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.
“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 thing?”
“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?”
Bob complied. They rolled up to the house slow and dark. The inside of the house was black and the front door was open, inviting them into the darkness of the hallway. The storm door hung to the side from one hinge. Bob slowed to a stop.
“I’m thinking that maybe they wanted my family here. I just don’t know why,” Alan said. “I’m going to check out the house.”
“Is that wise?” Bob asked.
“Probably not,” Alan said.
He slipped through the car door and walked across the road. His foot throbbed, but the pain was manageable. Alan climbed the hill and heard Bob kill the engine and get out of the SUV behind him. Alan stepped through the door and let his eyes adjust to the interior of the house. The floor was wet and littered with leaves and sticks. The filing cabinet they’d used to wedge the door shut was cast to the side. The door to the den was closed. Alan walked up the stairs. He paused halfway up. Divided squares of moonlight came through the window over the stairs and lit up the steps ahead of Alan. He heard that same low murmur from somewhere on the second floor. Alan turned. Bob had come through the door and was crouched. He had a stick in his hand. Bob was looking up the stairs.