Michael Malone - Weebly

Bredforet Pond. And there he found his land was
plowed and packed. It was cordoned with steel-link,
barbed-wire fencing. At intervals metal signs warned
trespassers to keep out of Restricted U.S. Government
Property. At some distance, stark in the denuded earth,
two big aluminum buildings had glared at him.
Senselessly substantial, they stood where there had
always been nothing but the land over which the geese
flew. Around the buildings, in bulldozed earth gutted
with tire tracks, craters of red mud puddled the ground.
Flowers and baby pines had been planted in an attempt
at landscaping. Stumps of trees, still oozy from the saw,
stuck up everywhere. Beside the longer building,
dozens of unboxed crates and barrels rose in orderly
piles. There was even a red Coca-Cola machine and a
basketball hoop. A young man in a white coat walked
out of a side door and across to the second building.
He was eating a sandwich.
It made no sense, but it had to make sense.
Ransom decided that there must be an entrance to this
compound from its northernmost point, farthest from
Route 3 and Dingley Falls. It meant there had to be