Etter loved his job, considered himself a craftsman and was giving it his all on his current contract: Phase Three of Stonewater Meadows. The new subdivision and golf course had been approved for a rezoned, undeveloped swath of land near Miami International Airport, or MIA as many people called it.

Etter had already worked on Phase One in the distance where the newly built homes were completed. Families had moved into some of them. He liked being part of creating new neighborhoods and often envisioned the lives that would evolve in them.

Now he had to focus because there were a lot of variables, and he never wanted to work the earth more than what the job called for. All the while, he had to be mindful of slopes, moisture in the soil and how it reacted to the blade.

The specifications of the job called for him to skim to a depth of twelve inches, and he’d anticipated what his blade would do before he dropped it. Figuring on six or seven passes, he’d watch for high spots, or areas that needed cutting, and areas that needed filling. He’d work passes in both directions to avoid deadheading and watch for side drift.

It was going well, and the sun had climbed by the time he made his fifth pass. He was being careful to see how the soil rolled. He liked to have it well compacted because it made trimming easier. If there was one thing he disliked, it was carrying large clumps of material for long stretches.

Like now.

Etter cursed. It had been too good to be true. He had some serious clumping going on.

Studying the pile growing before the blade, he suddenly stopped. What is that? He’d caught something. Cursing again, he shifted to Neutral, letting the big engine idle, engaged his brake and opened the door of his cab to inspect what he’d unearthed.

In his years on the job, Etter had dug up just about everything. You name it. Dogs, cats, deer, cows, old stoves, washers, fridges, cars, even a steel safe.

As he climbed down, wispy clouds of dust pushed by hot, humid wind swirled around his machine. Jetliners roared overhead. The rattle-grind, clanking, thudding and staccato thwopping of nail guns sounded in the distance, where work on new homes was going full throttle. The echo of it underscored that Etter was alone where he stood.

He turned to the clumped earth expecting to find a dog, a deer, maybe a cow, when he blinked as if his eyes were wrong.

What the hell did I churn up?