Strangers

beneath the surface of the sea.
        After Brenda Hennerling explained the filing system to them and left them alone to do their work, Ginger said, "I'm so caught up in our problems that I keep forgetting you're a famous author."
        "So do I," Dom said, reading the labels on the filing cabinets that held issues of past Sentinels. "But of course, I'm not famous."
        "Soon will be. It's a shame: With all that's happening to us, you're getting no chance to savour the publication of your first novel."
        He shrugged. "This isn't a picnic for any of us. You've had to put an entire medical career on hold."
        "Yes, but now I know I'll be able to go back to medicine once we've dug to the bottom of this," Ginger said, as if there was no doubt they would triumph over their enemies. By now, Dom knew that conviction and determination were as much a part of her as the blueness of her eyes. "But this is your first book."
        Dom had not yet recovered from his embarrassment at being treated like a celebrity by the receptionist. Now Ginger's kind comments kept a blush on his cheeks. However, this was not the mark of embarrassment; it was an indication of the intense pleasure he took in being the object of her concern. No woman had ever affected him as this one did.
        Together, they went through the file drawers and removed the pertinent back issues of the Sentinel. They would not need to use the microfilm reader, for the newspaper was running two years behind in the transferral to film. They withdrew a full week's editions, beginning with Saturday, July 7, of the summer before last, and took them to one of the desks, where they both pulled up chairs.
        Although the unremembered event that they had witnessed, and the possible contamination, and the closure of I80 had happened on Friday night, July 6, the Saturday paper carried no report of the toxic spill. The Sentinel was primarily a source of local and state news and, though it included some national and international material, was not interested in fast-breaking stories. Its halls would never ring with that dramatic cry, "Stop press!" There would be no last-minute recomposition of the front page. The pace of life in Elko County was rural, relaxed, sensible, and no one felt a burning need to be breathlessly up-to-the-minute on anything. The Sentinel was put to bed late in the evening, for distribution in the morning; therefore, since no Sunday edition was published, the story of the toxic spill and the closure of I-80 did not appear until the edition of Monday, July 9.
        But Monday's and Tuesday's editions were emblazoned with urgent headlines: TOXIC SPILL CLOSES I-80, and ARMY ESTABLISHES QUARANTINE ZONE, and NERVE GAS LEAKING FROM DAMAGED TRUCK?, and ARMY SAYS EVERYONE EVACUATED FROM DANGER ZONE, and WHERE ARE EVACUEES?, and SHENKFIELD ARMY TESTING GROUNDS: WHAT REALLY GOES ON THERE?, and I-80 CLOSURE ENTERS FOURTH DAY, and CLEAN-UP ALMOST FINISHED; HIGHWAY OPEN BY NOON.
        For both Dom and Ginger, it was eerie to read about these events that had transpired during days when they remembered nothing more than relaxing quietly at the Tranquility Motel. As Dom read about the crisis, he became convinced Ginger's theory was correct; it seemed obvious that the mind-control technicians would have needed an extra week or two in order to have incorporated this elaborate toxic-spill cover story into the phony memories of both Elko County locals and passers-through, and there was no way they could have kept the highway closed and the area sealed tight for that long.
        The edition of Wednesday, July 11, continued the saga: I-80 OPENS!, and QUARANTINE REMOVED: NO LONG-TERM CONTAMINATION, and FIRST EVACUEES LOCATED: THEY SAW NOTHING.
        Editions of the Sentinel, distinctly a small-town paper, averaged between sixteen and thirty-two pages. During those days in July, most of its news space was given to reports of the toxic crisis, for this event had drawn reporters from all over the country, and the low-key Sentinel found itself at the center of a big story. Poring over that wealth of material, Dom and Ginger discovered a lot that was pertinent to their quest and that would help them plan their next move.
        For one thing, the degree of security imposed by the United States Army was soberly instructive of the lengths to which they would go to keep the lid on the truth. Although it was not strictly within their