“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.
“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.
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.