Deluge: When Yesterdays Collide

By Valerie Banfield

Sixteen-year-old Luke Samuels just can’t fake it anymore. He’s ready to hang up his pathetic existence and start over in a place where he’ll no longer have to outrun his nightmares. His plan to slip away during the teen retreat at Hope Lodge campground is flawless.

Camp counselor Andy Wooten has already abandoned his past. Packed in the excess baggage he left behind are the ghosts of his ex-wife and former business partners. The confident accountant calculates his life’s ambitions as well as he does his clients’ balance sheets, and judges his new reputation is far superior to the one he lost.

Three men stake their futures on the precise execution of an illegal act, but the trio’s ringleader ups the ante when he abducts a witness.

In the aftermath of a wicked storm, all paths intersect and someone is bound to lose. Is anyone willing to look over his shoulder to consider the value of his past, or will each schemer ignore that which is good to gain that which he wants—regardless of the cost?

Approximate length: 320 pages

• Language: English
• Publisher: Valerie Banfield
• Release date: Apr 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524280802

Book preview

For Christopher, my sunshine.

Some went out on the sea in ships;

they were merchants on the mighty waters.

They saw the works of the Lord,

his wonderful deeds in the deep.

For he spoke and stirred up a tempest

that lifted high the waves.

They mounted up to the heavens and went down to the depths;

in their peril their courage melted away.

They reeled and staggered like drunkards;

they were at their wits’ end.

Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble,

and he brought them out of their distress.

He stilled the storm to a whisper;

the waves of the sea were hushed.

They were glad when it grew calm,

and he guided them to their desired haven.

Psalms 107:23-30

Chapter One

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Bam! With just one steady pull on the trigger, the target froze, mid-stride, and plummeted to the ground. Gavin Long knelt and gently closed the dark brown eyes. The last time they blinked, they widened in terror. The last thing they saw was the barrel of the rifle. His rifle.

Even as his older brother stood over him, clapping him on the back and praising his marksmanship, Gavin fought the sudden urge to run into the woods where Brandon wouldn’t see him vomit.

When Brandon took down his own deer, he celebrated like he’d won a boxing match with a deftly swung knockout punch. What was fair in a contest between a shotgun slug and the speed and instinct of the buck? Nothing. And, Fred? He did his mountain man version of a dance of joy. How could they celebrate death?

The hand on his shoulder belonged to Fred. That’s a mighty fine buck you got there.

The wagging tail slapping Gavin on the arm belonged to Belle, Fred’s black and tan coonhound.

God made this beautiful creature, didn’t He? Fred spoke softly, but loud enough for Brandon to hear his words and his tone.

Gavin sucked in a sob and managed to nod his head. He couldn’t garner a response.

I know a lot of men, they hunt for the sport of it. For the thrill of taking down game. Fred glanced at Brandon before turning his attention back to Gavin.

This isn’t a fallen trophy, Gavin. This deer will sustain me during all those months when my garden is resting and I don’t have any means to get to town. You know my place is isolated most of the winter, and sometimes into early spring. The deer Brandon bagged this morning? He’ll sell the venison in order to put food on your table.

Fred stood up and gestured to Branden. Tell your brother how well he hunted today. Go on.

Brandon remained standing and shoved his hands into his pockets. You’re a fine hunter. You outshot both Fred and me. We missed our targets at least three times. That means Fred and I were careless. You took one shot. Your shot was clean and the buck didn’t suffer. I’m really proud of you.

Gavin looked up. Brandon wasn’t ashamed of him? If anything, Brandon’s tight lips and set jaw looked more apologetic than judgmental.

Brandon crossed his arms, leaned back on his heels, and asked, Do you want me to field dress the deer while you two go get the ATV? I don’t mind. I can do it by myself.

Gavin caught the warmth in the smile Fred passed over to Brandon.

Does that sound like a good plan to you, Gavin?

Just like always, Fred ruminated about situations and circumstances. When he was done, he expected Gavin and Brandon to think hard before they made their own decisions.

Yeah. Thanks, Brandon.

On the way back to the cabin, Fred pulled a tin of tobacco out of his pocket and stuffed a wad into his mouth. Gavin bit his tongue. It wasn’t his place to lecture Fred.

You remember the old Sharps? Fred asked.

Granddad’s .45-70?

Yep. What did your granddad call it?

Old Thumper.

