Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
This was the day!
The stream was only half a day away when Tighe set out, just after dawn. His instincts told him it was nearly time but a chance encounter with another Trail regular, called Cranky Frank was confirmation. That wasn’t his real name, obviously. Just as Tighe’s real name wasn’t Mushroom Boy.
There was a small, tight-knit community of hikers on the Trail and nicknames were assigned, not chosen.
Tighe didn’t mingle too closely with that community but he enjoyed their company whenever they crossed paths on the Trail.
Unlike other regulars, Tighe avoided the general stores and convenience stations near the Trail and never stayed in any of the hostels or at the campgrounds.
He only stopped by ranger stations and welcome centers on rare occasions, when he needed to pass along information or say hello to a friendly warden or ranger.
“You’re Mr. Popular,” Cranky Frank said when they met near Massey Gap.
He had appeared out of the morning fog, his plumes of white hair barely contained by a tye-dyed bandana.
For a moment, Tighe thought it was a leprechaun.
Then, he recognised Frank’s wild, unkempt hair, pink overalls, and irritated expression.
He had a fondness for the wild ponies that roamed the park’s highlands and took it upon himself to make sure other hikers kept their distance and didn’t feed them.
“Are people talking about that couple I helped?” Tighe guessed but Frank shook his head.
“I don’t pay attention to any of that shit. But a lot of people are looking for you.”
That didn’t seem right to Tighe. “More than one, are you sure? I am on my way to meet somebody."
“There’s a picture of you up at the station. It’s got your real name on it and everything. The FBI says you’re missing and might be injured but you look fine to me,” Frank muttered with an offended huff.
“Why would the FBI think I was missing or injured?” Tighe wondered out loud, causing Frank to shake his head and sneer.
“They might have made that up so they can get rid of you. I wouldn’t trust the FBI and I don’t want to know what they’re up to, but I trust the other guys even less.”
“What other guys?” Tighe asked, sure that Frank was mistaken or it was somehow connected to the hikers. “Were they reporters? They think I’m Amish but that’s not true.”
“No way. These two looked like the kind of guys you’d hire if you were hiking in Fallujah. All muscles and tactical gear. I counted a dozen knives between them and I’m pretty sure one of them was hiding a takedown rifle in his backpack.”
Tighe shook his head. “They don’t sound like reporters. I’ll steer clear.”
“Thought you’d say that and you’d better watch your back,” Frank said with a chuckle. “Told them I saw you the day before yesterday. Said you had a change of heart and decided to head south.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Also heard over the radio that a park agent from Shenandoah turned up at Deb’s station, askin’ about you not too long ago.”
“I am popular,” Tighe said, laughing in disbelief. “Wonder why.”
“I didn’t ask and Deb didn’t say, just that he had another agent and a crazy looking professor with him.”
“I’ve been to Shenandoah! Maybe they want to know how to get back,” Tighe suggested but received a sour, puzzled look from Frank.
“Maybe that’s what it is… Bless your heart, kid,” Frank said and offered Tighe a salute. To thank Frank for looking out for him, Tighe shared some mushrooms and black walnuts before he continued his journey north to the stream.
Along the way, Tighe stopped to pick berries and made a posey after disturbing a trio of deer in a meadow, munching on blue harebells.
He wove some rescued stems into a braid and bound the ends with a bow made from strips of long grass.
There wasn’t much Tighe could do about his appearance but he gave his face a good scrub and his teeth a long brush when he passed a restroom with plumbing.
He’d had the foresight to trim down his beard the last time he had access to a pair of scissors.
Tighe never liked the feel of a long beard and was all too glad to keep his trimmed as best as he could when he realized how off-putting beards and long hair were to outsiders.
Should he have taken the scissors to his hair while he was at it?
Tighe was indifferent to his hair until the weather turned hot, then he wanted it all gone.
Whatever his man liked best was fine with Tighe.
Hopefully, Tighe could ask him in person soon.
Not wanting to linger in the restroom—it smelled bad—Tighe set off with wet pants.
Faucets were confusing! Some flipped up and down and some turned.
Sometimes, there was just one, and sometimes there were two.
No matter how many, Tighe ended up drenched from chest to toe.
His cargo pants were probably due so Tighe would give them a good washing after he reached the stream.
There would be plenty of time for them to dry in the afternoon sun as he waited.
How long Tighe would wait was anyone’s guess.
Would he arrive before nightfall or or would Tighe be eating his dinner alone?
Tighe’s concerns turned to the men Cranky Frank had described and he shuddered, certain they weren’t the sort of men he wanted to know.
He didn’t like large, armed men in general but Tighe couldn’t think of any reason why they would be looking for him.
Perhaps Frank had made a mistake or was confused about who or what they were after.
The picture in the ranger station wasn’t as easy to dismiss. If Cranky Frank had read Tighe’s name and saw a picture of him…
They have a picture of me?
That would get Tighe in so much trouble! But he smiled as he imagined what Eoin would say if he saw it. Then, he hoped his brother didn’t see it because he might think that Tighe was injured or missing.
What had Tighe gotten himself into? And how?
He had only talked to a handful of people in the last few weeks and couldn’t recall anything noteworthy, aside from the couple he had helped.
Had he done something wrong when he helped them or did the FBI think he was dangerous?
Tighe immediately dismissed the idea and scolded himself for listening to Cranky Frank.
There was a reason they called him that: he was abrupt and rude and didn’t trust anyone, especially the government.
Either way, Tighe was going to err on the side of caution and avoid the marked parts of the Trail until he made contact with his dream man.
If Tighe was right, his man was of that world and would know what to do or where they should go to avoid the muscled men in tactical gear.
Perhaps that was why fate was bringing them together: so Tighe would have a partner who understood the outside world and its dangers.
The internet and modern technology were slowly creeping deeper into the woods, being used more and more on the Trail.
As much as Tighe wanted to avoid the electronic and mechanical evils of the outside world, they were finding him—carried in the palms and pockets of fellow hikers and campers.
It used to be rare to hear music or the sounds of a sports broadcast, now Tighe heard news headlines and podcasters before he heard other hikers’ footsteps.
Maybe he needed someone to help him make sense of these changes and prepare for what was to come.
Was the agent from Shenandoah the man Tighe was supposed to meet? Why was he travelling with two strangers when he had been alone in Tighe’s dreams?
Instead of being worried or resistant to change, Tighe kept an open mind and an open heart.
If it was him, this was the man fate had chosen for Tighe.
All of his dreams had been good and he knew in his bones that this man was loyal, brave, and generous.
How could Tighe be destined to find a man like that and not be happy? What more could Tighe ask for?
What would Tighe give in return?
What if he needed protecting and that was why he was turning to the woods and seeking Tighe?
I’m almost there and I’ll wait for as long as I have to. I’ll do whatever it takes.