The strangeness continued in the tent. There was the requisite sleeping bag, lying atop the obligatory Therm-a-rest. A battered dufflebag served double-duty as a pillow, and was filled with nothing more interesting than clothing and basic toiletries. On the other side of the tent, though, a large supply of books were neatly stored in large Ziploc bags. Heather had seen a few campers who took the latest novel along with them for downtimes, and the Audubon guides weren’t that odd, either . . . but who on earth took Fun with Dick and Jane or Basic Geometry with them in case they got bored? And the weirdness didn’t stop with modern books; there was a thin book which looked as if it could be an antique, filled with woodcut illustrations of a Victorian England-looking house, labeled entirely in a weird code. It was the kind of thing a bibliophile or cryptologist might enjoy.