“Keep animals away.”
“Already moved.”
“I’ll come.”
Thomas arrived forty-five minutes later.
He examined from a distance first.
Then approached.
The exposed curve was unmistakable.
Steel drum.
Old.
Corroded.
Still intact where visible.
Thomas looked at Clara.
“How deep?”
“No idea.”
“Who buried it?”
“No idea.”
“You have historical waste pits?”
“Not that I know.”
“Fuel storage?”
“No.”
“Family ever use drums for trash burning?”
“Yes, but not buried.”
Thomas photographed it.
Then called the state agriculture department.
Clara stood beside him.
“That's necessary?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Unknown agricultural container in orchard soil.”
“It could be empty.”
“Yes.”
“It could be harmless.”
“Yes.”
“You always answer like this?”
“Yes.”
Clara almost laughed.
Then another pig began grunting at the fence.
Thomas pointed.
“Move them farther.”
They waited.
The state inspector arrived that afternoon.
Then environmental personnel.
Nobody dug casually.
That irritated Clara.
She understood why.
Still.
The thing was on her farm.
She wanted to know.
By sunset, the area was marked off.
The next morning, controlled excavation began.
Clara watched from behind the boundary.
Ray Dalton arrived uninvited.
Of course.
“What happened?”
“Pigs found a drum.”
Ray stared.
“What?”
“You heard.”
He looked toward the excavator.
“Your father's?”
“Don't know.”
“Fuel?”
“Don't know.”
Ray frowned.
“Your pigs dug it up?”
“Yes.”
He laughed once.
Clara glared.
“Sorry.”
He pointed.
“I said they'd destroy something.”
She did not answer.
The excavator removed soil carefully.
More steel appeared.
Then another curved edge.
Thomas stopped moving.
Clara felt cold.
Not one drum.
At least two.
Excavation widened.
Three.
Then four.
All buried together.
Older agricultural drums.
Some labels destroyed.
One partly readable.
The inspector approached with a camera.
He cleaned only enough exterior dirt to read the surviving label without disturbing the container.
Clara could see faded lettering.
A distributor name.
Not immediately familiar.
Then a smaller stamp.
MERCER AGRICULTURAL DISTRIBUTION.
Clara stopped breathing.
Ray moved closer.
“No.”
Thomas looked at her.
“You know that name?”
Clara answered quietly.
“Wade.”
The inspector turned.
“Current supplier?”
“Yes.”
“Same company?”
“I think his father started it.”