“This has to be the Redeeming Age; I can feel it! It may take another couple of years—it may take twenty years. Regardless, we will be the generation.”
Stephanie stood up and walked to Brendan and slipped her right arm around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. In turn, Brendan put his arm around her. “Forgive me, Brendan, I know our people will rise again. Who would have thought it would happen in America, eh?”
Brendan let out a laugh. “Damned potato famine. Sometimes I think more Irish and Scots left the British Isles than stayed. One day, my dear priestess… One day we’ll return home, but with our birthrights and faith secure.”
1 Go to Appendix B to read a brief history of the Picti people
No toilets?!” Marta was aghast. “Seriously?! No toilets anywhere?!”
They had been hiking for around forty-five minutes following the orange blazes—orange paint used to define the trail for hikers—when Terry mentioned that nature was calling. Marta had unassumingly asked how long it would be before they got to the first campsite so she could use the bathroom. Brent saw Tara whisper into her ear, and that’s when the eruption took place.
The guys laughed and shook their heads while Tara and Karen tried to reassure her that life would be okay without “facilities.”
“I had asked about the bathroom situation during the drive down here,” said Karen. “I didn’t know what to say when I found out.” She laughed.
“It will be okay, Marta. I promise,” said Tara with a giggle. “In fact, by the time these next few days are over, going to the bathroom in the great outdoors will be old hat.”
Marta did not look convinced. Not in the least. She looked at Brent and gave what could have been interpreted as a hate-filled glance, shook her head, and took the lead trudging up the trail.
Brent heard her mumbling, but couldn’t make out what she was saying. He raised his eyebrows and grimaced as Eric caught his attention by drawing an imaginary knife across his throat.
Brent briefly hung his head and shook it. He looked up at everyone and said, “I just assumed she knew.”
Terry slapped Brent on the shoulder and headed off after Marta. Brent, Tara, and Karen set off as well.
The hike was proving to be a bit more rigorous than they had expected. If not for the hiking sticks that they brought, the pace would have even been slower. The temperature wasn’t helping, either. It was easily 85 degrees, and the humidity in the air due to their proximity to the Ohio River was making things a bit harder.
Brent was beginning to think that he may have made a bad decision about coming down with inexperienced backpackers; that is until he saw that Marta had doubled back and began walking straight toward him. He stopped and braced himself. The other hikers stopped to see what the outcome of the encounter would amount to.
Upon reaching him, Marta looked him dead in the eyes, and with a voice that only he could hear, she said, “Jerk,” and punched him in the arm.
“Ouch!” he said, not having to fake his wince.
She gave him a forced smile and said, “There. I feel a little better.” With that she turned around and joined Tara and Karen.
Terry shouted back toward Brent. “That could have been worse!”
Brent and the others laughed. Brent saw that even Marta had done so. She then turned and gave him a quick wink. Apparently all was forgiven.
IN SPITE OF herself, Tara found herself laughing at the comedy routine of Rosales and Lawton. Having been so focused on how she was going to orchestrate ‘the fall of man,’ she really hadn’t considered that she might have fun with this troupe of Christian misfits. The thing that tripped her mind up the most about this trip—about these people—was Karen.
If this girl hadn’t been a religious nut job, Tara might have thought her a kindred spirit. They seemed to really connect during the drive down. No matter. In a couple of days it would all be moot. Karen wouldn’t want anything to do with her after she’d accomplished what she’d come for.
The day was hot. Her shirt was sticking to her back and she imagined that she could literally squeeze its contents into her bota bag and not go for a refill at the next water station.
The group had finally gotten into a steady pace. They had been walking for a little over an hour and a half. Aside from the occasional stop to acknowledge the obvious beauty of the place, they persisted so that they could make it to Camp 3, the first of the two camp sites that they would hike into today.
They came upon a sign that directed them to the camp. It would still be a bit of a climb to make it to the site as the trail map indicated that it was about 200 feet above Turkey Creek.
After several minutes of trudging a call went up from the front of their troop. “Hey!”
It was Marta.
“Look!” She was obviously excited about something. Everyone picked up the pace and reached her in a matter of seconds. With a look of glee on her face she pointed at a fabricated latrine; the first of what turned out to be several that they would encounter during their four-day trek on the South loop of the backpacking trails.
Brent stood there looking as if he couldn’t comprehend it, while Marta nearly knocked Karen over with a backpack-restricted hug.
Tara laughed. What could she say? It was funny!
Marta, in the midst of her jubilation, walked up to Brent and summarily punched him in the arm a second time. Same arm. Same spot.
“Oouch! Good grief, woman!” he all but screamed. “What was that one for?”
“Allowing me to suffer.”
Terry walked up to Brent with a huge grin on his face. “My man, you just can’t win.”
Brent rubbed his arm. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Marta retorted, “Big baby. You’ll be all right. That should be the last punch of the trip.”
Tara hoped not. This was getting to be a lot of fun.
8:18 P.M.