Yeah, you tore the stuffing out of the clay pigeons the day we tried it out. When Fred chuckled, he started coughing. Once he spit out some of his tobacco, his eyes quit watering.

Kind of ripped the seat of my pants, too. It only took one shot for me to figure out where he got the nickname. Gavin laughed.

Fred slapped his hand on his thigh. Your shot put you flat on your keister. Wish I’d had a video camera that day. We could have sent it to the TV station. We’d all be famous by now.

Gavin laughed again, but sobered when he pictured the deer. He caught Fred looking his way, but they walked in silence a good while. Fred liked quiet; otherwise, he wouldn’t live in a primitive cabin far from the city. All by himself. Well, except for Belle.

Fred didn’t talk much about himself, but he once admitted he fell out of city life after he got back from Vietnam. He sure didn’t want to share stories about the war, and although he never had a family of his own, somehow he knew how to act like a dad. All those summers they spent at Granddad’s cabin, Gavin and Brandon shared a secret wish. Both of them talked about what it would be like to have Fred Porter as their father. The one they had—the real one—didn’t give two cents about either of them.

If they ever complained, though, Fred jumped right in and made them stop. Said they had to be respectful, even though their parents might not live respectable lives. Fred told them they had to forgive their daddy. Their momma too. Everyone, he said, needed forgiveness some time or other in his life. He and Brandon weren’t exceptions.

As the rustic abode came into sight, Fred clapped Gavin on the back.

I know God didn’t make you to be a hunter, but when He created you, He had something mighty special in mind. One day, you’ll know when you’ve found the path He set out for you.

~

Brandon, this isn’t a good idea. We can’t. Gavin shook his head. No way. No.

The man sitting on the barstool next to Brandon drummed his fingers on the counter. He took a slug of beer and slammed the bottle when he put it down.

Gimme another, he barked to the bartender.

Gavin sat back. Marcus Canady had no business talking that way. If the barkeep complained to the owner of the hotel, who was also Brandon’s boss, Brandon might lose his job. Then what? They’d have no money and nowhere to live.

It’s just this once, little brother. Brandon sipped his beer and pursed his lips. We’ll be in and out in five minutes, tops.

Gavin shook his head. No. You can’t do this.

When Brandon leaned forward, his stale breath washed over Gavin.

You’re right. I can’t. But, we can. Brandon gave off a toothy grin before he sipped more beer.

Marcus stood, puffed up his shoulders, and studied Gavin with narrowed eyes. Brandon says you’re smart enough to help with this. Is that true? The question rolled off Marcus’ tongue along with a heap of sarcasm.

When Gavin shifted in his seat, Brandon raised his hand. Gavin, we talked about moving out west. If we’re lucky and work hard, we’ll get there in five years. Or, we can do this, just one time, and go now.

Five years? Gavin wanted to go now. As he mulled over their prospects, the same queasy disturbance rendered by the fallen deer crept over him. No way. No.

Gavin? Brandon grinned. Come on. New Mexico? The ranch? This plan is foolproof. You trust me, don’t you?

Sure, he trusted Brandon. His older brother took care of him when both his parents were missing in action. Which was often, back when he was a kid. Yeah, Brandon messed up a few times, but that was when he was just a kid himself. Brandon was smart, no doubt, and he wouldn’t urge Gavin into doing anything hurtful. Ever. Gavin swallowed the distaste rising in his throat and looked into Brandon’s eyes.

Okay. I’ll do it. A sense of foreboding accompanied his answer. This was so wrong.

Chapter Two

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Luke Samuels’ irritation increased with every passing minute. He gritted his teeth and contemplated the next twenty-four hours. They sure couldn’t get much worse than the present. When his heavenward glance offered no promise of relief, and the dark sky seemed to laugh at his predicament, he clenched his jaw tighter.

He was sick of being sixteen, sick of pretending, sick of the past, sick of the present. The greater truth? He was sick of being Luke Samuels.

Just one more day in Ohio, one more day at Hope Lodge with all these sniveling teenagers and insufferable chaperones. But, would this night ever end? Whenever the bonfire faded to embers, some well-meaning chaperone added more wood to the pile, igniting the flames and fueling his impatience. Every new log led to more preaching, more stupid jokes, and more singing. If the blather didn’t stop soon, he was sure he’d lose his mind.

