The force was so powerful it threw both men to the ground. A wave of heat rolled over them as the garage door was ripped from its hinges, sending shards of wood and metal flying across the lawn.
Smoke billowed from the wreckage. Neighbors rushed onto their porches, eyes wide, wondering what could have caused such a violent eruption in the middle of a peaceful day.
Brandon stood up, his face pale. “Those aren’t bowling balls, Tom,” he gasped, pointing at the remaining spheres still sitting in the yard.
He explained that these were high-power vintage military items—ordinance from decades ago, buried and forgotten. Every single one of them was a potential hazard, and Tom had been handling them like garden rocks.
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