Ike Hamill - Migrators

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.

“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.”