It was proving to be a beautiful day. The hikers would be cooped up in Brent’s father’s Chevy Suburban and Eric’s Jeep Cherokee for close to four hours before getting to Shawnee State Forest in the southernmost part of the state. But it would be a fun drive, Brent was sure of it. Well, he was almost sure of it.
The previous Wednesday’s situation wouldn’t leave Brent’s mind. He couldn’t get the mental pictures to leave. He’d tried, in a last-ditch effort, to erase his brain’s video tape, but it seemed that the more he focused on ridding himself of the images the more he enjoyed recounting them. I’m in big trouble, I think. Brent sighed as he bent down to grab a bag of various trail foods. Seeing Tara in her tight jean shorts first thing in the morning, certainly wasn’t making things any the easier.
Marta sidled up to Brent and gave him a nudge. “Ready to finish our conversation?”
“Huh? What conversation?” asked Brent with a quizzical look.
“The why are you avoiding eye contact and conversation with me conversation.”
Brent tried one last time to fend this topic off. “Seriously, Marta. You’re making a lot out of nothing. Everything’s fine.”
Marta gave him a dissatisfied look and shook her head as she started to walk away. “Guess we’ll find out this weekend.”
Brent didn’t like himself that much at the moment. Between the heavy doses of lust during the past couple of days and his keeping Marta at arm’s length, he found himself living in a pit of guilt.
Eric Hampton walked up to Brent as he approached the Suburban. “Hey, Brent. Do you want to take the lead on the drive down there?”
“Yeah, I think so. I’ve studied the map pretty well. It’s not a tough drive, but I think I’ll be less likely to miss a turn based on the directions I jotted down.” As long as Tara’s not in my truck, he thought.
“Sounds good. So, Tara. What’s up with her?”
Brent turned to face Eric. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we don’t really know her outside of a few comments from you and Marta.”
“Oh. Well, she’s a good gal. She’s got a good personality…”
Eric laughed.
Brent caught the meaning behind that laugh. “Yes, she’s hot. But she’s got a good personality to go with it,” he said, reigning in a laugh. “Most important, though, is that she’s not a Christian. We really want to show her God’s love over the next several days. Marta and I have been praying for her salvation for weeks.”
“So, she’s heard the Gospel; right?”
“Yeah, and for the life of me I don’t understand why she’s still being so resistant. I can’t think of why she’s still holding out.”
“I have a friend named Lee,” said Eric in a moment of reflection. “I’ve had the same frustration with him. He actually told me that he knows that he’s going to make the decision to accept Christ, but that something’s holding him back at the moment.”
“Yeah, the Enemy.”
“Exactly. But he doesn’t see it that way. He apparently thinks he’s just some sort of an epiphany away from jumping into salvation with both feet.”
“Well, if you’d pray for Tara during the course of these next four days, I’d be really appreciative.”
Eric slapped Brent on the shoulder. “You got it. Well, guess we’d better get the rest of the lawn sorted.”
Brent laughed. “Yeah. Who’da thunk we’d attempt to bring so much stuff on a hiking trip?”
Brent’s dad overheard his last comment. “Now you understand why we don’t go backpacking every weekend,” he said with a grin. “It’s a lot of work just getting ready to make it to the trailheads, let alone the hike itself.”
“I thought I had a clue,” said Brent. “Thanks for your help this morning.”
“You’re welcome,” said his dad. “I think I’ve had an opportunity to meet everybody in this group already. You’ve got some good friends.”
“Don’t I know it?”
“Okay, how about we get everybody together and I’ll teach everyone how to properly pack a backpack.”
“You’re a lifesaver. Thanks, Dad.”
7:30 A.M.
BRENT LOOKED AROUND. The backpacks were filled, the vehicles were nearly loaded, and everyone seemed genuinely excited. Even Tara was apparently enjoying the company of his friends. Karen McGlaughlin had immediately taken the opportunity, upon seeing Tara for the first time, to approach and introduce herself. She and Tara had pretty much been inseparable for the past two hours. That’s awesome, thought Brent.
