The foreman’s jaw tightened as they lifted it out. Minutes later, another was found. And another. Before long, the pit was dotted with stacked wooden crates, their stenciled markings barely visible through the rust. Someone from the county museum arrived, murmuring about old military storage. The words Civil War era passed between the inspectors.
Walter watched from his porch, stunned. The very thing that had haunted his past had been lying beneath their boots all along. He hadn’t caused the explosion. The land itself had. Methane pockets, decaying munitions, time. His little act of rebellion had merely uncovered what history had hidden.