Migrators (27 page)

“What?” Alan asked.

“You didn’t see the paper today, did you?” Bob asked.

“Who reads the paper?”

Bob ran up the stairs. He came down a second later, flipping through the pages. He folded the paper and handed it to Alan.

Alan read the headline. It said “Kingston Man Found Mutilated in Home.”

“Oh shit,” Alan said, reading down the article. “It was Clyde?”

“Yeah,” Bob said. “He’s gone. Keep reading. They don’t say specifically, but they strongly suggest that he was missing his skin.”

“What? That’s terrible.”

“Terrible and familiar. Read the story and tell me it doesn’t sound like they found him just like he found his brother Hooker. It sounds exactly the same.”

“Oh, come on,” Alan said. “That’s impossible.”

“You only get the luxury of denial for so long, Alan.”

“What are you saying?” Alan asked.

“Buster told us about the migrators and he ended up dead, just like his brother. Now you’ve discussed migrators with your wife and son? I think maybe you should think about how you’re going to spend the next eight days.”

“You can’t be serious,” Alan said. “You’re an intelligent, rational person, Bob. You can’t seriously think that I should pack up my family and move out until the beginning of November just because of some crazy story that a local nut-job told us over noon whiskey.”

“Not just a story,” Bob said. “You and I saw the damn things. We saw the migrators and then we watched the deputy and game wardens cover up the whole thing. Now Buster is dead in the same way that he described. This is a little more than coincidence, and I think it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“We don’t even know how Buster died,” Alan said. “It gives the reporter’s email here. We should email her and find out what she knows about the death. Or we could call the police and ask them.”

“I’m sure they won’t release those details.”

“Well we can just ask them to confirm whether or not his skin and muscle were removed.”

“Yup, and we’ll be in custody before the end of the day. You don’t want to be the one guy who knows exactly what killed a guy, especially when they’ve kept those details out of the paper,” Bob said.

“That’s true,” Alan said.

“Look, just take an impromptu vacation. Maybe go visit Virginia for a week. Can’t you do that?”

“I could,” Alan said. “But Liz would never leave her work. I’m sure Joe has a million assignments and tests and things. I couldn’t even suggest something like that to Liz.”

“Maybe you don’t have to go that far,” Bob said. “All the deaths happen along the path of these migrators, right? Buster’s house, the place they grew up, and your house are all pretty close to each other. Maybe you can just go stay down in Augusta for a week. You can drive Joe to school for a few days, right?”

“I don’t know,” Alan said. “Money’s pretty tight. What would I say to her? It’s just going to sound ridiculous.”

“Don’t mention anything paranormal then,” Bob said. “Just tell your wife that there’s a crazy person loose in the area. Or maybe a rabid animal. She’s going to hear about this story, right? And the cops don’t have any idea what happened. You just play it as the neighborhood isn’t safe right now. Then, on November first, you declare that the neighborhood is safe again.”

“I’m not sure. I’m terrible at lying to Liz.”

A
LAN
WAITED
IN
A
long line of cars in front of the school. As he was finishing his late lunch, he’d received a mechanical-voiced phone call from the school’s notification system—after school activities were cancelled. He wondered how the mill-working parents were dealing with the change. Some kids were walking away from the school with backpacks slung over their shoulders, but it looked like the majority were standing on the concrete walk in front of the school.

Alan rolled up—he was next in line.

Come on, Joe. Let’s go. Christ—look at me. Six months away from the city and I can’t even wait ten minutes. I would lose my mind in bumper-to-bumper traffic now.

The school had strict rules on pickups and drop-offs. Alan respected the rules. Kids could only exit or enter a vehicle if it was pulled up next to where the curb was painted yellow. If not for the system, kids might be running all through the parking lot while parents tried to navigate around them. Alan pulled forward.
 

Joe appeared from the knot of kids. He ran up to the passenger’s window of the Toyota. Alan saw Pete Grasso—Joe’s friend—standing behind his son. Alan put his window down.

“Get in, Joe. You’re holding up the line,” Alan said.

“I told Pete he could come over. His mom’s at work still. Is it okay?” Joe asked.