It was later in the morning than he had anticipated. He had wanted to be on the road by 7 a.m., but such was life. Brent walked into the center of his yard and called out to the group.
“Hey, we’re about to hit the road, so I thought it would be a good idea if we prayed first. Everyone grab a hand.”
The other five gathered near Brent and formed a circle, each taking the hands of the person to each side. Each, that is, except Tara. It was obvious that she was out of her element and didn’t want to join in the circle. Karen coaxed her to join the ring between her and Terry Carpenter. She looked to Brent for a moment, looking very unsure.
Brent said, “Anyone want to lead?”
There was a clearing of a throat, and Eric began to pray. “Father, we come to you with thanksgiving. First, thank you that we were all able to make it. That’s a miracle in itself. Thank you for giving Karen and me the time off from our jobs that we requested. Thank you for Tara having the guts to join a bunch of strange people that she doesn’t know very well. Thank you for Mr. and Mrs. Lawton who showed such kindness through food and packing expertise. Extra blessings on them, Lord. God, I pray for each one of us today, Eric, Marta, Terry, Tara, Brent, and me; that You will go before us and keep us safe on the roads we have to travel today. I come against any enemy that would try to do us any harm over the next several days, in the name of Jesus Christ.”
At that very moment, Tara went into what sounded like a coughing fit. Everyone looked up to see Tara drop Karen’s and Terry’s hands and raise her right hand up to her mouth. She turned around, gagging, but lifting her left hand into the air behind her—index finger up—she signaled that she would be all right in a minute.
Karen approached and said, “Tara, are you all right?”
It was all Tara could do to nod her head. She crouched down and the coughing subsided. After a moment she got up and turned back to the group and said, “Sorry, everyone. I think I just choked on my own saliva.” A few in the group sniggered. “You’d think after nineteen years I’d have the swallowing thing down.” She brought her hands up and rubbed her eyes. “Sorry I messed up your praying.”
“That’s okay,” said Eric. “I only had one more thing to say. Amen.”
“Amen,” came four echoed replies.
Brent noticed that “amen” never made it to Tara’s lips. God, he prayed silently, show her who you are during this trip.
So far, so good.
They had been on the road for two and a half hours and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Even Tara. Maybe especially Tara. Brent didn’t initially like the way things began to look at the outset of the trip, because he could see in her eyes the disappointment upon learning that she would not be traveling with him in the same vehicle.
He thought it might be a good idea for her to get to know some of the others without him being around. He had intended to suggest to Karen that she ask Tara to come with her in Eric’s Jeep, but she had already beaten him to the punch. When Tara began to explain to Karen her intention to go with Brent, she turned and looked to him for confirmation.
He had raised his hand and waved the idea off. “It’s okay, Tara,” he’d said, as if she were asking permission. “You can go with Karen. Maybe we’ll do a Chinese fire drill and mix things up again when we stop for the inevitable bathroom break.” The guys didn't even try to hide their smirks.
About an hour and a half later, that bathroom break took pl
ace, and he didn’t end up seeing what he had expected, a forlorn Tara exiting Eric’s vehicle. Instead, he saw Karen and Tara get out of the back of the Jeep almost doubled over in laughter. When they had assembled back at the vehicles, Tara had approached him and asked, “You won’t be too troubled if I finish the trip up with Karen, will you?” He could see it in her eyes; she really wanted him to say he was okay with it. After a slight twinge of jealousy, he did, and they were off again.
Terry and Marta were with him in the Suburban—Terry riding shotgun. After a few minutes back on the road, Terry turned and looked back to Marta and said, “Tara and Karen seem to be hitting it off.”
“Yeah,” said Marta. “Go figure. I half expected her to just cling to our illustrious leader, here.”
