Page 30 of The Nook for Brooks (Mulligan’s Mill #6)

Everyone flinched then turned to see Maggie approaching with a confident stride.

She was decked out in military issue camouflage, complete with a whistle pressed between her lips and a rucksack rigged like a snack vending machine with zip-lock bags of puppy chow pegged to the pack, swinging to and fro as she marched toward us.

At one point she spat the whistle out of her mouth—saved by the cord hanging around her neck to which it was attached—and plucked a bag of puppy chow from behind her like she was Sarah Connor reaching for a sawn-off shotgun.

She opened the bag…

She opened her mouth…

And poured the entire contents down her throat.

As she chewed and swallowed, she stepped up to the group, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before declaring, “No book nerd gets left behind! Let’s do this, people!”

Sheriff Garrett simply took a deep… long… patient breath. “Oh good… everyone’s here now. As I was saying. Brooks has been in the woods for at least four hours. We’re not sure what he was wearing or whether he left with any—”

Peeeeeeep!

Maggie’s whistle blew at point blank range now and everyone flinched again.

Sheriff Garrett turned to her. “Yes Maggie?”

She pulled the whistle from her lips. “Oh, nothing. Just testing that the whistle works, sarge.”

“I’m not your sarge. I’m your sheriff. Now… as I was saying… we’re not sure whether he left with any supplies or even water to keep himself hydra—”

Peeeeeeep!

Maggie took the whistle from her lips again. “Question, sarge. Do we know what he was wearing?”

Sheriff Garrett inhaled. “As was previously mentioned, no, we do not know what he was wearing. Although knowing Brooks as we all do, it was probably—”

Peeeeeeep!

Sheriff Garrett yanked the whistle out of Maggie’s mouth. “For God’s sake, enough with the whistle. What is it now?”

“Squirrel! I just saw a squirrel. First rule of wilderness survival: identify potential threats from wild beasts, warn others by blowing your whistle, then assert dominance by giving it a people name. Brian, stand down!”

She shone a flashlight I didn’t even notice she was holding, illuminating a terrified squirrel who literally threw itself of the branch of a tree and into the dark.

Maggie clicked off her light. “One down, several million to go. Please continue, sarge.”

Sheriff Garrett took a moment to compose himself.

Then, when everything seemed still enough, he continued with his instructions.

“We’ll need someone to stay here and monitor things from base camp.

The rest of us will fan out from the mill in five teams of three.

We’ll sweep the closest trails, then head up the mountain and cut across the ridge.

You’ll each get a flashlight and a whistle.

One person in each group gets a walkie talkie.

When you call out for him, make your voice clear and loud, but remember that you need to listen as well.

If he’s injured, he may not be able to move or call back, in which case you need to focus on the slightest sound that might lead you to him.

But stay close to your other team members.

Nobody wanders off. And nobody does anything heroic. Understand?”

He started handing out flashlights, walkie talkies, and whistles… except to Maggie. “One whistle is enough for you,” Sheriff Garrett said. “Letting you have two would be a breach of my oath of office.”

He then turned to Harry. “Harry, Dean, Cody,” he said, passing Harry a walkie-talkie. “You’re group one. Harry’s got comms. Follow my group along the south path until we hit the old fire road, then cut right.”

“Bud, Pascal, Maggie,” Sheriff continued. “You’re group two. Bud gets the radio.”

“Why can’t I have the radio?” Maggie asked, already reaching for it.

“Because I’m giving it to Bud. He’s your boss, and I’m the boss of this search party.”

Maggie crossed her arms and huffed. “Some party. There’s not even cake.”

Sheriff Garrett simply moved on.

“Mitch, Gage, Bea, you’re group three. Bea, you get the walkie.”

Bea pressed the button and it crackled to life. She froze, a light of unholy joy in her eyes. “It’s like a microphone,” she breathed.

Mitch’s face did a subtle little oh no , before Gage delicately plucked the radio from her fingers and gave it to Mitch. “Why don’t we hold onto this,” he said. “You dazzle instead.”

“Fine,” she sniffed. “But you’re missing your chance to hear my new one-woman show. It’s a musical set in a 1920s gin joint called ‘Life is a Caba-gay, Oh Chum!’ Two acts, twelve keys, and the only straight thing is the booze.”

Sheriff Garrett ignored Bea’s elevator pitch.

“Clarry, River, with me,” Sheriff said, nodding to them both. “We’ll be group four. I’ve got comms for us.”

River saluted with respect, taking orders like the soldier he once was. “We won’t let you down, sir.”

“Benji, Bastian, Connie,” Sheriff finished, handing the radio to Bastian. “You’re group five. Bastian, you’ve got the comms.”

