced to slowly hoist him up to see how badly he was injured.
 

When he got to the door, he was able to grab the bottom of the seat in the copter and pull himself in. He immediately unstrapped himself from the rescue seat and grabbed the first aid kit while Jockey headed to the location where Rex Herns was located to land the copter. She knew Phil would require medical aid. Phil ripped open a large piece of gauze from the first aid kit and pressed it hard against the gushing wound.
 

Jockey landed on the highway about a hundred feet from where Chief Herns was waiting. As soon as it landed, Rex rushed to the copter to determine what the problem was. He saw the blood-soaked gauze that Phil was holding against his leg. Rex lifted him from the copter and gently placed him on the ground in the parking area. Jockey came running with the first aid kit. While she attended Phil, Rex radioed Chief Henry that he needed an ambulance immediately, and then returned to assist Jockey.

Jockey cut off the pants leg of the trousers, applied alcohol to the injury, and tightly wrapped it. Phil gasped at the pain of the alcohol penetrating the wound but remained still. The gash was not deep, but would require numerous stitches. After about ten minutes, the ambulance arrived with sirens blasting.