Brent rolled his eyes and shook his head, but didn’t say anything. He decided that he was happy that there weren’t any additional “distractions” in the truck to deal with. Well, happy might be too strong a word.
“She nearly scared me to death when she started that coughing fit.” Terry laughed. “The timing, right when Eric rebuked the enemy… a little freaky.”1
“Yeah, that was a little weird,” said Marta. “I had the same thought.”
Brent couldn't let those comments go. “Come on, now. Let’s not go overboard. There will be a lot of rocks where we’re going, but we’re not going to have time to look for demons under every one of them.”
As Brent made the statement and looked back at Marta through the rearview mirror, he could see her lift her eyebrows and purse her lips.
I wonder what she’s thinking.
11:43 A.M.
THEY WERE AT the southern edge of the forest, traveling west along US Route 52. Considering the need for another “pit stop,” they had still made pretty good time.
“There it is!” said Marta, pointing to the road sign. “State Route 125!”
Brent made the right turn that started their drive into the heart of Shawnee State Forest. In just about ten minutes they would be at the state park. Brent was also getting excited. He could feel a slight rush of adrenaline.
Terry said, “Based on what you’ve written down, the park entrance is 6.7 miles ahead and on the left.”
Marta was feeling it, too. “You know, when all the planning was going on, I had reservations about this whole idea, but now that we’re almost there, I’m really getting excited!”
Brent looked into his side-view mirror to see that Eric’s Jeep had followed them onto the road. “Eric’s right behind us,” he said to no one in particular.
They made the left turn into the state park grounds, and a little further down the road, to the left, they saw the park office. “We’re here!”
Both vehicles were parked and the six hikers got out and stretched. They gathered near the back of the Suburban. “What’s first,” asked Karen?
“First we’ve got to go into the office and let them know our schedule. Then those of us who don’t already have fishing licenses, and are intending to do some fishing, can buy them here.”
“What do you mean about a schedule?” asked Marta.
Brent smiled. “I asked the same question when I called down here. They have hiking camp sites set up about every five miles along the trail, and with over 60 miles of hiking trails they want to know the general intentions of all of the hikers here. That way if the hikers don’t eventually show up they can go out and search for them.”
“Umm …” Marta began, “This is just something you forgot to mention?”
Brent laughed. “It’s just a precaution. Don’t worry. This place is well hiked. We’re not going to be anywhere that all of the other hikers won’t also be.” He was satisfied with his assurance and said, “Okay, let’s make ourselves known and get to the trailhead. We’ve got some hiking to do!”
12:21 P.M.
HAVING MADE IT to the trailhead parking lot, they began unloading their gear. About the only things not contained in their backpacks were the two three-man tents and bedrolls that would have to be tethered to the packs. The guys had agreed that they would carry the extra weight burden of the tents, for which, the girls all called them heroes.
A can of Off! was presented to the hikers by Tara. “Trust me, you’ll be glad of this smelly stuff by the time we head back home.” She took time to spray the fronts, backs, arms, and legs of each of the hikers.
Next they put on their hiking boots, but not before the now-famous nylon and wool socks were pulled on to all of their twelve feet. And, finally, each of the men and women hefted the backpacks onto one another’s shoulders.
“I expected these to feel heavier,” said Marta.
Tara responded. “It’s the way that Mr. Lawton packed them. You try to keep the things you’ll need first at the top of the pack, and the things you’ll need last at the bottom. But he also knew to shift some of the weight so that most of it was low and closer to our backs.” Turning to Brent she said, “Smart man, your dad.”
Brent grinned.
“Are we ready?” asked Marta. “If it’s this beautiful here in the parking lot, I can’t wait to see what it looks like on the trails!”
“Almost,” said Brent. “First thing’s first. And that is hydration. The guy in the office said that there are water stations near every camp site, except for camp six, but there are some streams that cross through there, so we can treat some water there if we need to. Every water station that we come to, drink your fill, especially if you don’t feel like it. And remember to fill your bota bags with water, too.”
