Migrators

by Ike Hamill

“Okay,” Alan said.

  He crouched and looked between the steps as he descended. The bulbs left deep shadows in the corners of the cellar. Alan pointed his weak beam towards possible hiding places. He waved to Liz and Joe to follow him. Enormous granite blocks defined the walls of the cellar. They had been dragged by “ox strength and ignorance,” as the Colonel said, eleven miles from the quarry. The floor was crushed stone. Overhead, the big beams that held up the floor were criss-crossed with wires and pipes. They provided a sturdy scaffolding for the spiderwebs and dust.

  Alan’s family formed a tight knot at the bottom of the stairs. The stone walls masked the sound of the storm, but the generator’s hum buzzed through the air.

  Even with its primitive materials, the cellar felt orderly. It held little more than the electrical panel, furnace, water heater, and oil tank.

  Alan headed for the first corner. Their feet crunched across the gravel. As they passed beyond the naked lightbulb hanging from a joist, their shadows darkened the corner even more. Alan squeezed his flashlight, as if that might coax more light from the old batteries.

  “How long since you’ve been down here?” Liz asked, her voice hushed with fear.

  “A few weeks,” Alan said. “When we had the generator installed. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Liz said. Her light darted around the cellar. She had dropped her broom upstairs and her free hand was clamped to Alan’s shoulder. Her fingers dug into his muscles.

  Alan raised his voice. “If you’re down here, you might as well come out.” He maneuvered over to the oil tank and cast his light behind it. There were few places to hide in the cellar, and this was the most obvious. Liz squeezed his shoulder even harder.

  “Liz, you’re killing me,” Alan said.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just—there used to be a big snake that lived under there. I saw it one time when the oil man was here.”

  “You told me,” Alan said. “And it was thirty years ago. You also said that the oil guy killed the snake with his shovel.”

  “He did,” she whispered. “But what if that snake had babies.”

  “Then I’m sure they’re long dead too,” Alan said. “I put out mouse poison. If the snake eats a poisoned mouse, it will die too.”

  “Can we go upstairs now?” Liz asked.

  “I want to check behind the furnace and water heater.”

  “What could hide behind there?” Liz asked.

  “Nothing, if we check,” Alan said.

  Liz kept her hand on Alan’s shoulder. He could feel his son pressed against his hip, keeping pace as they shuffled towards the appliances. All was clear behind the furnace and water heater. They pointed all three of their lights into the dark space and saw nothing but the cement pad that the machines were mounted on. Alan turned back towards the stairs. Outside, the wind picked up and they heard it howling through the cracks between the foundation stones. The house above them creaked and moaned.

  “Dad?” Joe asked.

  They stopped.

  “Yes?” Alan asked.

  “There’s something in the rocks?”

  “Are you asking, or did you see something?” Alan asked.

  “I think I saw something,” Joe said.

  “Where?” Alan asked. He was looking where his son’s flashlight pointed, but there was nothing there. It was just an oval of the gravel floor, lit up by Joe’s weak beam. “Joe, I don’t see anything.” Alan started to move forward again, but Liz’s hand on his shoulder pulled him back.

  “No, Alan, he’s right,” Liz said. “I see it too.”

  “Some animal or something?” Alan asked. His question trailed off. The thing on the floor shifted towards them. It still looked like the gravel floor of the cellar, but somehow the gravel felt like it got closer.

  “What the hell?” Alan whispered.

  “Alan!” Liz exclaimed. She tugged at his shoulder. He turned to see her beam pointing towards the wooden steps. The shadow under the bottom stair was sliding. The oily darkness moved to the right and then stopped. Liz’s light was able to chase away all the shadows except that one. Her beam disappeared into that puddle of darkness.

  “It’s coming closer, Dad,” Joe said.

  “Just calm down, Joe. Maybe our eyes are playing tricks on us. Maybe it’s the…” Alan started.

  He jerked his foot back. His big toe felt like it had been stung by a wasp, repeatedly injecting hot fire under the nail.

  “Come on,” Alan said. He coughed out the words. Alan dropped his hammer and grabbed Joe’s arm.