IT WAS STILL light out. Marta reflected on the day that they had spent. It had taken them the better part of three hours to get from Camp 3 to Camp 4. It had been an intensely beautiful trek. There had been a small pond with a rock cliff that rose alongside, and a stand of hemlock trees that towered high above. Later the trail ran along an amazing sight: Buck Lick Gorge with a quiet little stream running below. The trail had them hiking along the stream until they arrived in an area thick with large, majestic oak trees.
But with all of the beauty came work. According to their pocket guide, the trail would reach an elevation of 1160 feet before dropping 400 feet within just a half mile as they came upon Camp 4, where they would be spending the night.
Marta loved summer evenings; they were warm and they were long. Though she’d been in the United States for nearly ten years, she had not yet fully adjusted to the Ohio Winters. But the summers… She sighed. Better than Guatemala. She sat back against one of the logs around the fire pit.
It wasn’t a cool evening, but somehow the fire that Eric started was still appealing. The scent of the smoke, the crackling and popping of the knots in the wood, combined with the sound of rippling water from the nearby creek were intoxicating. Just what she needed to help relax after such a long day.
She looked around. Their make-shift camp site was set up; tents ready to be slept in and food stored high above the ground by nylon ropes suspended from tree branches. Apparently, while there hadn’t been any black bears spotted, yet, this season, one could never be too careful.
Karen and Tara were sitting on a log on the opposite side of the fire. Eric and Terry had gone to fill up collapsible water containers, essential for their all-important morning coffee, not to mention evening and morning teeth brushing. They were all hitting it off, and Marta was feeling left out.
She heard leaves crunch behind her. As she leaned her head back she saw Brent come into view from the woods. He stepped over the log and sat down next to her.
“You look comfortable,” he said. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good, now that I
’m able to relax. How’s the arm?”
“Healing.”
She released a slight laugh. “So, what’s on the agenda for tonight? Ghost stories?”
Brent laughed. “Been reading up on American camping traditions, have you?”
“Don’t be such a snob, Captain America. Guatemalans also have very similar traditions when out in the jungles hiding from guerrillas.”
“You have gorillas in Guatemala?”
“Oh come on, you’re playing with me now,” she retorted.
“No. I’m not. The only gorilla attacks that I’ve ever heard of were always in Africa.”
“You can’t be serious. You haven’t been watching your national news very often. Guerrillas have been a huge problem in my country for years.”
“Seriously, I honestly thought that gorillas only lived in the jungles of Africa. I had no idea that they existed in Central America.”
On hearing this Marta doubled over in laughter.
“What?” Brent looked confused.
“You…” she said, trying to stifle her amusement. “You have got to be kidding me!” Another fit of laughter.
At the sound of Marta’s mirth, Tara and Karen turned their attention across the fire. “What’s going on?” asked Karen.
Still trying to contain herself, Marta responded. “Brent thinks there are gorillas in Guatemala!” Marta wasn’t sure that she was ever going to catch her breath.
“There are,” said Tara. “I saw a report about them on NBC News the other night.
That was it. Marta couldn’t take it anymore. She rolled over on her side and into a fetal position, laughing so hard it hurt.
Karen caught on and started to laugh, too. “Oh, Brent… You just keep stepping in it, don’t you?”
Brent’s mouth was open, an expression of pure ignorance playing over his features. “What is it? Someone tell me!”
Tara obviously caught on, too, and fought to stifle a laugh of her own.
Karen broke the code for Brent: “Gerrrr-illas, not gorrrr-illas.”
It took a second for it to register, but the realization finally hit home. “I’m an idiot.”
At this, all three girls laughed in agreement.
Marta sat up and finally found her composure. She was able to finally talk again. “So, this is American camping! I like it!”
“You are such a brat.”
Yes, she was. And tonight she loved it.
SUNDAY,
JUNE 28 – 6:32 A.M.
THE NEXT MORNING everyone was awake at the crack of dawn. Eric started another fire for the coffee drinkers in the group. Tara, Karen, and Marta headed for the “powder rooms” together. Brent broke out a couple of bags of beef jerky and some rice cakes to pass around when everyone was back together. He joined Eric and Terry at the fire pit.
“How’re you feeling this morning?” asked Eric as Brent sat down.
“Like I’ve been beat up by a bunch of girls,” said Brent with a grin.
“You’ve definitely been the abuse magnet so far,” said Terry.
“Yeah, well… It’s not all that bad. I’d rather have all the laughter than a bunch of people grumbling about why we decided to do this backpacking thing.”
“Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day again,” said Eric. “Hope it’s going to be a little bit cooler than it was yesterday.”
Terry looked at Brent and said, “Brent, while it’s just the three of us, I need to bring something up.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
“Last night, when we did that short devotion, did you see Tara?”
Brent looked from Terry to Eric, who shrugged, obviously unaware of where this was going. “Nuh-uh. Why? What did she do?”
“She stared.”
Again Brent looked at Eric who only shook his head.
“Okay. She stared. Stared at what?”
