Page 33 of The Nook for Brooks (Mulligan’s Mill #6)

CODY

I woke in a groggy panic. My head ached, my body felt like it had been through a meat grinder, and my mouth tasted like swamp.

For a second I forgot where I was.

A village in Kenya?

A train station in Mongolia?

The foothills of the Himalayas?

Then I heard the chirping of birds, the sounds of a forest waking, and I suddenly remembered—

“Brooks!”

I pulled myself to my feet and looked around to get my bearings, hoping to see a trail or a view of the falls and anything that might orient me. But all I saw was trees… everywhere.

I looked at my compass. I knew the town was south-west from where we had entered the woods. But the needle couldn’t point me to Brooks. And if he was out here, then so was I. I wasn’t leaving him.

I chose a direction at random, then right or wrong I pressed onward, calling out as loud as I could. “Brooks! Brooks, where are you?”

That’s when I saw it.

A flash of murky red against the green.

I blinked, stepped closer, then raced toward it, my chest hammering.

A bow tie.

Dangling from a branch, tied in a droop of silk… but tied with precision and care. It was muddy, it was ruined, but it was unmistakably Brooks’s.

My pulse spiked. I reached out, fingers brushing the fabric like it was a flare in the dark.

“Brooks,” I whispered. “You clever bastard.”

I lifted my head, scanned ahead—and there it was. Another one, a little further on.

My whole body lit up. The fear didn’t vanish, but for the first time since the mudslide I had something to follow. A trail. A chance.

“Hang on, handsome,” I muttered, breaking into a limping jog. “I’m coming.”

Determinedly I plunged deeper into the woods, chasing the breadcrumb trail of bow ties.