Tomorrow night was going to be different. Way different. During the tedious five-day camping trip, he managed to stash food and camping gear far enough away from the cabins to ensure an undetected getaway. His backpack held all his essentials: clothes, the money he’d saved over the summer, the fake I.D., and the new cell phone with prepaid minutes. His plan was perfect, infallible. Right now, though, he had to survive this incessant singing.

When the little twerp sitting next to him bumped shoulders as the group swayed en masse to a pathetic rendition of a popular song, Luke wanted to take both hands and shove the kid sideways, creating a domino effect that would render each camper face down in the dirt. Instead, he reversed the swaying motion with a nudge to the offender, which might have contained a little more force than was necessary.

The wind rustled, curling bitter smoke into his nose and stinging his eyes. When Luke rubbed his eyes to rid himself of the noxious irritant, it simply stoked raw nerves. He ignored the sideways glance of a chaperone and withdrew a few paces from the boisterous crowd. The mountain’s chilly night air spilled over him as thoroughly as a greedy ocean wave, and inflicted an unexpected shiver up his spine. He hugged himself and rubbed his arms while he inventoried the carefree faces of his classmates and so-called friends.

A huff of air, just shy of a full-blown snort, slid past his lips. Look at them. None of them had a clue how ugly life could be. Right now, the playful light of the bonfire reflected their happy existence. Thus far, they’d dodged the cruel realities of death and evil. How nice for them. Some day, though, each of them would grasp the truth of the phrase, Life’s not fair. Right now, not one had a clue how bad the world was ... how bad people were. Luke knew. He knew about evil. He knew he was a destroyer.

When the group finally dispersed for their respective cabins, he lagged behind so no one would bother him, and sat on the steps leading to his cabin while the conversations among his bunkmates faded.

His heart almost leapt out of his chest as something slowly wrapped around his ankle. A massive yelp was ready on his lips at the same time he heard his attacker purr. As his fingers touched the soft fur, the tiny black kitten accepted his invitation, jumped into his lap, and offered a steady rumble from its throat.

The shrill squeak of a rusty hinge interrupted the stillness, and the sliver of light emitted from the open doorway cast a shadow on a dark mass of evergreen trees. A voice called out, Luke, get in here before someone reports you missing.

Luke struggled to his feet, gave the kitten one last scratch behind its ears, and climbed the steps. The slight smile he wore when he learned he had missed evening prayers went unnoticed, and his exaggerated yawn seemed to convince everyone he was too exhausted to entertain any semblance of dialogue.

He climbed into his sleeping bag and relaxed as the soft cocoon warmed his weary frame. All the faking and pretense wore him out. Totally. The only person who could possibly detect his act was Erin McKnight. She had learned to keep her distance, but her uncanny ability to read his mood was disquieting, nonetheless. She knew him well. No, she used to know him well. He’d have to be careful where Erin was concerned. After making a determined effort to lay his anxieties aside, Luke fell into a deep sleep.

~

An overcast sky greeted the campers on their last full day at Hope Lodge. The teenagers were returning home tomorrow morning. Without him. The knowledge brought a sly smile to Luke’s otherwise blank expression. He rubbed his stubbly scalp, quite pleased with the transformation delivered by his new cut. Maybe he’d just keep it short, or maybe he would let it grow, but dye it blond. He checked his image one last time to make sure he had successfully donned his passive mask.

He joined the queue of campers at the dining hall and wrinkled his nose at the mingling odors of burnt toast and hot grease. This might be his last hot breakfast for the next week. Better stock up. He helped himself to generous portions of scrambled eggs, hash browns, turkey sausage, and toast. Erin caught up to him as he slipped an extra apple into his jacket.

Hungry this morning? You don’t usually eat so much. Erin’s perky voice sounded forced and her smile carried a hint of caution. Good. She’d better watch her step.

It only looks like a lot when compared to your meal. I don’t get how you can live on yogurt and granola. Luke offered a smug grin in return.

Yeah, well, I don’t get how you can eat that sausage. Ah, Erin’s defensive voice. This tone, Luke knew well.

Erin was the only girl at camp who stood eye level to Luke. Right now, whether she was aware of it or not, she used her height to keep him in her territory, but as she paused, he scooted away from her domineering personal space and walked toward a corner table.

He glanced over his shoulder as he sat next to Matt, one of the few guys from school Luke could tolerate. Matt raised his hand, offering a silent high-five greeting. Erin didn’t care for Mr. Muscles’ inflated ego; she’d find a seat elsewhere.

