She fumbled for her phone with trembling hands, voice breaking as she called 911. Walter could hear her struggling to explain between panicked breaths: buried explosives, rusted grenades, a metal box that shouldn’t exist. The operator’s tone changed immediately—sharp, urgent, and commanding.
Marie pulled Walter onto the porch steps, insisting he stay seated and still. His hands shook uncontrollably. He kept replaying the moment the shovel hit metal, imagining shards of rusted steel erupting outward. What if the bombs detonate? The world around him felt fragile, as though the ground itself held its breath.