The smell of diesel fuel and freshly turned earth grew stronger with every step.

The yellow headlights of a massive John Deere bulldozer cut through the driving rain.

Two police cars came to a halt behind the bulldozer, their tires spinning in the wet clay.

A county vehicle followed them, its headlights bright and white against the dark trees.

Lydia Crane got out of the passenger side of the county car.

She wore a yellow slicker and held a clipboard under a protective plastic sheet.

“Wait!” I yelled, running toward them.

Marcus was standing near the edge of the clearing, shouting at the bulldozer driver.

He wore a heavy canvas jacket, his face flushed and wet with rain.

“Keep digging!” Marcus screamed over the roar of the engine. “We have the permits!”

“Shut it down!” a police officer shouted, stepping out of the lead cruiser.

The officer had his hand on his utility belt, his boots slipping on the steep slope.

Marcus turned around, his eyes wide and angry.

“This is private property,” Marcus said, his voice cracking. “Get these people off my land.”