The sand crumbled beneath the brush as the archaeologist gently moved it back and forth, his face set in an intense grimace.

This could be it. The find of my career.

He thought of all the years that had brought him to this moment. All the nights he had spent in the library, pouring over books the archaeological community had dismissed as rubbish. They had called him crazy. Said he was wasting his time.

But he hadn’t given up.

The obsession had started in his childhood, when he had first heard the stories. No one had ever really believed them. Except for him.

And now, here he was.

At last, the piece he had been digging at for hours broke free.

It looked a lot like a mailbox.

With trembling fingers, he traced the word etched on its side: “The Flintstones.”

He set it down next to his other big find of the day, a contraption with pillars for wheels that resembled a primitive car.

He took off his brown fedora and mopped his brow.

A noise echoed from farther up the canyon. The Nazis were coming.