It took Erin a few seconds to recover from Luke’s dismissal. He could only hope she’d get the message one of these days. Luke watched the bewildered teenager as she made her way to an empty table. Even after she lowered her tray, Erin kept her eyes toward the ground. Her furrowed brow hinted at her confusion, and while she stirred the contents of the yogurt cup, Luke surmised she sought a new method of approach that would be acceptable to him. She would not find one.

S’up? Matt wasn’t much for conversation. An excellent trait.

Nothing so far, Luke answered.

I’m looking for a reliable rowing partner for the race this afternoon. You game?

Me? Luke arched an eyebrow. Why not? Yeah. Sure.

Oh, oh. I see trouble. The redhead walking behind Amanda? Matt tipped his head instead of pointing. Girl won’t leave me alone. I’m outta here. See you at the lake.

Amanda, along with three giggling freshmen girls who were among her biggest fans, slid onto the bench opposite Erin. Little Miss Sunshine had arrived. It was hard to ignore the newcomer’s intense blue eyes, heavily lined and framed with lashes sporting obnoxious amounts of mascara. Couldn’t she give it a rest? This was camp, not a photo op. She shot Luke a look as she pushed her hair out of her eyes, ignored his subtle nod, and flashed a smile toward Erin.

Thanks for saving me a seat.

Luke munched on a thick slice of toast while he observed the girls. Most of the kids liked Amanda. She could be funny and she was quick-witted, but she was too much drama and not enough genuine. The girl got on his nerves. As if to confirm his view, Erin’s dejected face lit up as soon as her best friend sat down.

Luke frowned. Why did Erin like Amanda so much? The two were as different as night and day. Erin was a carbon copy of her parents: no-nonsense, predictable, a straight arrow. She owned an athletic build and tomboyish traits. She looked just fine with her long brown hair in a ponytail, and if she ever wore makeup—how would he know—it looked natural. Erin’s world was black and white.

But, Amanda? The girl was a fluorescent version of Technicolor. Everything about the girl seemed exaggerated and bogus, so why did all the young girls fawn over her? Maybe the Hope Lodge committee members should consider a new breakout session just for girls. They could call it, The Art of Being Amanda. Luke shook his head, stabbed another piece of sausage, and stuffed it into his mouth.

The freshman girls tittered and talked as they ate breakfast. The one sitting next to Amanda put down her fork and pointed to Amanda’s hands. With a smug smile, she turned to the girls on her left, raised her painted fingernails, and announced, Oh, look. We match.

We do, another giggled.

As the conversation of the two older girls began to exclude them, the freshmen finished their meals and hurried back to their cabins where they would undoubtedly attempt to copy Amanda’s dress and hairstyle du jour.

Are you rowing with me this afternoon? Erin asked.

Of course; but, if you’re going to be my rowing partner, you need some carbs. I grabbed these for you.

Two? I hate bananas. Erin pouted as she held out her hand.

Luke erased a grin at the same time he used his napkin to blot an errant dab of ketchup from his chin. He looked up as Andy Wooten intruded on his view and sat down. Luke bit his lip. Wonderful.

Mr. Wooten had combed his hair, and he wore a clean flannel shirt over a dark blue t-shirt. Otherwise, his concern over his personal appearance was as indifferent as that of the unkempt freshmen boys.

Morning. Mind if I join you?

Duh, you’re already sitting. Why ask now?

Morning, Luke muttered. With some pretense at caring, he asked, How are you, Mr. Wooten?

Great, thanks. Slept like a log after the bonfire. I love the smell of the burning wood, and I think watching the flame is relaxing. Don’t you?

Sure. If you say so, Luke replied. Mr. Wooten forgot to mention how much he liked the singing. Yeah, right.

So what are your plans today? Swimming? Hiking? Boating?

If you only knew. I’m signed up for the rowing contest this afternoon. I might do some Bible reading this morning. That ought to keep him happy.

I’m helping with the rowing contest, but don’t have any other assignments today. I’d like to hike up to the waterfall this morning. Haven’t been up that way yet. You’re welcome to join me. Mr. Wooten chewed on a large forkful of scrambled eggs and downed a swig of black coffee. He murmured to himself, Good coffee, nasty eggs. He looked up, waiting for a reply.

