The material was artificial, but masterfully concealed—a heavy mesh of plastic foliage draped over a hollow space. From a distance, it blended seamlessly with the real plants. But up close, it shifted too easily, revealing a narrow gap behind it. An opening—camouflaged, hidden in plain sight.
Rose pulled the faux hedge aside completely. Beneath it, the soil was flattened and darkened with use. And at the center of the clearing, barely visible beneath a mat of leaves and roots, was a metal hatch, weathered and rust-streaked. A reinforced panel embedded into the ground, square and sealed tight—an entrance to something below.
Rose stared at the hatch, her brain refusing to categorize what her eyes were seeing. It didn’t make sense. She felt suspended in place—too stunned to speak, let alone act. It was the neighbor who finally broke the silence, glancing at her and asking, “Is that… some kind of bunker?”
That question snapped her focus into gear. Her breath steadied. Her hand reached for her phone. Enough was enough. She wasn’t going to guess or speculate or walk down into that space herself. She called the police, her voice clear and controlled. She wanted this handled properly.