“Does your mom know you’re coming over, Pete?” Alan asked, leaning forward to see around his son. Alan was surprised and happy. Joe had met Pete through one of Liz’s contacts—he was the nephew of a secretary at the firm. The boys had played together often during the summer, and Joe had spent the night at Pete’s house a few times, but Pete rarely came over to their house. Being trusted with Pete during this mini-crisis was like getting a wild squirrel to eat from your hand for the first time. The locals were skittish and wary of outsiders.

Pete nodded.

“Then get in,” Alan said. “Let’s go.”

The boys piled in the back seat.
 

“Thanks Mr. Harper,” Pete said.

“No problem, Pete,” Alan said. “Call your mom and tell her that you’re coming over to my house.”

“He already told her that he was going to probably come over,” Joe said.

“I know, but I want you to call her and tell her that you’re on your way. That way she’ll know for sure,” Alan said.

“Okay,” Pete said.

He listened as the boy left a message for his mom. Alan hadn’t thought of that—Pete’s mom probably wasn’t even reachable in the afternoon except when she was on break. The mill was an extraordinarily loud and busy place. Before Pete finished the message, Alan interrupted him. “Do you want to ask your mom if you can stay for dinner, Pete.”

Pete disconnected and didn’t relay the question.

“I can’t,” Pete said. “I have to go home when she gets out of work. Mom said so.”

“Okay,” Alan said. “So why was everything cancelled? Did they tell you? The phone message I got didn’t say.”

“They didn’t tell us for sure,” Joe said, “but all the kids said it was because of the killings.”

“What? What killings?” Alan asked. He took his eyes from the road—traffic leaving the school was creeping along—and looked in the mirror at his son. Joe didn’t look even slightly upset by the situation.

“They said some old guy who lived over past the dam was killed last night,” Joe said.

“Clyde Prescott,” Pete said.

Alan nodded.

“Yeah. And they found some animals killed the same way,” Joe said. “So they don’t know if its a murderer around or some wild animal.”

“They told you that? And cancelled after school activities?” Alan asked.

“Yeah, and they cancelled school tomorrow and Friday,” Joe said.

“Right,” Alan said. “Of course they did.”

Traffic slowed ahead as the car in front of them waited to make a left turn. The traffic heading towards the school made a wall of cars going the opposite direction. Unless the woman in front of them found some kind-hearted soul willing to pause, they would be waiting for a bit.

“No, seriously,” Joe said. “We have next week off, too.”

“Yeah, I know about the crazy vacation week next. I don’t understand it so close to Thanksgiving and everything, but whatever.”

“We always have Halloween week off, Mr. Harper. It’s because of the mill changeover. They send everyone home while they tear down the machines and switch out the stock,” Pete said.

“I heard all about it,” Alan said. “But I don’t understand why they don’t do that over Thanksgiving or something.”

“We get a half-day on Wednesday and then Thursday and Friday off for Thanksgiving,” Joe said.

“That’s right,” Pete said.

Alan nodded. He eyed the shoulder.
 

Kids can’t remember to brush their teeth, but they know the school calendar by heart for the next ten months. Maybe I can get around this left-turn lady. I can’t believe they close school for a suspicious death. There has to be more to the story.

There was a ditch. He could have done it in the Colonel’s truck, but the Toyota would probably get stuck.

“So you don’t have school again until when?” Alan asked.

“Until November fourth,” Joe said. He had a big smile. “That’s eleven days.”

Alan picked up his phone. The car was still stopped ahead of them. He texted, “Vacation?” to Liz and then threw the phone down as the car behind him honked. He looked up—the car had turned and the road was clear.

“What time do you need to be home, Pete?” Alan asked.

“Mom will pick me up,” Pete said. “She said so.”

“And do you know when?”

“I don’t know,” Pete said.

Probably takes twenty minutes to get from the mill to our house. She’ll probably be over by 4:30,
Alan thought.

“If you boys promise to do your homework as soon as we get to the house, I’ll stop for ice cream on the way home,” Alan said. He couldn’t help himself—he was excited that Pete was finally going to spend some time at the house. He wanted to impress the boy. Pete had friends—kids he’d grown up with—Joe had acquaintances. Joe would probably call Pete his best friend, but Alan doubted that Pete would express the same sentiment.

“Dairy Bar is closed, Dad,” Joe said. “It closed three weeks ago.”