Beside them, Ronnie and Lonnie hovered at the ready.

Sheriff Garrett turned to them last. “Lonnie and Ronnie, you’ll take up base camp.

Lonnie, you log every team leaving and the time.

Ronnie, you’re on radio, push to talk and repeat back.

If someone tells you something, you say it back exactly, word for word, to make certain the transmission is received correctly. No editorializing.”

Ronnie placed his hand over his heart like he was being sworn in. “Absolutely. Ten-four. Copy that. Roger Wilco. Over and out.”

Lonnie fanned herself. “Oh honey, that sounded so butch. Maybe you can talk like that next time we visit the Octopus Trap.”

Sheriff Garrett looked at them quizzically. “What’s an Octopus Trap?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Benji and Bastian said in unison.

“Okay then,” Sheriff Garrett said. “Any questions?”

“I think we’re ready to go,” I blurted urgently. “We need to find Brooks.”

Everyone nodded with agreement. Almost immediately, Sheriff Garrett started herding us onto the trail.

Harry laid a hand on my shoulder. “Cody. You okay?”

No. Yes. No. “Yeah,” I said. “I guess. I just wanna find him.”

“We will,” said Dean.

“Batteries,” said Mitch, suddenly beside me, pressing something into my palm. “In case your flashlight goes out.”

“Thank you,” I said.

River clapped his hand on my other shoulder. “I wish we could have met under better circumstances. But don’t worry. We’ll find him.”

“And we’ll all celebrate with ice cream,” Clarry added, faking a confident grin while he wiped a tear away.

“Thanks guys,” I said.

Bud gave me a gentle fist-bump of encouragement on the arm as he started toward the trail, while Pascal paused and said, “Once, when I was young, a boy in our village fell down an old war shaft. The villagers worked day and night, but eventually we got him out. We thought we’d lost him… but in the end he came home.”

His words echoed through my anxious head.

Home.

In the end he came home.

At that moment, Ronnie pressed his radio button and said into it, “Base camp to search teams. Do you read me?”

The static and feedback from all the walkie-talkies still being in such close range made everyone cringe.

“I think they read you, dear,” Lonnie said, patting him on the back. “Good job.”

I closed my eyes for half a second. Brooks, we’re coming.

When I opened them again, Bea was standing in front of me.

She cupped my cheek with a cool palm and said, “Don’t be scared.

Look around. This is what a town looks like when it loves somebody.

We’ll walk this night down to size and bring our boy home.

I promise.” Gently she kissed my cheek, then added in a completely deadpan tone, “And if I face-plant in these boots, tell the paramedics Maggie pushed me.”

With that, Sheriff raised a hand and said, “Let’s move out, people. Time to find Brooks.”

The sounds of the river faded. Stones crunched beneath our feet. The floodlights of base camp fell away behind us like a theater dimming to make way for the show.

Calls for “Brooks” echoed through the woods from the search parties, some near, some falling farther away. It was nerve-racking. It was eerie. It was… haunting.

Harry took the lead in our group, keeping his eye on Sheriff Garrett’s bouncing flashlight up ahead. Dean fell in behind his boyfriend, and I took up the rear. Our beams fell into a rhythm—sweep, pause, sweep.

Behind us, Mitch, Gage and Bea peeled off toward the narrow path that led up the middle of the mountain, Bea being the only one of us who didn’t call Brooks by name. Instead, she hollered “Sugarplum” or “Honey-pie” or “Peaches and cream” into the darkness.

To our right, Bud, Pascal, and Maggie’s lights bobbed through the cottonwood shadows.

Maggie still had her whistle in her mouth at the ready.

We knew, because although we couldn’t see her in the dark—and although she didn’t technically blow the whistle—we could all hear the cricket-chirp of her inhaling and exhaling as she walked.

In, out.

Up, down.

Squeak-squeeeeeak.

We kept moving.

All the while everyone kept calling.

“Brooks!”

“Brooks, can you hear us?”

“Sweet child, sing for me. Use your voice, my angel of the night!”

Then suddenly, a short distance behind us and off to the left, we heard a squeal.

I spun instantly, heart booming in my chest, and called out. “Brooks! Brooks, is that you?”

Back through the dark we heard, “Cuz! Cuz! Save me! My hair’s caught on a pricker!”

Benji’s voice came back through the night a moment later. “We’re okay. It’s just Connie. Disaster has been averted.”

We reached the first fork. The south path fell away into deeper shadow, and the old fire road cut right, broader, brighter, skimming the edge of the ridge line.

Sheriff waved his flashlight in the direction he wanted us to take.

“Base camp, this is Harry,” Harry said into the walkie-talkie. “Team one is now moving south on the old fire road.”