Chapter 3

April 2^nd 2016, Somerset, England

The big 1996 Massey Ferguson 8140 diesel tractor sat out in the open with a twelve hundred litre crop sprayer attached behind it. The yard was tidy apart from a pallet of barrels that sat off to one side of the tractor. Using a knife, a farmer hacked at the shrink wrap holding the barrels to the pallet until he was able to free one up. He hoisted it over to the crop sprayer and began pumping it into the tank with a manual pump. When the barrel was empty, he moved on to the next one until he had enough vaccine in his crop sprayer to spray his fields. Removing the filling tube from the tank, he cursed when the remaining vaccine in it dribbled onto his right trouser leg. Although the sun was shining, there was still a cold wind and his leg felt like ice now it was wet. He shrugged it off and climbed into the cab. The big engine roared to life and the farmer drove it to the first field to be treated. Parking up at the corner of a sweetcorn field, he leaped out and flicked a switch on the crop sprayers control panel. The arms of the sprayer started to move as the twenty-one metre hydraulic S booms began to extend. When they were fully extended, he flicked another switch and climbed back into the tractor, locating its huge tyres in the grooves left behind from when the field was seeded. His leg itched, but thinking nothing of it, he gave it a scratch and then put the big diesel engine into gear.

The vaccine pumped out of the spraying arms in a fine mist, settling on the leaves of the young plants as the farmer followed the tracks up and down the field. Up the slight incline to the top and then back down towards the river. It was repetitive work but it would be rewarded by a successful pollination and a healthier crop. With each completed lane, the farmer’s leg began to itch more and more. Vigorously scratching at the skin on his leg he started to become concerned. He cursed to himself for not reading the label on the vaccine barrels when it spilt on his leg. He had assumed it was as harmless as other pesticides he had used hundreds of times in the past. The skin was now red raw, yet he couldn’t stop scratching it. In a way it felt pleasurable when he scratched, offering a brief relief to the intense itching. The inside of the cab was hot and the farmer sweated profusely, his body was tense and his mind began to go crazy. With each run down the field, the river became more and more inviting.

Up the incline. Down the incline. Into the cold, soothing river.

Up the incline. Down the incline. Into the cold, soothing river.

Each pass brought the same crazy thoughts as the itching became unbearable and the frenzied scratching began to draw blood. There was no panic, he had gone past panic and into the world of madness. Turning at the top of the field, he lined up in the next set of tracks for the final time.

Down the incline. Into the river.

The tractor lunged forward and began its last journey down the field towards the river. The farmers leg was bleeding heavily now and he stepped on the accelerator. The engine rumbled as the tractor reached its top speed of twenty miles-per-hour. Holding tight to the steering wheel, the farmer kept the tractor on course as best as he could. Glancing at his leg, his head went light as he saw the crimson blood seeping through his blue jeans. His vision blurred and then darkness closed in as he began to lose consciousness. His hands slipped off the wheel and the tractor veered off through the young corn plants and set its course for the river. Its front wheels went over the bank and directly down into the water. The rest of the tractor followed, the heavy rear wheels tipping over the top and flipping the tractor upside down. The crop sprayer and tank became detached and settled in the water a few metres away. The big, red, Massey Ferguson plunged to the bottom of the river, taking the unconscious farmer with it.

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