“We could stop at Christy’s then,” Alan said. “We could make our own ice cream sundaes.”

“And we don’t have any homework. We had a math assignment, but then the homeroom teacher said that we could wait and get the assignments when we come back. It’s like summer vacation,” Joe said.

Alan’s phone buzzed. He looked down and saw the reply from Liz. It said “Ur crazy.”

“What about a boat ride then? You boys want to go out in the boat?” Alan asked.

Alan looked in the mirror and saw his son looking at Pete.

“I’m not supposed to out in boats in October,” Pete said. “Dad said so.”

“Really?” Alan asked. He tried to keep his eyes on the road, but he couldn’t help notice the sad look that came over Pete’s face. “Why is that?”

“I don’t know,” Pete said. The boy looked out his window.

“I have an idea, Dad,” Joe said. “Can me and Pete go out back in the woods?”

Alan looked in the mirror. Pete looked over at Joe. He shook his head a tiny bit.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea this time of year,” Alan said. “Remember the hunters, Joe.”

“That’s right,” Joe said to Pete. “There’s hunters in the woods out behind our house.”

“Ours too,” Pete said.

“Dad said he was going to post it next year so they can’t hunt back there,” Joe said to Pete.

“I said I might,” Alan said. “But I don’t want to stop people from doing things that they’ve been doing for generations. We have to talk about it. Does your father hunt, Pete?”

“Yeah,” Pete said.

“What do you do for October vacation?”

“Nothing,” Pete said. “Dad’s out driving. Me and Mom just sit around the house mostly. Mom said she’s going to can the rest of the tomatoes and vegetables.”

“Do you have a big garden?”

“Nope,” Pete said.

“Back to the boat, Pete,” Alan said. “Do you go out on boats other times of the year?”

“Yeah,” Pete said. “We have a boat that we put in at Jenny’s landing. Dad takes me fishing.”

“But you don’t go out in October?”

“Nope.”

“Because of the hunters maybe?”

“I don’t know,” Pete said.

“Because the fishing is no good?”

Pete shrugged. Alan caught the end of the motion in the mirror.

“So, no reason then?” Alan asked.

“Dad says it’s dangerous. He said that you might run across something you don’t want to know about,” Pete said.

Before Alan could follow up on that answer, his son broke in.

“Hey, Dad, can me and Pete watch a movie until his mom comes?”

“Care to rephrase that, Joe?”

“Can Pete and I watch a movie?” Joe asked.

“Sure.”

X • X • X • X • X

Alan swept quickly into the driveway. The rain had just started to fall and he still had laundry out on the line.
 

“Dad!” Joe yelled from the back seat.

“Yes, Joe, what?” Alan asked.
 

“I was just going to ask—what’s on the front porch? Did you put out decorations? What happened to the pumpkins?”

“I don’t know, maybe the delivery guy left a package. I didn’t put anything out there,” Alan said.

He pulled into the barn.

When he stopped the car, he turned to Joe. “Go start your movie and I’ll bring popcorn in for you in a minute.”

“Okay,” Joe said.
 

The boys were off in a flash. Joe was running down the shed hall and Pete ran after him. Alan looked around the barn as he got out of the car. Maybe kids raised out here were different—if he were a kid visiting this house for the first time, he would have been fascinated to explore the barn. All Pete and Joe wanted to do was go watch a movie they’d already seen a dozen times.
 

The rain picked up as Alan walked through the shed. He grabbed a slicker from the hook and threw it over his head as the cold rain pelted him. The sheets were getting soaked. They looked wetter than they’d been when he’d pulled from the wash. So much for saving energy. Alan gathered them quickly, leaving the clips out on the line—he could fetch them later.

He was just pushing through the door to the warm kitchen when Joe ran back in.

“Dad!” Joe shouted. “There’s something on the porch.”

“Yeah, you said,” Alan said. “Is it a box? Bring it in if it’s going to get wet.”

“It’s not a box. Pete says it’s a bear cub,” Joe said.

“What?” Alan asked.

He dropped the sheets on top of the dryer and shucked his wet coat. Joe ran off. The boys were in the TV room. Alan walked down the hall and found the front door still wide open. The rain was beating against the storm door. Alan couldn’t see much through the streaked glass. He pushed open the door and the bottom of the metal frame scraped across the thing lying there.