“Into the fire. But it was weird. It wasn’t like she was preoccupied. It was more like she was in some sort of trance. I don’t know. It seemed like she was focusing on something.” Terry sighed. “I’m not explaining this very well. I don’t know what she was doing, but it was strange. At first I thought she might be having another reaction to us talking about God, but it was something more. At least I think so.”
“Eric, did you notice?”
“No. But, then, I was sitting across the fire from her. The flames were too high for me to see her clearly.”
“Well, then, I guess that we need to just be aware that something’s troubling her.” Brent thought for a moment, then, “I was going to kick off our day with prayer. Do the two of you think that we should skip it?”
“No way,” responded Eric. “We’re not going to compromise just because someone’s not comfortable with our faith.”
Terry nodded.
So did Brent.
Okay, then, thought Brent. Either Marta’s paranoia about Tara is contagious or there really is something strange going on with her.
The girls marched back to the camp site wearing shorts, T-shirts—Tara in a tank top—and flip flops. It was hard for Brent not to smile. So, that’s what early morning looks like in their lives. The mussed hair, the lack of makeup, tired eyes. Still, all three of them are easy to look at.
Karen announced, “Girls get to clean up first.”
Terry had tacked up a tarp around three trees a little way into the woods that would provide some isolation from potential wandering eyes. Apparently he had also brought a shower bag that was hanging off of a limb above the enclosure.
“Pour yourself some hot water for coffee, boys,” said Tara. “We’re going to be warming up our showers with that pot next.”
Brent had experienced camping with girls before and knew that he needed to set some ground rules. “Okay. Five minutes. We each get five minutes.” He knew what to expect with that announcement.
Marta countered. “That’s not long enough. Ten minutes.”
Tara came to his defense. “It’s okay. We can do it in five.”
Marta looked to Karen for help but got a shrug and a smile instead. Marta walked off to their tent in a huff.
The guys grinned and shook their heads.
MARTA WOULD BE the first to shower. And as Tara and Karen waited, Karen caught Tara off guard.
“Interesting tattoo.”
Tara knew exactly to what Karen was referring, as she only had the one. “Uh, yeah. Pretty cool design, don’t you think?”
The tattoo was located on Tara’s right shoulder blade and was almost always covered up. It was as exact a copy as she could accomplish of the one she saw on Stephanie’s shoulder blade. The one time that she had seen it, she did her best to burn it into her memory. She then sketched it and took it to a tattoo artist who made it a permanent piece of artwork on her skin. At that time Tara wanted to be just like her mentor, so if that design was significant to Stephanie, it would be to her, as well. There were some Celtic-like symbols in the three open spaces in Stephanie’s design, but as Tara couldn’t remember them well enough to make them a part of her sketch, she allowed for her tattoo to be a bit more basic.
The artist recognized the base symbol and told her it was called a triskele. He explained what little he knew about its history, but the only thing that Tara really remembered was the pain of having it applied and that it had some sort of Celtic lore behind it.
She had never shown it to Stephanie. She thought better of it. Because Stephanie always seemed to deliberately keep hers covered up, to Tara, taking the design as her own, kind of made it feel as though she had stolen it.
“Does it have any special significance?” Karen asked.
“I don’t really know. A friend of mine has one just like it. I liked it, so I had one put on me as well.”
Tara’s Tattoo
Karen recognized the symbol. Still, she thought, giving Tara the benefit of the doubt, it could just be innocent artwork.
ERIC CAME UP out of the woods with the kettle and the collapsible water conta
iner and walked up to Brent. “It’s all yours.” He handed Brent the containers.
Brent put the container’s remaining water into the kettle and set it next to the fire. As he began to head down to the water supply to retrieve some cold water to take to the shower area, he said, “The girls are down the path a little ways with Terry. Apparently there are some baby birds that they’re looking at.”
“Yeah, yeah. I think I’ll stick around and start packing my gear.”
Brent smiled. “Okay, I’ll be quick with my shower and we’ll get the rest of camp broken down.”
“Sounds good.”
TARA KNEW THAT it was shower time for Brent. She broke away from the bird watching under the guise of using the bathroom and finishing with her backpack, though, truth be told, it was the first pack completed of the group.
She stood in the woods and watched as Brent approached the shower area.
No better time than the present, she thought. She hoped she would have the help of Shalinar, her still-silent spirit guide.
To that end, last night she had silently made her way out of the tent, leaving Karen and Marta, to call on him and request his help. But he wouldn’t speak. She had thought that he was at her beck and call, but apparently her rebellion against Stephanie’s “grooming,” combined with Shalinar’s call to kill herself, had cut off their “relationship.” She would earn back Shalinar’s presence in her life tonight. He wouldn’t remain silent for long.
Now, though, it was time to break down the remaining barrier between Brent and her. They may not exactly have a chance for a warm body-next-to-body experience in the next few minutes, but she’d be able to make it evident that that’s what she was looking for. She’d disarm him here, then during the course of the hike, they’d plan an after-dark rendezvous for one of the nights.
Deliver Us From Darkness Page 18