Tara chimed in with an over-emphasized southern drawl. “Trust him! He’s prayching the truth!” Everyone laughed. “And besides the nylon and wool socks,” she looked at Marta with a smirk, “this is the most important thing we have on the trail. Don’t make someone else sacrifice his or her water for you because you’ve gotten lazy about keeping yours filled up.”
After the trip to the water station at the trailhead, they headed off into their adventure.
1 Go to Appendix B for information on the authority of the name of Jesus Christ
Stephanie O’Leary took another bite of her apple. She sat outside on the porch of an old farmhouse at the outskirts of Pittston. She was barely five miles from her own home, but you’d never know it by how far civilization seemed from this piece of property. This would be the perfect place for the future coven to meet.
In fact, the group that would eventually grow into a formal coven had been meeting here for going on five years. Brendan Cadeyrn, the group’s leader—known by his birth name, Brian Baird, in the Pittston community—had made sure that the property didn’t lend itself to visits. The grass was kept short and the trees along either side of the long drive were well-groomed. By all accounts the grounds resembled someplace that was lived in; definitely not a place into which passersby should feel the freedom to hike. One could never be too careful, though, so the place always had an occupant within its walls at night.
The quiet moment that she was enjoying was interrupted by Brendan walking out onto the porch. “Ah, Aileen. This is where you’d gone to,” he said, his faint Scottish accent still noticeable.
Aileen Lóegaire was the name that Stephanie had adopted as a result of her research into her Scottish lineage. In fact, all six of the current members had taken names from their historical pasts. After all, membership in this assemblage was exclusive to a certain bloodline; a bloodline of much consequence, that would, with a common focus, bring about a highly-anticipated end.
Stephanie had been found by Brendan. At the time, she was living in Boston and had been the product of an Irish father of some repute and a brash Scottish lass who had made sure to catch his eye. Neither of her now-divorced parents had understood why she was taking off with a man that she barely knew in order to gallivant from state to state doing research on the Scots of old. If her mom knew about the bloodline from which they came, she never made any mention of it. But the records that Brendan produced were conclusive. She was Picti
1, through and through. And not just Picti, but of a royal descendancy that had been betrayed and tricked out of its rule and, more importantly, its powers, over a millennia ago.
Vengeance had a way of staying alive from generation to generation in this “family,” as did the passing on of a particular legend and prophecy. In fact, if not for the prophecy, their vengeance would have been a long-forgotten enterprise.
For many generations the bloodline passed down with it a tale of treachery that had bitten deep into the followers of the Olde Faithe, and for many hundreds of years the bloodline had been attempting to right a wrong; a wrong that had stolen from them their generational birthright as a people.
They would have it back.
Brendan took a seat opposite her and leaned forward. “She matched the bloodline.”
Stephanie frowned. “I know that. The investment of time… My belief in her... That’s what’s most frustrating.”
“That doesn’t seem to really matter to you now, does it, Aileen? You’ve lost her.”
“Of course it matters! I know it matters!” Stephanie half shouted. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and let it out. “Brendan, we’ve been looking for almost ten years. She had so much potential. But she would not listen!”
Brendan sat silent for a moment. He looked out over the field to the left of the porch. “We’ve got six confirmed within the Picti bloodline. Six who have made our vision theirs. Not, yet, as many as I had hoped.” He sighed and got up from his wood-frame kitchen chair, eyes peering into the distance.
“Aileen, we’ll not let this setback rattle us. It doesn’t matter how long it takes as long as we are the generation to make it happen. Do you know that there are, right now, computers out there that are beginning to store up all kinds of information on people’s lives? I’ve got to believe that one day we will have access to some of that information. The greatest challenge of former generations of the Olde Faithe was their lack of ability to gather information quickly.
Deliver Us From Darkness Page 17