Chapter 5
The warm glow of a crackling fire cast a welcoming light across Sarah and Everett’s homestead. Cicadas chirped a soothing symphony as they sat around their fire pit, savoring the warmth on this chilly October evening. Tonight, they would gather with their closest friends and fellow adventurers to share the secrets whispered from Tom’s weathered journal.
“They should be arriving soon,” Everett said, just as the headlights of Remy’s van cast a bright white light, momentarily eclipsing the warm glow of the fire.
Remy, a twinkle in his eye, ambled up the path. The sixty-five-year-old ex-cop, known by his self-proclaimed nickname “Toker,” boomed a laugh that promised an evening of lively conversation and tales from his recent Florida Keys adventure. Not far behind him walked Maggie “Salty” Thomas, sun-bleached hair, a weathered face that exuded a salty spirit and a thirst for thrilling tales. The retired postal worker and fellow kayaking enthusiast greeted them with a warm smile.
Riley “Cap” Cypress, her youthful energy contrasting with Remy and Maggie’s seasoned presence, closed her truck door and strode over to the fire pit. The younger captain, known for her artistic flair and river expertise, held a deep knowledge of the Timucua tribe.
The aftermath of Hurricane Maya had brought them together, sharing stories of damage and resilience. Today, however, Sarah and Everett had a different story to tell.
As Everett prepared to share the discovery of the water-damaged journal and the cryptic map, Sarah interrupted with a warm smile. “I’ve just made a fresh pitcher of margaritas. Anyone care for one? This is going to be an interesting evening!”
“I’ll take one, Sarah,” Remy said, his voice laced with amusement. “And hey, mind if I toke?”
Sarah chuckled. “You know better than that, Rem,” she said, handing him a glass. “Of course, go ahead. Is it still that Purple Kush you have the medical card for?”
“Yep,” Remy replied, taking a sip of his margarita. “One of the best strains of Cannabis for pain relief.”
Maggie chimed in, “Just bring the whole pitcher over, Sarah. It’s been a long day.” Everyone laughed, the sound echoing through the cool night air.
“Thanks, but I’m good. I’ve got a sixer of Bud Light,” Cap said, offering a friendly smile.
Sarah served the margaritas and then took over, her eyes sparkling as she described her trip to Cedar Key to help Aunt Fran. “It was like a war zone,” she said sadly.
“Is Fran okay?” Maggie inquired, her voice filled with concern.
“She lost a lot,” Sarah replied. “Sunset View will take a long time to recover, but Fran is tough and a survivor. We’re here for her if she needs anything.”
Sarah then revealed the story of finding the journal and map in the debris, bringing them home, and spending days carefully drying them. She pulled out the map and elaborated on its inscriptions, their alignment with Tom’s route, and the strange connection she felt to the area. She spoke of the warming of her pendant, a sign she couldn’t ignore, and the growing need to follow in Tom’s footsteps to find answers.
Remy raised an eyebrow. “This sounds serious, Sarah. You sure you want to jump into something like this?”
Everett, sensing Sarah’s apprehension, spoke up. “We understand the risks, Remy. But Sarah has a strong connection to this, and we can’t just ignore it.”
Maggie placed a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “Whatever you decide, Sarah, we’re here for you.”
Cap, the group’s resident history buff, leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Mention of the Timucua tribe? That piques my interest. Tell me more about this map and its connection to them.” Cap was the curator of the local university’s exhibit on the Timucua tribe and ready to help any way she could.
Unfurling the map, Everett spoke, the firelight dancing on its faded lines. He meticulously outlined Tom’s suspected route, weaving together the information gleaned from the map and the journal.
“We believe Tom was headed towards Renegade Bayou, an area steeped in Timucua history, possibly searching for something or recovering something,” Sarah explained, mentioning specific details from the journal entries about poachers, artifacts, and the bayou. “Our plan is to retrace this route on the map and see where it leads us.”
A flicker of concern crossed some faces amidst the enthusiasm. “Navigating those rarely traveled rivers alone is out of the question,” Everett said, his voice firm. “We need you guys, and we need to be prepared.”
Remy’s eyebrows shot up, Maggie whistled in astonishment, and Cap traced the map lines with a thoughtful finger.
“So, you’re telling me that your grandfather left you a treasure map, hidden Timucua artifacts, and an adventure?” Remy exclaimed.
Sarah chuckled. “Not exactly a treasure map, Remy. More like clues hinting at something bigger.”
She continued the story, her voice painting vivid pictures of Tom’s cryptic messages, the pendant’s warmth, and the yearning she felt to connect with her now realized Timucua heritage. A ripple of concern crossed some faces. Remy, usually the life of the party, whistled, his usual grin replaced by a thoughtful frown.
“Sounds intense, Ev,” he said, a touch of seriousness lacing his voice. “What’s next on the itinerary?”
