Page 79 of The Nook for Brooks
“Oh god, are you telling me I’m going to die with a broken heel?”
The bear roared again.
“No,” I said. “We’re telling you to climb! Now!”
Bea didn’t have to be told twice.
With a shriek, she hiked her gown to mid-thigh and launched herself at the tree.
Branches cracked, fabric ripped, and her turban began to unravel in slow motion, spooling down like a sad party streamer at a dud New Year’s Eve party.
She clawed at the bark, cracking the last of her nails, and gave a very unladylike grunt as she flopped onto a limb a few feet below us, gown shredded, lipstick smeared, clinging with both arms and legs to the branch.
All the while, the bear just sat there, grinning at all three of us now.
Bea cocked her head in our direction. “If anyone asks how I got up here,” she said firmly. “I floated.”
At that moment, we heard another sound coming from the bushes.
It was a strange, exhausted chirp.
No, not a chirp… it was more of a slow, strained squeak.
In, out.
Up, down.
In, out.
Up, down.
Squeeeeak-squeeeeeeeeeak.
That’s when Maggie came stumbling out of the bushes.
Her camouflage was ripped at the seams, her boots were caked in swamp muck, and zip-lock bags of puppy chow swung off her rucksack like the saddest Christmas ornaments you’d ever seen.
Exhausted, she spat the whistle out of her mouth and let it hang around her neck, wheezing with every breath as she staggered forward before stopping, hands on her knees, muttering to herself between gasps. “I knew I shouldn’t have stopped to refill my canteen from that stagnant creek. By the time I finished gagging, Bud and Pascal were gone. Now it’s just me and forty pounds of puppy chow.”
“Pssst! Maggie!” Bea hissed from the branch above, flapping her hand.
Maggie looked up, blinking hard. When she spotted us, her whole face cracked into a grin, standing with her back to thebear, completely oblivious to its presence. “Well, I’ll be damned. I’m not alone after all. What are y’all doing up a tree?”
Unfortunately, the bear was not oblivious to Maggie… nor the sweet smell that wafted from the bags of puppy chow attached to her backpack.
Finally, it rose to its feet, nose twitching in the air.
“Maggie!” Cody hissed urgently, jabbing his finger behind her.
She gave him a confused look. “What is this, charades?” Confusion turned to excitement. “Oh my god, I love charades. I’m the best at this game. Two words? First word—”
“No, Maggie, behind—” I started to say, as we all pointed frantically.
“Sh-sh-sh! That’s cheating. You’re not allowed to talk. First word—point. Point Break! Patrick Swayze! Ghost! Sex with clay!”
“Maggie!” I shouted. “Behind you!”
She turned lazily, annoyed at the disruption to the game. “What? What’s behind—”
