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When I got my hands on her, I blew out a long breath. She was fine. But she was standing in front of dozens of heavy-duty clear plastic storage totes stacked along one wall.
But instead of sports equipment or gardening tools most people stored in these types of things, the bins were filled with plastic bags.
She snapped open the closest one and plucked a baggie out of it.
My lungs seized when she held it up between us. “Is that what I think it is?” I croaked.
“Look,” she said, shuffling so we were side by side and using the flashlight to study the contents of the bag. “See the imprint on the pill? TheMwith a square around it? That’s Fentanyl.”
What the fuck? What were massive boxes of pills doing hiding in the woods? “Are you sure?”
Hazel was obviously an expert in the opioid epidemic, but these could be anything, right?
She gave me a wary look. “I wish I didn’t know these things. But I am 100 percent sure.” She put the bag back and replaced the lid on the storage tote. “We gotta call the police.” Nudging me toward the stairs, she surveyed the space around us. “Don’t touch anything. We’ve got to get out of here and call for help.” She snapped a few more photos with her phone before powering it off again.
I helped her out, then closed the heavy door with a clang. We left the lock in the dirt and jogged back to the cabin, hearts and minds racing. For years, we had known opioids were coming in from Canada. Was this where people had been stashing drugs? No wonder the trails were in such good condition.
I turned on the radio I’d set on the counter the previous night. “Base camp, this is Remy Gagnon,” I said into the microphone. I waited for a response, clasping Hazel’s hand, unable to fathom not keeping a hold on her right now. “Do you read me?”
Seconds later, it crackled to life. Gagnon Lumber had someone scheduled to monitor our set radio frequency twenty-four hours a day. With no cell phones and no internet out here, it was a safety precaution we took seriously.
“Read you, Remy. This is Richard. Over.”
“I need you to contact Henri and law enforcement ASAP. Hazel and I found a storage compartment filled with guns and pills. Over.”
“What the fuck?”
I laughed. Of course that would be Richard’s response.
“This place is impossible to find. Call Henri now. I’ll wait for instructions. Over.”
“Copy that. Calling Henri.”
I paced around the cabin for a few minutes, processing everything we’d discovered. A secret cabin? Unmapped trails? Guns and drugs? Hazel and I had just stumbled into something huge. Had this been what my dad was working on before he died?
Hazel, who’d managed to escape my hold, had been meticulously reviewing his research. She’d found the photos of the cabin and the maps of this area mixed in with stacks of paperwork he’d collected.
Before I could ask her to walk me through the clues, the radio crackled and Henri’s annoyed voice came through.
“Remy. This is Henri. Over.”
“Go for Remy. Over.”
“What the fuck is going on up there? Over.”
“Using maps Hazel got from Dad’s notes, we found a remote cabin off some trails from the Nowhere Road past mile marker 111. While we were checking things out, we found a hidden bunker filled with guns and drugs. You gotta get the police up here ASAP. Over.”
“Copy that. I’m with Paz. He’s on the phone with our state police contact. Are you safe? Over.”
“Yes. This place is remote, and it doesn’t look like anyone has been up here in ages. Even the firewood is old. We were going to take the ATV back to camp. Over.”
“Don’t. Stand by. Over.”
Through the crackling and static of the radio, other voices echoed. Paz, definitely, and maybe one more.
“Remy. The staties have a unit up near Baxter State Park that can meet you in an hour or two. Can you take the ATV back to the Nowhere Road? Over.”
“Wilco. Tell them I’ll meet them at mile marker 111. They’ll need ATVs. Trucks won’t fit on this trail. Over.”
