Estelle pushed the stacked crates to the side, whatever they had once held had long ago been ransacked. She pushed again, harder, kicking her foot into the slats; they gave easily, the rotting wood splintering into soft shards.
A few curse words flew from her lips as she leaned against the cold concrete wall to peruse the splotched remains of paint jobs and renovations.
“So this used to be an observation tower in the 1940s.” She tilted her head back, her long neck turning slowly as she studied the worn remnants of the three story tower, one of the last remaining artifacts from a time when Topsail Island was used by the military.
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