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 technicallyblowthe 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.”
“Copy that,” Ronnie said. “Team two moving east on the old fire road.”
“No, sweetie, that’s not what he said at all.” Everyone heard Lonnie over the comms. “He said team three is taking the ridge road… oh wait… maybe it was team six. Wait a minute, how many teams are there?”
“I thinkwe’reteam six,” Ronnie said. “I mean, Sheriff Garrett didn’t explicitly say that, but I feel like we’ve earned team status, so I think it’s fair to say that—”
“Team one is now moving south at the old fire road,” Harry repeated, firm but calm. “Over.”
“Got it!” was Ronnie’s only response.
We took the south path. The ground was damp and uneven with tree roots. Our beams caught damp bark and curled ferns. Everything that caught the light seemed too close, everything beyond our torch beams felt unknown and frightening.
We walked for what seemed like a long time; in reality it might have been ten minutes, or it might have been an hour.
Behind us, the other flashlights grew smaller and smaller, then disappeared altogether.
So did their voices.
We called Brooks’s name in a staggered pattern, not too often, the way Sheriff Garrett had said to, to conserve the quiet for listening.
We crested a small rise. Harry halted us again and crouched. He shone his flashlight and ran his fingers through a patch of disturbed leaves like a man reading a Braille book.
