Just then, a deep rumble vibrated through the stone floor beneath our feet.

It wasn’t thunder.

It was the steady, rhythmic thrum of a diesel engine idling nearby.

Blake looked up at the ceiling. “That’s a bulldozer. They’re up on the ridge.”

“We have to stop them,” I said, turning toward the stairs.

“You can’t stop them,” Marcus called out after me. “The contracts are signed. The money is wired.”

“I have the key to the cemetery gate,” I said, holding up the brass key on its cord. “And I have the county counsel on my side.”

I scrambled up the stone steps, my wet boots slipping on the risers.

Blake was right behind me, his heavy flashlight beam guiding our way out.

We burst out of the gatehouse into the driving rain.

The air was freezing now, the wind whipping the rain into a frenzy.

Through the darkness, high up on the northern ridge, I could see two bright yellow halos of light.

They were the headlights of heavy machinery, moving slowly across the crest of the hill.