Ike Hamill - Migrators

“Joe,” he said.

“Is it safe?” Liz asked.

“They’re moving clockwise again,” Bob said. “The diary said they used them multiple times in one session.”

“He’s just a child,” Liz said, moving in close to confer with Alan. “We have options. We have western medicine.”

“Liz,” Alan whispered, “you’ve read all the information. Even after a year or so of terrible treatment, he could be stunted, uncoordinated, and have a shorter life expectancy. That’s if he survives.”

“It’s too much,” Liz said.

“You can’t hold them for too long without using them,” Bob said. “It’s not safe. What do you want to do.”

“You decide,” Liz said to Alan.

Alan blinked and then turned for the Cook House. He walked to the door of the screened building. The dead grass was cold away from the fire, but it felt good on his newly-repaired foot. Alan felt a tiny spark of hope for his son’s future.

“Joe,” Alan said as he entered the Cook House and sat down, “we need to talk.”

“That’s real, isn’t it,” Joe said, pointing at the bonfire. Bob was talking to Liz near the fire. Alan and Joe saw their backs surrounded in a halo of flame.

“Yeah, bud, it is.”

“What are those things? Are they the things from the cellar?”

“Yes, but that’s just how they got in. I want you to understand—they’re not always going to be in our cellar. We’re going to turn them loose in a minute. They’re only here because we called them here.”

“Why would you do that?”

“For this,” Alan said. He lifted his bare foot up so Joe could see it in the light from the fire.

“Your toe is back,” Joe said.

Alan nodded.

“Aren’t they the things that took your toe? Now they brought it back?”

“In a way, yes. We found instructions on how to use those things to heal people. I went in there just to test it out and make sure it was safe. I needed to know it would be safe to take you in there.”

Joe shrank from Alan’s words. He pulled away from his father and Alan felt a stab of sorrow replace the hope in his chest.

“Joe, come with me. We’ll go together.”

Joe shook his head. When he was a little boy, Joe never wanted to admit that he was afraid. He would either come up with an excuse to get himself out of uncomfortable situations, or he would just withdraw. Alan preferred the excuses. Excuses could be reasoned with. Withdrawal didn’t leave any room for negotiation.

“Joe, it’s okay. I was just in there—you saw me—and now my foot is better, see? You have to trust me.”

Joe slid back on the bench.

“Alan,” Bob called, “you don’t have a lot of time.”

Liz came over towards the screen. Alan held up his finger to ask for another moment.

“Joe, I know it’s scary, but we have to go.”

“Listen to your father, Joe,” Liz said.

Joe pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his shins.

Alan put out his hand. Joe slowly shook his head back and forth.

“No kidding around here, bud,” Alan said. He moved his hand closer to Joe.

Joe took his hand.

At the edge of the borax circle, Alan stood behind his son with his hands on Joe’s shoulders. He could feel his boy trembling beneath his hands. Alan gave Joe’s shoulder a squeeze with his healed right hand. The hand felt better than new—it felt strong and capable.

“We’ll go in on three, okay?” Alan asked.

When he blurred his eyes, Alan could see the migrators passing in front of the flame. One had a hitch in its stride. Its shadow limped by every couple of seconds. Another was slower than the rest. Even the limping one passed it every few rotations.

“One. Two,” Alan said. He felt Joe’s shoulders tense under his hands. “Three.”

He stepped with Joe and pushed him into the circle. The creatures ran past, weaving by their legs. The limping one squeezed between Alan and Joe. Alan felt its cold touch on his bare foot.

“Say the word I just taught you,” Alan whispered in Joe’s ear.

“Grush-sh-tep,” Joe said.

“Again.”

“Grush-sh-tep.”

“Again.”

“Grush-sh-tep.”

The limping one stopped and regarded the father and son. Alan felt the vibration of Joe’s moan before he heard it.

“It’s okay, Joe. They’re going to help you. I’m right here.”

The second and third migrators stopped, forming a triangle with the limping one. Joe tried to run. Alan pushed down on his shoulders, holding him in place.

“No,” Joe said in a long moan.

“Hold still,” Alan said.

The migrators pounced. All three came for his son and Alan held him out, offering his son’s body to the creatures. Alan couldn’t look. He turned away as one of the bruised-looking phantoms gripped Joe’s head with its unnatural arms.

From outside the circle, Liz screamed. It sounded like she was a mile away.

Something’s gone wrong. Horribly wrong.

Alan’s cold hands could barely feel the fabric of Joe’s jacket. He clamped down even harder and pulled. He pulled his son and the migrators back and tried to angle towards the edge of the circle. Their tug was strong. Alan closed his fists around the jacket and leaned back, using all his weight to tear his son from the grip of the migrators. One of the creatures fell away and Alan felt some give.

His legs burned. Alan couldn’t even feel his hands. He had managed to turn enough that the edge of the circle was at his back and the fire was at his face.

“Alan, do something!” Liz screamed.

Alan had a burst of desperate inspiration. He shifted his weight and pushed his beloved Joe towards the fire.

Joe screamed.

The migrators fled. Suddenly, it was only Joe’s weight in his hands. Alan kicked his legs and drove himself backwards, away from the fire, and across the line of borax. He collapsed to the ground. Joe landed on top of him. Alan pulled his son into a tight hug.

Liz ran to their side.

“Are you okay, Joe? Joe?”

“Yeah,” Joe’s muffled voice said. His face was pressed to Alan’s shirt. “Dad? You’re squeezing me too tight.”

Bob approached and tapped Liz on the shoulder.

“We have to turn them loose, Liz,” Bob said. “You have to do it.”

Alan watched his wife stand up. She moved with Bob to the top of the circle—farthest away from the house. Liz closed her eyes and paused. She began speaking the words she’d memorized from the book. The closing passages of the process were the most complex, but Liz didn’t hesitate once she started. As she spoke, Bob picked up the bucket of water and splashed it on the borax line, breaking the circle near the hole they’d dug.

Alan held his breath, wondering if the creatures would behave.

The shadows dancing in front of the fire picked up speed and headed for the top of the circle. Liz finished her recitation and fell backwards. Her hair and clothes were blown back by a fierce wind. The fire flared and sparks rose up into the night sky.

“Dad—too tight,” Joe said.

“Sorry.”

Liz picked up the pitchfork and used it to hurl walnut leaves towards the fire. Bob splashed water down into the hole and then started refilling it with the dirt they’d excavated.

Alan held Joe tight.

NOVEMBER 1

ACCORDING TO the man behind the counter, it normally took hours and hours between having the MRI and getting a doctor to review the results. The man suggested that they should consider themselves lucky that they were getting immediate attention. For the hour that they had to wait for the results, Alan didn’t feel lucky at all. His left knee bounced with nervous energy. Liz put her hand on his thigh to quiet his leg, but he paid no mind.