Migrators

by Ike Hamill

  “Alan!” Liz yelled behind him.

  He thrust his hands into the water and gripped at the branches the beavers had woven to form their dam. His legs were washed downstream and he pulled desperately while trying to keep his head above the water. His shoulders burned with the effort. Alan got his good foot under him and tried to push himself up. The current wanted to hold him down. He fought to get his other foot under him. It kept slipping.

  Alan looked downstream.

  I’ll just let go. I’ll let go and get to shore where the current isn’t as strong. I can’t hold on much longer, he thought.

  With his head just above the level of the water, Alan saw something upstream. Bobbing up and down over the surface of the pond, he saw the silhouettes of dark shapes approaching. He jammed his injured foot into the dam and cried out as he pushed himself upright. He braced himself at the edge and leaned an across the gap towards his son.

  Liz helped Joe lean across to reach Alan’s grip. He pulled his son across. Joe found his feet on the other side. Joe held on to his father’s arm as Alan leaned ever farther for Liz. She threw herself across and Alan pulled her out of the air. They fell upstream, into the current, and it held them up. The branches of the dam began to give way under Alan’s feet. He felt the mud and leaves that the beavers had packed between the limbs to chink their dam rushing past his legs.

  “Go, Joe,” Alan yelled. With each step the dam disintegrated beneath his feet. The water swelled into the void and tore the dam apart.

  He looked upstream. He saw the bobbing figures being swept into the rushing current.

  Alan pushed at Liz and Joe. They sloshed through the water and it became more and more shallow as they neared the woods on the far side. Finally, Alan found the bank. Joe and Liz pulled him from the water. The pond was receding as the water swept the dam downstream, taking the dark bobbing shapes with it.

  They crashed through the brush. Alan steered them north so they could find the trail again. Joe reached it first. They made a tight line as they ran up the hill. Alan’s lungs burned and his soaked clothes pulled at him.

  “Is that it?” Joe asked.

  “What?” Alan asked.

  Joe pointed and Alan saw the flickering light through the trees.

  “I don’t know,” Alan said. “Probably.”

  The veered off the trail and headed through the forest.

  “Yes,” Alan said, as they approached. The flickering light was coming from Bob’s family room at the back of the house. They broke through the underbrush and came through to the back of Bob’s yard. Alan moved to the head of the group and found his way under the dark deck. He tried the handle—locked—and then pounded on the glass door. After a second, they saw a light coming down the stairs. Alan leaned against the house and exhaled.

  “Holy hell,” Bob said as he pulled the door open. He swept his flashlight over the soaked family. “What happened?”

  “Long story,” Alan said.

  “Come in,” Bob said. “I’ll get you some towels and clothes.”

  Alan herded his family through the door. He shut it and locked it behind them. Bob ran towards the stairs.

  “Wait!” Alan called. “Can we have the light?”

  “Sure,” Bob said. He jogged over and handed the light to Alan. Alan kept it trained on the stairs while Bob ascended, then he swept it around the half-finished basement. He put his arm around Liz and Joe and then pointed the light through the glass door to the back yard. He moved the beam from tree to tree, trying to see into the forest.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t do that,” Liz said.

  Alan nodded. He pointed the light at the floor.

  Bob rushed down the stairs with a stack of towels.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know where my manners are,” Bob said. “Please, come upstairs. I’ve got a fire going—it’s nice and warm.”

  “That’s okay, Bob,” Alan said. “We don’t want to get mud all over your carpets. If you’ve got some old clothes you can spare, I’d just as soon change down here.”

  “Of course,” Bob said. “Be right back.”

  Alan set the flashlight down on the floor and began to peel off his clothes. Joe wrapped a towel around himself and shivered. Liz helped Joe as Alan sat on the floor so he could try to get his shoes off. Bob came back down with clothes and then gave them some privacy. After a few minutes, the family made their way in borrowed clothes to the stairs. Alan limped in the rear. They found their way to the family room. Bob came in with a tray of mugs. Joe ran to the side of the fire.

