Strangers

fact, why didn't anyone think of it then?"
        "For one thing," Ginger said, "Dom and I had the enormous benefit of hindsight. We know there was a lot more going on during the days of the crisis than anyone suspected at the time. So we were specifically looking for connections. But that July, all the hoopla about a toxic spill diverted attention from Thunder Hill. Furthermore, there was nothing extraordinary about ranchers fighting the BLM, so nothing in the situation linked it in anyone's mind with the I-80 quarantine. In fact, when the BLM made that totally out-of-character offer to Brust and Dirkson, a Sentinel editorial praised the repentant attitude of the government and prophesied a new age of reason."
        "But from what you've told us," Dom said to Faye and Ernie, "and from what else we've read, that was the first and last time the Bureau of Land Management dealt reasonably with ranchers. So it wasn't a new policy - just a one-time response to a crisis. And it's too coincidental to believe that the crisis evolving at Thunder Hill was unrelated to the crisis simultaneously under way here along the interstate."
        "Besides," Ginger said, "once our suspicion was aroused, we got to thinking that if the trouble that night had been related to Shenkfield, there'd have been no need for the Army to use DERO troops for security. Because the soldiers stationed at Shenkfield would already have full security clearance in all matters related to that base, and there would've been nothing about a Shenkfield crisis too sensitive for them to see. The only reason DERO would've been called in is if the crisis was utterly unrelated to Shenkfield, involving something the soldiers at that base were not cleared for."
        "So if there're answers to our problems," Brendan said, "we'll most likely find them at the Thunder Hill Depository."
        "We already suspected the story about a spill was less than half true," Dom said. "Maybe there was no truth to it at all. Maybe the crisis had nothing to do with Shenkfield. If the real source was Thunder Hill, the rest was just smoke they blew in the public's eyes."
        "It sure feels right," Ernie said. He had finished dinner, too. His silverware was neatly arranged on the plate, which was almost as clean as before dinner, evidence that his military discipline and order had not departed him. "You know, part of my service career was in Marine Intelligence, so I'm speaking with some experience when I say this Shenkfield stuff truly does smack of an elaborate cover-story."
        Ned's frown exaggerated his pronounced widow's peak. "There're a couple of things I don't understand. The quarantine didn't extend from Thunder Hill all the way down here. There were miles of territory in between that weren't sealed off. So how did the effects of an accident on Thunder Hill leap-frog over all that distance and come down on our heads, without causing trouble between there and here?"
        "You're not dull-witted," Dom said. "I can't explain it, either."
        Still frowning, Ned said, "Another thing: The Depository doesn't need a lot of land, does it? From what I've heard, it's underground. They've got a couple of big blast-doors in the side of the hill, a road leading up to the doors, maybe a guard post, and that's it. The three hundred acres you mentioned - the area around the entrance - is plenty big enough for a security zone. So why the land-grab?"
        Dom shrugged. "Beats me. But whatever the hell happened up there on July sixth, it prompted two emergency actions on the part of the Army: first, a temporary quarantine down here, ten or twelve miles away, until we witnesses could be dealt with; second, an immediate enlargement of the security zone around the Depository, up there in the mountains; a secondary quarantine that's still in effect. I have a hunch… if we're ever going to find out what happened to us - what's still happening - we're going to have to dig into the activities up on Thunder Hill."
        They were all silent. Though everyone was finished with dinner, no one was ready for dessert. Marcie was using her spoon to draw circles in the greasy residue of turkey gravy on her plate, creating fluid and temporary moon-forms. No one moved to clear away the dirty dishes, for at this point in the discussion, no one wanted to miss a word. They were at the crux of their dilemma: How were they to move against enemies as mighty as the U S. Government and