Lemony and warm, like microwaved lemonade, the taste flooded Anton’s mouth. Wobbling, he wrabbed the nearest postcard rack to right himself. Not again? Anton thought.

With careful steps Anton headed to the lighthouse’s deep window seat. He took a shuddering breath. His fingers were a bit swollen from his rheumtoid artritis. Flexing, Anton told himself that was why he was feeling poorly. Outside the pane, another beautiful morning on Tybee washed in. He needed to pull himself together to open his gift shop.

Annie walked into the retail space from the backroom. Stiffening at the sight of her dad, Annie willed herself not to go to him. Instead she hurried to the cashier counter and busied herself with wiping off non-existent fingerprints.

“Heard on the radio it’s going to rain in Savannah. Probably be a light day for visitors,” Annie said.

Anton sucked his teeth.

“Young people always looking to get out of work,” Anton said.

“you’re the one sitting on your hip bones,” Annie shot back.

They laughed. At fifty-five, Annie didn’t think anyone would consider her young people but it made her smile anyways. Her dad was staring out of the window at some spot over the ocean. Unease prickled up her spine. She straightened the custom name key chains.

Ever since he was a boy, Anton would get odd feelings, a taste or smell. Then he knew. Visitors were coming.

Strange lights that only he would see would appear over the ocean. Accrid burnt hair smoke filled the old man’s nostrils. Anton gasped. A blue light shot from the bottom of a cloud cleaving the ocean. His body trembled but nothing swayed in his gift shop.

Something slithy lifted from the ocean. The sound of a a B-52 bomber crashed around Anton. He closed his eyes but his knowledge of history told him what was pulled from ocean floor.

Twenty minutes from Savannah, Tybee Island was known for its 18th century working lighthouse, its picturesque beaches, and an lost atomic bomb from a plane accident never recovered. All his days something had been trying to retrieve the 7,600 pound missile mired beneath feets of sand.

Anton stood. Annie unlocked the front door for Brandy the lighthouse tour guide. Soon tourists would arrive to take photos and ask the same questions. He took up his position behind his cash register. A question came to the old man.

“Will they go after the other seven?’ Anton said quietly.

“You said something, Dad?”

“I said turn over the Open sign, baby girl. It’s not going rain today.”