  The fire put off a lot of heat and Joe seemed intent on absorbing it all.

  “Thanks,” Liz said, taking a mug of hot tea from Bob. She wore a flannel shirt and sweatpants cinched at her waist and rolled up at her ankles. Joe had a similar outfit. Alan wore a baggy sweatshirt and gym shorts. He limped over to the fire and sat down to examine his foot.

  “I’ll get you some peroxide,” Bob said.

  Liz brought Alan a mug of tea.

  She took his foot gently in her hands.

  “How did this happen?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Alan said. “Those things in the cellar.”

  Bob returned with a first aid kit. Liz took it and opened it. She examined the contents in the firelight. She folded an old towel and put his bare foot on top of it.

  “Does your phone work, Bob?” Alan asked.

  Bob shook his head. “I don’t have a landline, and I think maybe the storm took out the cell tower. I’ve had no cell reception for about an hour.”

  “Honey, I don’t know where to start with this,” Liz said. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

  “That might be difficult,” Bob said.

  “Why?” Alan asked.

  “When the power went out, I figured I would go out for dinner. The Mill Road your way is flooded, and they have the bridge closed on the Manchester Road. I couldn’t find a way out of here.”

  “What about the Old Belgrade Road? That was closed when I was coming home, but it might be back open now,” Liz said.

  Bob shook his head.

  “The radio said that there were so many road closures, that people should stay indoors,” Bob said. “We can try though. I’m happy to give it a shot.”

  “I think we have to,” Alan said. “And not because of my foot.”

  Alan screamed and gripped his knee.

  Liz put the cap back on the bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

  “Oh, Christ, that hurts,” Alan said.

  “I’m sorry,” Liz said. “You always say you hate to know when pain is coming, and I wanted to at least clean away some of the dirt.”

  Alan nodded and squeezed his eyes shut. The peroxide foamed on the bare flesh that ended where the top half of his toe used to be.

  “Hand me that gauze,” Alan said. He pulled his foot up closer to to his face. He used the flashlight to examine the injury.

  The flesh on the inside of his big toe was gone, but the bone remained. He’d lost about half the toenail and the skin and muscle down to the knuckle. The exposed bone was bleached white. It wasn’t bleeding. As the white foam of the peroxide wiped away, he saw seared flesh. The pain pulsed up his leg with each heartbeat. With the gauze and peroxide, he cleaned up the best he could before he bandaged his foot.

  “We’re about the same size—can I borrow your steel toes?” Alan asked Bob.

  “Sure,” Bob said. He went off to get his boots.

  Alan turned his attention to his other leg. He found a salve in the first aid kit. He dabbed that on the spiral laceration that wound around his calf. Compared to the toe, his calf injury was only a scratch. Bob returned and handed his boots to Alan.

  “You’re both okay, right?” Alan asked Liz and Joe.

  “Yes,” Liz said. “Joe?” She put a hand on his arm. Joe was staring into the fire. “Joe are you okay?”

  “Huh? Yeah—I’m fine,” Joe said.

  “No injuries?” Liz asked.

&nbs
p; “No.”

  “Okay,” Alan said. He unlaced a boot and angled it to fit over his pointed foot. “Bob, with your permission we’re going to take your SUV. We’ll try to find a way into town. If the roads are all blocked then we’ll come back here. For safety sake, you might want to consider coming with us. You also might want to consider the possibility that we’re being hunted.”

  “You haven’t really told me what happened,” Bob said.

  “And we won’t,” Alan said. “Call me superstitious if you’d like, but I suppose I can’t rule out the possibility that talking about it is a bad idea.”

  “Sometimes superstitions are based in fact,” Bob said.

  “Exactly,” Alan said. He got up slowly, putting his weight on his good leg before testing the bad one. He walked a few steps. “Good enough. So can we borrow your car, Bob?”

  “Only if I can come,” Bob said.

  “Deal,” Alan said.

