Page 130 of Now and Then

We do a quick sweep of the property. The mill’s been closed nearly twenty years, the once white metal facade now covered in rust. Shards of glass cover the asphalt beneath the few office windows. It’s nothing but a skeleton of what used to be a functioning business, and it doesn’t look much different than it did a few days ago.

Chris peers through a busted office window. “This place still gives me the creeps.”

The office is barely more than a supply room with an exterior and interior door and a narrow window that looks into the main warehouse. I’d hoped it would give us a better look at the interior of the lumber mill but no such luck.

Technically, the property is still owned by Pinedale Lumber, and without a new warrant, we don’t have grounds to enter the building unless something happens and we have probable cause.

“We should get set up,” Chris says.

We head back to our SUV hidden behind a copse of trees. It’s not a perfect location, but far enough off the road that we’ll see them before they see us.

Hours pass. The cab grows stifling. “I’m getting air.” Chris steps out, stretches, and slowly walks toward the edge of trees.

I’m watching him when headlights briefly flash across the property. Chris spins and sprints back as a large box truck rolls through the gate.

The engine cuts. A man in head-to-toe black jumps out of the driver’s seat and shouts into his phone, pacing and gesturing wildly. With sunglasses and a hat low on his head, it’s hard to get a good look at his face.

Chris presses his binoculars to his eyes. “He looks like he’s in a good mood.”

I elbow him to be quiet.

The man ends his call and disappears around the corner of the main building. Over a half hour passes, but he never returns.

Chris lowers the binoculars. “Should we take a closer look?”

“Yeah, but be careful.”

We slip from the SUV, leaving the doors cracked, and draw our weapons. We creep to the back of the box truck. The rear doors are locked.

“You smell that?” Chris murmurs.

I do. A sharp chemical bite burns my nostrils.

I nod in the direction the man disappeared. We slowly round the corner of the building and find a sliver of light leaking from a side entrance.

“We don’t have a warrant,” Chris murmurs.

“We’re not going in,” I say. “Just looking.”

Chris eases the door open enough for us to see inside. A whiff of something hits me hard. My headache that’s been simmering all day spikes. “Fuck.”

Chris approaches on my right. “Is that—? Shit. That’s ether. And acetone.”

I look past the crates near the door. Inside, folding tables stretch across the warehouse floor. Glass flasks, tubing, and portable burners sit arranged beside chemical barrels. Coffee filters are piled beside plastic bins. Plastic piping snakes toward a window fan taped into place for ventilation.

My stomach sinks. “This isn’t a supply shipment. It’s the damn lab.”

The speed of it—how they got everything set up in a couple of days—only makes me more suspicious. These guys aren’t beginners. Whoever they are or whoever they’re working for knows how to move fast.

Movement inside the warehouse startles us. A shadow crosses the doorway, followed by the metallic crash of something being knocked over. We don’t wait. Instead, we turn and race back to our SUV.

“That’s a lot of chemicals, right?” Chris asks as he slams his door, grabbing his binoculars from the dash.

“Enough to light this whole place up.” I send Chief a text. He doesn’t want us making a move, especially if the people currently here are the grunts. Better to wait it out for the big guns. We’re to stand down and gather intel.

Soon, more vehicles arrive at the lumber mill. The same man we saw earlier emerges and directs the others to unload the box truck. Inside are boxes and unmarked barrels of what we can only assume are more chemicals.

Just after midnight, it happens.