Luke started to open his mouth, but swallowed his mechanical response. Maybe it would be a good idea to study the route in more detail. After all, the path beyond the falls led to his new life. It couldn’t hurt to inspect it in daylight one more time. Mr. Wooten was probably a harmless hiking companion. He didn’t lecture the boys, and he didn’t freak out when somebody didn’t follow the rules. For a counselor, the man didn’t act very comfortable around the campers, especially when he had to account for everyone at lights out. It couldn’t hurt to spend some time with him.

Sure.

Sounds good, buddy. How ‘bout I meet you out front in half an hour?

Buddy? I’m not your buddy. Not now. Definitely, not later. The legs of the chair screeched against the cement floor as Luke stood. With his broad grin disguising gritted teeth, he answered, I’ll be there.

~

As Andy watched Luke walk away, Barry McKnight, the Hope Lodge leader, interrupted his thoughts and took the seat across from him.

Morning, Andy.

Barry pushed his dark brown hair out of his eyes and nimbly steered the remnants of his fading hairline outward. Andy furrowed his brow. The fanning out of those few strands of hair was highly ineffective.

Having fun? Barry asked.

I am, in spite of the fact that I haven’t spent a lot of time around teenagers. Honestly, I find large groups of them rather intimidating.

Andy liked Barry in spite of the man’s meticulous insistence that every camper adhere to every iota of camp regulation. Maybe if Andy were a father he’d feel differently, but he and Lizzy never got that far, thank heaven, and it simply didn’t matter anymore.

Aside from acknowledging his lack of teenager skills, he had no desire to confess to the rule monger his other elementary shortcomings. No one in Moorestown needed to know how carefully he had constructed his upstanding community member image. He dropped his hands, grabbed his fork, and sat up a little taller as he considered his successful transformation.

Barry nodded. We appreciate your stepping up. Three hours’ notice wasn’t much.

No, but I’m glad to help. It’s not as if Steve planned to break his leg. Things happen. The rest of his sentence, and I look like a hero, remained unspoken.

Barry patted his hair in place again. Saw you talking with Luke. How’s he been?

Quiet. Polite, but distant.

He is. We worried about him for a long time, but he seems to be dealing with everything now, Barry added.

Everything?

Sometimes I forget you’re the new man in town. Luke was in an accident about two years ago. Lost his mom and baby sister. The ordeal was tough on everybody. Especially Grant. He lost his wife and daughter, and had to find a way to hold himself together for Luke’s sake. Grant is Luke’s adoptive father, by the way. Luke was four when his biological dad died. Amy married Grant a few years later, and they had Morgan together. Morgan was only two when she died.

I had no idea. Andy shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

It’s been a rough road. Luke wouldn’t talk to anyone for the longest time. He was pretty good friends with my daughter before the accident, but he even pushed her away. He’s cordial to Erin now, but things just aren’t the same between the two.

Luke agreed to hike to the waterfall with me this morning, so I appreciate the insight. Maybe he’ll open up to me.

I’d like to think so, but don’t take it personally if he doesn’t, Barry cautioned.

Uh, okay. Thanks. Andy didn’t intend to interrogate the kid. Luke would appreciate his intrusion about as much as Andy would welcome an inquest from Barry. Sometimes people just had to leave well enough alone.

Chapter Three

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Along the walkway to the dining hall, the musty smell of decaying leaves tussled with the sweet scent of burning wood. Droplets of dew defined a silvery web, woven silently and secretly in the black of night. When Luke passed, the long-legged spinner scurried from the center of its snare to a gap between two stones. Luke’s lips curled into a smug grin. He, too, was ready to disappear.

Luke’s backpack held only some water, an energy bar, and his compass. Tonight, his load would require more effort. The mere thought of his pending freedom lightened his steps, and the hands on his watch seemed to move faster this morning. It was a beautiful day.

Mr. Wooten knelt on the ground behind a pile of gear. He finished wiping something onto his face and stuffed the bottle into his backpack. The old guy—he had to be at least thirty—looked flustered as he wrestled to cram a first aid kit, flashlight, and an old-fashioned metal whistle into the already-stuffed canvas bag.

Luke pointed to the pile. Uh, did you forget anything?

Mr. Wooten looked perplexed at the question. I just want to be prepared.

For what? A hiking party of six?

No, I consider these supplies essential for survival. Mr. Wooten sounded a tad defensive.

Mr. Wooten’s brown suede boots looked as if they’d just