Page 86 of Silent Bones
Officers peeled out of the woods. One of them, DEC Sergeant Marla Grier, approached from the left, already holding a wildlife citation pad high.
“You know that’s out of season, right?” she said casually.
Mack blinked at her like he hadn’t heard. His mouth moved, but nothing came out.
Grier tapped her pen against the notepad. “Got a tag for it?”
He shook his head slowly, still trying to process what was happening.
Another officer stepped behind him, unclipping cuffs.
“That’s a poaching violation,” Grier added. “I’m going to need to check the rest of the property.”
“You can’t, not without?—?”
Noah stepped forward from the trees, holding paper in his hand. “A warrant?”
“Oh, come on, man.” Mack didn’t argue. He didn’t run. He raised his hands, slow and robotic, like every motion had to fight through fog. When the cuffs clicked around his wrists, he didn’t flinch.
McKenzie checked the ATV, glancing at the deer, then at a crude plastic bag tied under the seat, half-hidden, but familiar.
“Bag that,” he said, nodding at the clear wrap inside.
A tech in gloves peeled it out with tongs. “Looks like crystal. Could be cut meth. We’ll test it.”
Noah turned to the cabin. “Okay, start the sweep. Check the shed and the Airstream.”
The shed was what they expected, more cluttered than criminal. Tools, beer cans, a portable generator with loose wires taped down. But ten minutes in, a deputy flagged them.
“Noah,” came the voice over the radio, quiet and crackled. “You’re going to want to come look at this.”
Noah followed the voice, stepping through a thicket of saplings. Behind a collapsed shed and a wall of stacked pallets, toward the old Airstream.
It didn’t take long to get inside.
Then the stink hit them.
Burnt plastic. Ammonia. Acetone. A chemical bouquet that turned the stomach and hit the eyes like pepper spray.
Inside, the space was tight and dim. Busted lab glass coated in residue. Tubing coiled around a propane burner. Melted plastic containers stacked against the rear wall, some crusted white, others still filled with amber sludge. A digital scale with powder still on the tray sat next to a rack of scorched Pyrex cookware.
A portable fan sat in the corner, unplugged, caked in dust and fumes.
Noah covered his mouth with his sleeve.
“This is a lot of product. Definitely not for personal use,” McKenzie muttered behind him. “This was distribution.”
“Yeah,” Noah said.
They backed out.
Mack sat cuffed on a tree stump now, watched by two officers. He didn’t look up when Noah approached. Just stared at the ground like he’d dropped something important and forgotten what it was.
“You’re under arrest,” Noah said evenly. “Meth production, possession with intent, and unlawful hunting on protected land.”
Mack nodded once, like he’d been expecting the moment since before the sun came up. When they lifted him from the stump and guided him toward the cruiser, he glanced once at Noah. There was no fear in his eyes. No anger. It was just a deep, bone-level fatigue. As if the game had ended days ago, and nobody bothered to tell the scoreboard.
He almost looked relieved.