  X • X • X • X • X

  Bob pulled up to the barricade.

  Alan opened his door.

  “What are you doing?” Liz asked.

  “I’m going to move that sign so we can go around. Maybe the road is flooded and maybe its not. I want to see it with my own eyes,” Alan said.

  He was careful with his foot, but the boot was tight and provided good protection. He lifted one of the sawhorses and dragged the barricade over to the side. They’d seen similar signs on all the roads, but all the others were positioned near flooded sections. This barricade was positioned on a flat stretch of road that was on a little hill. Sure, the road dipped a hundred yards or so farther on, but why would the barricade be there?

  And how did they get the barricade here? Alan thought. If we’re isolated here, on a little island surrounded by floods, who set up these signs and where were they stored?

  Alan walked back to the car.

  Bob maneuvered around the sawhorses and continued down the road. The rain was just a drizzle now. The wipers flipped by every few seconds. Bob drove slowly and leaned forward, peering into the cone of light projected by his headlights. They descended a little hill. Bob stopped just before the little stream that passed under the road. Two white and brown police cars were parked across the road, blocking it completely.

  “There’s no way around them,” Bob said. “But the road isn’t flooded.”

  “Maybe the road’s not structurally sound,” Liz said. “Maybe that culvert that passes under the road was compromised.”

  “Stay here,” Alan said. He got out and walked down the road. The little stream that passed under the road was definitely swollen, but it looked well contained by the culvert. He approached slowly, testing each step and ready for the road to give out underfoot. It seemed fine. He walked to the police cars. They were white with a gold star below a brown stripe. Each said “SHERIFF” in swept-back brown letters. Alan tried the door handles—locked. The rear ends of the cars hung over the road to where the shoulder sloped away, so he climbed carefully over the bumpers, between the vehicles. Alan walked up the hill to where the road flattened out. In the distance, he saw lights burning in a house near the curve. They’d seen no other electric lights while looking for a road into town.

  Alan scratched the side of his face and made his decision. He walked back to Bob’s car and got in.

  Alan turned towards the back seat where Liz and Joe sat squeezed together in the center.

  “Down the road a bit there’s a house with lights on. You guys will go down there and knock on the door. If they have a phone, then you call for a taxi and get a ride into town. Once you’re safe, you can call the sheriff and tell them where I am,” Alan said. “Bob, will you go with them?”

  Alan looked at Bob—he was looking through the windshield out into the night.

  “What are you going to do?” Liz asked Alan. Her voice had a tone. It was her “not to be fucked with” tone that meant there was a struggle coming whether she got her way or not.

  “I’m going back to the house,” Alan said.

  “What?” Liz asked. “What in the hell are you talking about? You’ve got half a damn foot. You’re hardly in any condition to be trying to get back to the house.”

  “Go, Liz,” Alan said. “You and Joe get to safety. I need to figure this thing out and I have to do it now, while it’s happening.”

  “You can’t flash your press credentials at a flood, Alan. This isn’t an assignment, and you said you’d stop chasing danger for the good of our family, remember?”

  “This danger came to our house, Liz. I have to make sure that it’s not going to follow us,” Alan said.

  “That’s crazy,” Liz said.

  “Trust me,” Alan said. “I have to do this.”

  She sat there, deliberating for several seconds as she looked into Alan’s eyes.

  “Put on your wet shoes, Joe. We’re going to meet the people up the road,” Liz said. “How exactly am I supposed to get in touch with you, Alan, since you dunked your cell phone in the pond back there?”

  “If they ever get the tower working again, you can call my cell,” Bob said. “I’m going with him.”

  “Bob, that’s crazy,” Alan said. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You didn’t ask,” Bob said. “It’s my car, so we play by my rules. If you don’t like it, then you can walk.”

  Alan nodded. He got out and hugged Liz and Joe as they joined in Bob’s headlights.

  “Are you sure?” Liz asked.

  Alan kissed her. He hugged his son.