“A glimmer of hope, my friend,” Everett replied. “Forty miles downriver, an old spring run leads to Osceola Spring. There, amongst the cypress trees, sits the fish camp of Whitey ‘Alligator’ Yates. Remember the name, folks. Whitey might be our only point of resupply, a chance to catch our breath before delving deeper into the bayou’s secrets.”
They knew this wouldn’t be a leisurely paddle down a calm stream. The wilderness held its own challenges, demanding respect and preparation. Sarah, sensing the shift in mood, stepped forward, her voice infused with passion. Her eyes, like pools reflecting the setting sun, met each of theirs in turn.
“But think of what awaits us!” she exclaimed. “The whispers of my past are guiding me here, to a secret held among the Sentinel Cypress and the heart of Renegade Bayou. This isn’t just an adventure, folks. It’s something deeper, something personal. It’s a chance for me to connect with my history, to finally understand the quiet whispers I’ve been feeling ever since my father gave me this pendant. Imagine – uncovering secrets held by my ancestors, unraveling the mysteries that shape who I am today.”
Sarah’s words were a spark, igniting a renewed fire in their eyes. Cap leaned forward, her voice eager. “So, what are the dangers? What detours should we expect?”
Maggie, her weathered face etched with determination, nodded along, already envisioning the challenges and triumphs. Remy, his usual humor laced with a hint of seriousness, raised concerns about supplies and the physical demands of the journey.
Silence fell for a moment, then Remy let out a booming laugh that echoed around the fire. “You gotta be kiddin’, Moonflower,” he said, slapping his knee. “Where do I sign up?”
One by one, the others chimed in, their voices filled with eagerness and a touch of healthy apprehension. Maggie raised her glass, her eyes twinkling. “To whispers that become roars, secrets waiting to be unearthed, and adventures with the best crew a gal could ask for!”
They clinked their glasses, the sound resonating with the promise of an extraordinary journey. The whispers of the past had found their voices, and Sarah knew, with this team by her side, they were ready to follow them wherever they led.
Everett, seeing their resolve, outlined his plan. He returned to the map, his voice steady and authoritative as he traced their route.
“We’ll follow a fifteen-mile stretch on Buttonbush Creek with a slight current to the Sentinel Cypress River,” he explained, meeting each of their gazes. “The Sentinel Cypress River leads us eighty miles into Renegade Bayou.”
A collective murmur rose, the magnitude of their journey becoming evident.
“We aim for fifteen miles a day,” Ev continued, the rhythmic tap of his finger mimicking the steady cadence of paddling. “But remember, the wilderness keeps its own counsel. Nature throws curveballs, so flexibility is our mantra.”
His gaze swept across the faces, searching for understanding, for the spark of determination that mirrored his own.
Everett continued, “While fifteen miles a day may seem manageable with the current, remember, we need time for setting up camp, cooking meals, and unforeseen obstacles. So, realistically, it’ll be a six to seven-day journey to reach the bayou.”
“Our first leg starts with Buttonbush Creek,” he began, his finger pointing to the route. “It’s a familiar stretch, remember that paddle we did back in August of ’21? Though it was only three years ago, we need to be prepared for changes. Around mile six, things get tricky. The creek narrows, shallows appear, and fallen trees might force us to portage. Teamwork will be key.”
“The next couple of days are crucial,” Everett announced. “We need to research everything we can about the area, especially the Timucua tribe. Cap, your knowledge will be invaluable.”
Cap, a determined glint in her eyes, nodded eagerly. “Consider it done. I have a collection of historical documents and artifacts that might offer some insights.”
Energized by Sarah and Everett’s words, cheers erupted as a launch date was set for their expedition. Everyone agreed to check their calendars and make sure they had a clear week or more with no commitments.
As the night deepened, the excitement of planning gave way to the practicalities of the late hour. One by one, the friends began to say their goodbyes, their faces flushed with anticipation and a touch of trepidation. Remy was the last to leave, giving Sarah and Everett each a warm hug before disappearing into the darkness.
In the sudden quiet, Sarah and Everett found themselves alone by the crackling fire. They exchanged a knowing smile, the weight of their upcoming journey settling comfortably between them.
As if on silent cue, Sarah retrieved two glasses and a bottle of 1800 Reposado, the amber liquid shimmering in the firelight. They poured themselves each a generous measure, the warmth spreading through them like a comforting embrace. In the quiet companionship, they sipped their drinks, their eyes reflecting the dancing flames.
This wasn’t just about the adventure; it was about the shared journey, the unwavering support, and the deep bond forged in the crucible of friendship. As the embers died down, they knew that tomorrow’s dawn would bring not just research and preparation, but the first step into a shared destiny, a quest into the heart of the unknown.
~ Chapter 4 : Whispers from the Past ~ Chapter 6 : Preparations for the Unknown ~