A Firm Rivet

A heavy square buckle rested in my pocket, cold against my hip. Near the ruined pump house, a loose sheet of corrugated iron rattled sharply against its cedar framing stud. I paused, exhaling a measured breath behind my mask. Leaning my machete flat against a mossy stone wall, I stepped into the gap. The original iron rivet had sheared, leaving a rusted hole through the metal sheet and into the wood. I retrieved the brass-and-iron buckle and slotted its heavy tongue deep into the bored timber opening, using its wide frame to pin the loose iron down. With one firm push of my palm, the metal stopped shuddering.