  Alan bolted for the stairs. Liz cried out as she lost her grip on Alan’s shoulder. He heard her scrambling to keep up. Joe got to the stairs first and pulled himself up over the side. Alan turned to pull Liz ahead. His grip on his wife’s arm switched from pulling her to leaning on her as his toe hit the floor. A new wave of hot pain flared and Alan’s leg buckled. Liz supported his weight and they lunged for the stairs.

  The shadow under the bottom step flattened. Alan saw the movement and heard the clatter of gravel.

  Liz made the stairs. She pulled herself up the first few steps and Joe reached down to help her. Alan leaped over the shadow. It was stretching towards his feet. The lightbulbs exploded. After the flash, Alan’s light carved a sweeping beam through the cellar.

  Joe screamed.

  Alan got his injured foot up over the side of the stairs, and Liz and Joe reached for his hand. As he pushed up, fresh pain shot up from his trailing leg. Something was tugging him back down. Liz caught his hand. Joe grabbed around his wrist. Alan pulled on both of them and pushed up with the foot planted on the stairs, but the thing clutching his other leg was like an anchor.

  Alan swung back with his flashlight.

  As the beam cut across the cellar, Alan saw a dozen faceless dark shapes. They were closing on his position. The flashlight connected with something and the impact broke Alan’s grip on the metal. The flashlight bounced from his hand and flipped as it fell away. The light flickered and then extinguished. Alan felt the grip on his leg soften and he pulled with all his force.

  Liz and Joe pulled. The family clawed their way up the steps. They fell through the doorway to the hall and Alan spun on his knees. He slammed the door behind them and shot the bolt. He dragged the chair over to the door and jammed it savagely under the handle. The wooden legs creaked as Alan slapped it into place with his palms.

  The overhead light flared and then winked out.

  Liz and Joe were on their feet. They turned and helped Alan up.

  “We have to leave,” Joe said.

  “Alan, your foot,” Liz said.

  “Forget it. Joe’s right.”

  They moved fast. Alan brought up the rear and tried to ignore the pain in his foot. Each time he tried to push off with the bad foot, the leg wanted to buckle under his weight. The other leg wasn’t much better. He felt a burn where the thing had been pulling him down, and when he brought the leg forward, he felt new pain.

  Joe and Liz led the way down the shed hall. Joe stopped at the locked door. He couldn’t turn the handle. Alan’s arm shot between Joe and Liz and he unlocked it. Alan heard a snap from behind them and he turned to see the kitchen lights snuff out. The darkness was following them.

  They ran down the long shed. The shed door was banging against the side of the building. The rain was blowing through the opening. Joe and Liz pulled away as Alan limped after. He finally turned the corner and saw his wife pulling open the door of her little BMW.

  “Liz—farm truck,” Alan shouted.

  She nodded and ran for the big green truck. Joe followed. They piled through the passenger’s door as Alan pulled himself up into the driver’s seat. He gunned the engine as he turned the key. The giant truck roared to life. Liz pressed the button to open the barn door and spun to watch its slow ascent. Joe locked his door.

  Alan mashed in the clutch with a foot that felt both numb and on fire. He jerked the shift lever over to reverse and started the truck rol
ling. The lights in the shed went dark.

  “Come on,” Liz said.

  The door wasn’t high enough, but Alan popped the clutch anyway. The truck lurched on the dirt floor of the barn and sped towards the opening. The top of the cab clipped the barn door and they burst out into the evening. Rain, wind, and blowing leaves hit the windows from all sides. Alan jerked the front end of the truck around and they paused in the dark. They saw no lights on in the house. Alan flipped on the truck’s headlights and the shadows fled. He jammed the truck into first gear. It bucked and protested as Alan fed it too much gas. Finally, the wheels spun and the truck darted down the drive.

  Joe was pressed against his window. Liz looked out the back. Alan followed the path of the headlights and swung them right on the road. Liz had said the road was flooded to the north, but he intended to challenge that assertion.

  X • X • X • X • X

  The windshield wipers slapped back and forth. The high beams showed a foamy brown river cutting through the middle of the road.

