Ike Hamill - Migrators

“I can’t see,” Alan said.

OCTOBER 24

“ARE YOU awake?” Liz asked.

Alan opened his eyes and blinked against the light.

“Too bright,” he croaked. His throat felt like he’d swallowed broken glass. A loose sheet and a blanket were draped over him.

“Sorry,” Liz said.

He heard curtains being drawn and the world on the other side of his eyelids dimmed. Alan tried his eyes again. Despite the ache, he could see shapes and shadows. His arms were gripped tight around his torso. Liz pulled at his hand and Alan fought her.

“It’s okay, Alan. You’re okay,” she said.

He let her unwrap his arms and pull him into a hug. He held her tight. She was sitting on the bed next to him. He saw the flickering light of the TV over her shoulder.

“Where are we? Where’s Joe?” Alan asked.

“We’re at the Kingston Village Inn. You always said you wondered what it would be like to stay here. Joe’s got the adjoining room.”

“I don’t remember.”

“You were pretty out of it. Speaking of which, it’s time for your pills. How’s your pain?”

“I don’t know,” Alan said. “Fine. It hurts. What did they do?”

Liz handed Alan a cluster of pills. He tossed them back and then she helped him lean forward so he could take a sip of water.

“They took off a chunk of your toe and then sewed it up. You’ve got painkillers, this anti-swelling stuff, and antibiotics,” Liz said. She pulled back the blanket. Alan’s foot had a loose bandage around the toe. “You’re supposed to use those until the stitches come out.” She pointed at crutches leaning against the wall.

“And eye drops,” Liz said.

Alan tilted his head back while Liz squeezed a couple drops in each of his eyes. He tasted salt and iodine in the back of his throat.

“Bob! Is Bob okay?”

“Yes, he’s fine,” Liz said. “You don’t remember your trip to the hospital? Bob drove.”

“No,” Alan said. He swallowed.

“I have to go into work for a few hours to take a couple of meetings. I’ll open the door to Joe’s room. You can yell if you need anything,” Liz said.

“Okay.”

“You’re going to be okay?”

Alan nodded.

“When I get back, I want to hear what happened,” Liz said. “Bob told me some of it, but he didn’t know all of the details.”

Alan nodded. He closed his eyes. They felt better closed. There was still a purple dot in the center of his vision and a frustrating itch that originated somewhere within his skull. Liz kissed him on the cheek.

A knock woke him up.

Alan pushed back the blankets. He felt sticky and hot under the covers. He pulled himself up to more of a sitting position.

“Joe?”

Alan blinked. He heard his son jogging up to the bedside.

“Yeah Dad?”

“The door,” Alan said. He reached for the water. It felt like there was a cricket trapped in his throat and it struggled to get free whenever he talked. He gulped at the water, hoping to drown the insect. The water helped.

“Who is it?” Joe asked. He stood on his tiptoes to see through the peep hole.

Alan couldn’t hear the answer. Joe opened the door and Bob was standing on the other side.

Joe turned to Alan. “Can he come in?”

Alan waved Bob in. Joe closed the door and set the chain again. Joe lingered by the foot of the bed for a second and then went back through the door to his adjoining room. Alan heard Joe’s TV come on.

Bob set his bag down and pulled up a chair.

“How are you doing?”

“Okay,” Alan said. He drank the rest of his water.

Bob took the glass over to the sink and refilled it.

“You were pretty out of it after you came out of the cabin,” Bob said. He kept his voice low. “I got you back to my car and then you passed out again.”

“How did…” Alan began. He cleared his throat. “How did you get out?”

“Manchester Road,” Bob said. “The flooding had gone down so I went around the barricade. No big deal. My cell started working again as soon as we got out of Kingston proper. Your wife met us at the hospital. Look, I hope I didn’t screw everything up. When I saw all those things going in through the windows of the cabin, I figured you might want the box in there. After I pushed it through the window, the place exploded. I hope that wasn’t my fault.”

“It was,” Alan said, “I think. But it was a good thing.”

“Huh,” Bob said. He sat back.

“Dad?” Joe called from the doorway. “Are we going to get some dinner soon?”

“In a bit,” Alan said. “Where’s my cell?”

“Your phone is toast,” Bob said. “You soaked it. Your wife said she was going to try to pick up a replacement at some point.”

“Oh,” Alan said.

“What happened in that cabin?” Bob asked.

Alan tried to piece together all the strange events. He tried to order them in his head so he could convey them efficiently to Bob. Nothing made sense.

“I’m having trouble…” Alan said.

Remembering.

“Talking? Yeah—your voice sounds terrible. It’s okay. I can tell you what I figured out. Or, at least what I think I’ve figured out,” Bob said.

Alan raised his eyebrows.

Bob reached down into his bag. He pulled up the book that Rick Prescott had read from in the cabin. Alan pushed himself away from Bob. The sheet dragged across his bandage and pain flared from his foot. Alan shook his head violently. He put a finger to his lips.

“No?” Bob asked.

“No,” Alan said.

“Okay, I understand,” Bob said. “Definitely some weird thing going on. I’ve got a bunch of clothes here also. You were hanging on to them for dear life when we walked through the woods. I guess I should have given them to your wife last night, but I didn’t think of it. They look a little small for you.”

Bob pulled Joe’s hat, jacket, shoes, and pants from the bag. Folded in with the clothes, he saw the apology letter that Joe had written to Polly. Alan took them all from Bob and tucked them under the blanket next to himself.

“Thank you,” Alan said.

“No problem.”

“I should let you get some rest,” Bob said. “You have my number in case there’s anything you need.”

“No—it was in my phone,” Alan said.

“Oh, right,” Bob said. “Your wife has it. I’ll write it down.” He turned and wrote the digits on the notepad sitting on the little desk.

“You want me to take this with me?” Bob asked. He held up the book.

“Leave it,” Alan said.

Bob set it on the desk.

“Call me when you can talk, okay?” Bob said.

“Yes,” Alan said. “Thank you for everything. I mean it.” His emotion welled.

“No big deal. Hope you feel better. Joe? You want to see me out?”

Alan pulled Joe’s clothes in tighter to his body and watched as his son came in. Bob stood back as Joe unchained the door. Bob gave a wave as he left and Joe chained and locked the door behind him.

“You okay, Dad?”

“Yeah,” Alan said. He inched his way over to the edge of the bed.

“You need some help?”

“No. Thanks,” Alan said. Joe watched him as he swung his legs to the floor. He winced at the new throbbing from his foot. He pushed to his feet. “Hand me that crutch, please.”

Joe gave him the crutch. Alan took it and realized he was still holding Joe’s clothes.

“Put these somewhere safe, okay?”

He handed the clothes to Joe. His son looked puzzled and then took them to the other room. Alan crutched his way to the bathroom and looked at his pajamas. His shirt was embroidered with “Kingston Village Inn.” He used the facilities and then crutched his way back to the bed and sat down on the edge with the last of his energy. His head swam. Alan found his way under the sheet and drifted back to sleep.