Under the Dome

Something cold licked Andrea’s cheek. She pushed it away and turned on her side. For a moment or two she almost escaped back into healing sleep, and then there was bark.

“Shurrup, Horace.” She put the sofa pillow over her head.

There was another bark, and then thirty-four pounds of Corgi landed on her legs.

“Ah!” Andi cried, sitting up. She looked into a pair of brilliant hazel eyes and a foxy, grinning face. Only there was something interrupting that grin. A brown manila envelope. Horace dropped it on her stomach and jumped back down. He wasn’t supposed to get on furniture other than his own, but the deadvoice had made this seem like an emergency.

Andrea picked up the envelope, which had been dented by the points of Horace’s teeth and was faintly marked with the tracks of his paws. There was also a kernel of popcorn stuck to it, which she brushed away. Whatever was inside felt fairly bulky. Printed on the front of the envelope in block letters were the words VADER FILE. Below that, also printed: JULIA SHUMWAY.

“Horace? Where did you get this?”

Horace couldn’t answer that, of course, but he didn’t have to. The kernel of popcorn told her where. A memory surfaced then, one so shimmery and unreal that it was more like a dream. Was it a dream, or had Brenda Perkins really come to her door after that first terrible night of withdrawal? While the food riot was going on at the other end of town?

Will you hold this for me, dear? Just for a little while? I have an errand to run and I don’t want to take it with me.

“She was here,” she told Horace, “and she had this envelope. I took it… at least I think I did… but then I had to throw up. Throw up again. I might have tossed it at the table while I was running for the john. Did it fall off? Did you find it on the floor?”

Horace uttered one sharp bark. It could have been agreement; it could have been I’m ready for more ball if you are.

“Well, thanks,” Andrea said. “Good pup. I’ll give it to Julia as soon as she comes back.”

She no longer felt sleepy, and she wasn’t—for the moment—shivery, either. What she was was curious. Because Brenda was dead. Murdered. And it must have happened not long after she delivered this envelope. Which might make it important.

“I’ll just have a tiny peek, shall I?” she said.

Horace barked again. To Andi Grinnell it sounded like Why not?

Andrea opened the envelope, and most of Big Jim Rennie’s secrets fell out into her lap.

22

Claire got home first. Benny came next, then Norrie. The three of them were sitting together on the porch of the McClatchey house when Joe arrived, cutting across lawns and keeping to the shadows. Benny and Norrie were drinking warm Dr. Brown’s Cream Soda. Claire was nursing a bottle of her husband’s beer as she rocked slowly to and fro on the porch glider. Joe sat down beside her, and Claire put an arm around his bony shoulders. He’s fragile, she thought. He doesn’t know it, but he is. No more to him than a bird.

“Dude,” Benny said, handing him the soda he’d saved for him. “We were startin to get a little worried.”

“Miz Shumway had a few more questions about the box,” Joe said. “More than I could answer, really. Gosh, it’s warm out, isn’t it? Warm as a summer night.” He turned his gaze upward. “And look at that moon. ”

“I don’t want to,” Norrie said. “It’s scary.”

“You okay, honey?” Claire asked.

“Yeah, Mom. You?”

She smiled. “I don’t know. Is this going to work? What do you guys think? I mean really think.”

For a moment none of them answered, and that scared her more than anything. Then Joe kissed her on the cheek and said, “It’ll work.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

She could always tell when he was lying—although she knew the talent might leave her when he was older —but she didn’t call him on it this time. She just kissed him back, her breath warm and somehow fatherly with beer. “Just as long as there’s no bloodshed.”

“No blood,” Joe said.

She smiled. “Okay; that’s good enough for me.”

They sat there in the dark a while longer, saying little. Then they went inside, leaving the town to sleep under the pink moon.

It was just past midnight.

BLOOD EVERYWHERE

1

It was twelve-thirty on the morning of October twenty-sixth when Julia let herself into Andrea’s house. She did it quietly, but there was no need; she could hear music from Andi’s little portable radio: the Staples Singers, kicking holy ass with “Get Right Church.”

Horace came down the hall to greet her, wagging his rear end and grinning that slightly mad grin of which only Corgis seem capable. He bowed before her, paws splayed, and Julia gave him a brief scratch behind the ears— it was his sweet spot.

Andrea was sitting on the couch, drinking a glass of tea.

“Sorry about the music,” she said, turning it down. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“It’s your house, honey,” Julia said. “And for WCIK, that really rocks.”

Andi smiled. “It’s been uptempo gospel ever since this afternoon. I feel like I hit the jackpot. How was your meeting?”

“Good.” Julia sat down.

“Want to talk about it?”

“You don’t need the worry. What you need is to concentrate on feeling better. And you know what? You look a little better.”

It was true. Andi was still pale, and much too thin, but the dark circles under her eyes had faded a little, and the eyes themselves had a new spark. “Thanks for saying so.”

“Was Horace a good boy?”

“Very good. We played ball, and then we both slept a little. If I look better, that’s probably why. Nothing like a nap to improve a girl’s looks.”

“What about your back?”

Andrea smiled. It was an oddly knowing smile, without much humor in it. “My back isn’t bad at all. Hardly a twinge, even when I bend over. Do you know what I think?”

Julia shook her head.

“I think that when it comes to drugs, the body and the mind are co-conspirators. If the brain wants drugs,