  “Take care of each other for me. I’ll see you guys shortly,” Alan said.

  X • X • X • X • X

  “Turn here,” Alan said.

  “That road is flooded,” Bob said. “I thought we were going to walk back to your house the way you came.”

  “We can’t,” Alan said. “The beaver dam disintegrated when we crossed. But I think that’s going to help us. Since the beaver dam collapsed, the West Road shouldn’t be flooded anymore.”

  “What if the road was torn out?”

  “Then we walk. Quid pro quo,” Alan said.

  Bob’s hollow laugh stopped quickly.

  “So what happened at your house?” Bob asked.

  “Not yet,” Alan said. “I’ll tell you when we’re closer. That ground is already poisoned.”

  Bob drove fast. Aside from scattered wet leaves and the occasional downed limb, the roads were clear. Before long, they reached the spot on the West Road upstream from the beaver dam. Alan was right—the water level had dropped fast after the beaver dam gave way. There was just a trickle across the road. Alan got out and moved the warning sign. With a big step, he cleared the little stream that crossed the road. He moved the sign on the other side and then waved Bob across.

  Bob didn’t take any chance on the structural integrity of the road. He back backed up several car lengths and then accelerated fast towards the low point of the road. The pavement held and Bob screeched to a stop on the other side.

  “No problem. See?” Alan asked.

  “So far,” Bob said.

  They drove in silence until they took a left on Alan’s road. As they passed the dump, Alan began to tell his story. He began with picking up Joe from school, and ended with climbing the hill to Bob’s house.

  Bob considered the story as they climbed the north side of Hazard’s hill. Overhead the clouds had begun to break up and the moon peeked through.

  “So you think it was migrators in your cellar?” Bob asked.

  “I’m sure of it,” Alan said. “And I found out first hand what it feels like to have your flesh peeled off your bones. But I don’t think the migrators are the only thing we’re up against.”

  “What?”

  Alan nodded. “And if you want to change your mind about helping me, I’ll understand.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bob asked.

  “You remember the name of the deputy sheriff that came out to investigate when we first saw that thin
g?”

  “No,” Bob said. “It was the same guy on TV later, but I don’t remember his name.”

  “His last name was Prescott,” Alan said.

  “Like Buster.”

  “Yes,” Alan said. “He didn’t introduce himself and he wasn’t wearing a name tag or anything, but his name was on the card he handed me. The game warden who showed up, he was a Prescott as well.”

  “It’s probably a common enough name around here. After all, Buster lived on the Prescott Road.”

  “I think it’s common because four of the six Prescott boys grew up to take wives and have bunches of kids.”

  “And you think they have something to do with this?”

  “The deputy seemed to have some weird agenda, and the game warden said he was going to take the carcass off my porch, but instead he hung it from my front door.”

  “Weird,” Bob said.

  “And that girl that Joe had the conflict with at school. Pauline McDougall was born to Violet…” Alan started.

  “Prescott,” Bob finished. “I heard the story. She was dating Mack McDougall when she was diagnosed with cancer. He adopted her kids because it was her dying wish. Everyone talks about what a great guy he is.”

  “They’re Prescotts too. Just for shits and grins, I went through the Colonel’s files the other day. Guess who he bought our house from?”

  “One of Buster’s brothers?”

  “Quid pro quo,” Alan said with a small smile. “You win the prize—it was Paul, the worker of woodlots. He’s the one who planted all the pines out back.”

  “So what’s the connection? I don’t understand,” Bob said.

  “Neither do I, but I suspect that some of the drama tonight was orchestrated.”

  “The Prescotts caused the flooding?”

  Alan laughed. “No, but they might have had a hand in making sure I was home for it. The school closed so I had to pick up Joe and then for the first time ever, Pete comes over? I had to stay home to wait for Pete’s mom. She shows up right as they’re closing all the roads. I think they wanted me at home.”

  “No offense, but you sound paranoid,” Bob said.

  “Maybe,” Alan said. “Slow down and kill the lights, would you?”