  “This was just a few inches of water when I came through,” Liz said.

  “Well, it’s a washout now,” Alan said.

  The truck will never make it. A tank would never make it.

  “Can’t we go around, Dad?” Joe asked.

  “There is no around. There’s the Broken Bridge Road, and our road,” Alan said.

  “We have to try the neighbors then,” Liz said.

  Alan put the truck into reverse and pulled away from the flood. As the headlights swept across the side of the road he saw the barricades. The water had taken them downstream. “None of the neighbors had lights on, and I don’t know what we’d find if we went there. Whatever is in our cellar might be in their houses as well.”

  “What do we do then? We can’t go home,” Liz said.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Alan said.

  He didn’t slow as they passed their house. Liz watched the white house go by in the darkness. Down the road, Alan turned on the old forest road that led out back to the pine trees. The truck bounced and whined and tore at the muddy tracks. Joe’s seatbelt held him down. Liz grabbed at the seat and tried to keep herself from banging off the ceiling. Lightning flashed, lighting up the clouds overhead.

  The muddy road ended.

  “What’s your plan?” Liz asked.

  “We hike across the marsh to Bob’s. He’s up the hill from all the flooding. We can borrow his car.”

  “What if he’s not home? What if we can’t get there in the dark?”

  “I think I can find it,” Alan said. “And even if he’s not home, at least his house isn’t on the path of those things.”

  “How do you know?” Liz asked. “What were they?”

  “They were… I don’t think we should talk about it,” Alan said. “If we can’t make it to Bob’s house, then we can come back to the truck.”

  “Let me see your foot first,” Liz said. He flipped on the interior lights and pulled his foot out from under the dash. “Alan, you can’t walk on that.”

  Normally, he’d be inclined to agree. His right leg was bad enough. His jeans were torn and his calf muscle had a cut that spiraled down from his knee down to his ankle. The skin was split and the gash was nearly a half-inch wide. His other foot hurt more. On his left foot, the toes of his shoe were gone. The leather and rubber was severed clean to reveal four naked toes. His big toe was only half there. Just beyond the knuckle, where the nail started, the toe was gone and angry red flesh surrounded the exposed bone. It was a constantly burning fire at the end of his foot.

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  “Yes we do. We can stay here and ride out the storm. It’s cramped, but it’s dry.”

  The interior light dimmed and then came back on.

  “We have to go,” Alan said. “They might be coming for us.”

  He turned off the interior light and pulled the key. The lights came back on briefly as they exited. When they closed the doors, they were in the dark. It took Alan’s eyes a second to adjust. The rain had slowed, but the wind picked up even stronger. It tossed the trees, and pelted the trio with sticks and leaves. They had a short distance to cover between the rows of pines. Alan dragged his left foot behind him. Joe took the lead. From all their brush clearing over the summer, Joe knew the woods almost as well as Alan.

  The clouds above flashed again with lightning. No thunder followed.

  Alan focused on the ground, trying to find a clear path. He glanced up frequently to keep tabs on the progress of Joe and Liz. With the next flash, he saw Joe at the end of the pines, waiting near where the stand ended and the snowmobile trail cut through their property. Alan saw Liz pull out her phone and check for signal. She stuffed it back in her pocket.

  A gust of wind hit Alan in the back, driving him to his knees. He clawed at the pine needles, pulling himself forward and trying to find his feet again. Liz caught up with Joe and the two hugged each other tight and endured the gale. Alan clenched his teeth against the waves of pain radiating up his legs as he stood. He limped over and joined Liz and Joe.

  Behind them, off in the distance in the direction of the truck, they heard a slow creaking pop. It built to a crescendo of snapping limbs as a tree came down. Wind whipped down the row of trees, hitting the family and making them shield their faces from the blowing debris.

  Alan pushed them ahead. There was a small bank that led down to the trail. Joe went first. Liz propped herself under Alan’s arm and helped him down the bank. His injured foot seemed to hit every rock and weed down the slope and their descent turned into a barely-controlled fall. When they arrived at the trail, Joe ran ahead. Liz helped Alan take some of the weight off of his bad foot.

  The trail ran down the gentle slope of the hill into the marsh. The scrubby weeds along the sides of the trail had lost their leaves and the grass was dried out since the last time Alan had walked the path. A small stream of runoff followed them down the hill. Another tree crashed to ground behind them.

  The clouds collected the moonlight and starlight and distributed it into an even glow across the sky. Down at the edge of the marsh, Alan could see the rough outline of the trees against the horizon and he could sense, rather than see, the trail ahead. The grass under their feet squished with each step. Alan’s ravaged shoe filled with water. The cold brought some relief from the pain. Joe kept his lead, staying a few paces ahead of his parents.

  They caught up with him about halfway across the marsh.

  “What’s wrong, Joe?” Liz asked.

  Joe didn’t answer—he pointed down the trail. Alan heard Liz gasp. It was a tiny sound under the noise of the wind. Her arm, looped under his and propping him up, tensed as she saw. It took Alan a few more seconds for his eyes to draw in the dim light. Several paces away, a line of hunched shapes moved across the trail. They appeared from the tall grass to the left and disappeared into the grass on the right. They were spaced evenly and marched in lockstep. Alan felt a shiver run down his back. There was something unnatural about the way the things moved. The long legs and short arms moved in a sweeping, organic rhythm, but they were too synchronized. They moved like one organism, like a centipede.

  The last figure moved across the trail and its shape became a blur in the tall grass.

  Joe was still paralyzed.

  Alan leaned forward and whispered, “Go, Joe. Quickly.”

  Alan clamped his teeth again and willed his feet into motion. They shuffled across the place where the dark figures had crossed their path. Alan kept his eyes glued on the tall grass beside the trail. Joe stayed close across the rest of the marsh. He came to a stop again when the grass underfoot was submerged in water. They’d reached the edge of the beaver pond, which had flooded the marsh.

  “Keep going until that tree if you can,” Alan said. “We’ll get wet, but the beaver dam is just past there.”

  They sloshed through the water. It was ankle-deep and then rose as high as their knees by the time they got to the
tree. The water rushing over the banks of the pond was louder than the shrieking wind.

  Alan went first. He inched along through the flowing water, holding his arms out to keep his balance. The water tugged at his feet as he felt for the right direction. Joe reached out and took his hand. It helped him balance. The three formed a chain, sidestepping along the edge of the overwhelmed beaver dam. A tree branch washed over the banks and tangled between Alan’s legs. Pain stabbed his toe as he tried to free himself without losing his balance. He had a horrible vision of being swept downstream and dragging his son and wife with him. The water got even deeper and Alan felt Joe’s grip tugging at his arm. His son and wife didn’t have enough mass to keep themselves stable in the current. Alan found higher ground and moved quickly to pull his family up.

  Alan paused to catch his breath. The water was only about calf-deep here, but its constant tug sapped the strength from Alan’s injured legs. They started moving again. Alan found the edge of the beaver dam. It was holding up admirably against the onslaught of water. The current quickened as they neared the center of the dam. In the very middle, the stream had cut a notch in the top of the dam.

  “Brace yourself,” Alan said to Joe and Liz. They held each other tight and Alan leaned out, gripping Joe’s hand for leverage. At the edge of his foot’s reach, he found the other side of the notch. He pulled himself back upright.

  “It’s a long step over the stream,” Alan said. “I’ll get to the other side and then pull you guys across.”

  Liz nodded. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he saw the outline of her head.

  “We’re almost there. Bob’s house is right up that hill,” Alan said. “Hold tight, but if you feel like I’m pulling you down, you let go of me,” he said to Joe.

  Liz and Joe braced themselves. Alan gripped his son’s hand and stretched his foot through the rushing water. The bank on the other side was soft and crumbled beneath his shoe. He found a sturdy spot and put his weight on that leg. His tendons ached—stretched to their limits—and his muscles began to shake with the exertion. Alan let go of his son’s hand and shifted his weight forward. The ground under his foot gave way. Alan used the last of his strength to push off with his bad foot and he plunged into the water.