Under the Dome

“Come on, Dad,” he told Alden. “Don’t quit on me now. Squeeze the neck. Compression on the wound. Let’s stop the bleeding.”

Compression might drive the fragment that had taken the kid’s eye deeper in, but Rusty would worry about that later. If, that was, the kid didn’t die right out here on the grass.

From nearby—but oh so far—one of the soldiers finally spoke up. Barely out of his teens, he looked terrified and sorry. “We tried to stop him. Boy didn’t listen. There wasn’t nothing we could do.”

Pete Freeman, his Nikon dangling by his knee on its strap, favored this young warrior with a smile of singular bitterness. “I think we know that. If we didn’t before, we sure do now.”

4

Before Barbie could melt into the crowd, Mel Searles grabbed him by the arm.

“Take your hand off me,” Barbie said mildly.

Searles showed his teeth in his version of a grin. “In your dreams, Fucko.” Then he raised his voice. “Chief! Hey, Chief!”

Peter Randolph turned toward him impatiently, frowning.

“This guy interfered with me while I was trying to secure the scene. Can I arrest him?”

Randolph opened his mouth, possibly to say Don’t waste my time. Then he looked around. Jim Rennie had finally joined the little group watching Everett work on the boy. Rennie gave Barbie the flat stare of a reptile on a rock, then looked back at Randolph and nodded slightly.

Mel saw it. His grin widened. “Jackie? Officer Wettington, I mean? Can I borrow a pair of your cuffs?”

Junior and the rest of his crew were also grinning. This was better than watching some bleeding kid, and a lot better than policing a bunch of holy rollers and dumbbells with signs. “Payback’s a bitch, Baaaar -bie,” Junior said.

Jackie looked dubious. “Pete—Chief, I mean—I think the guy was only trying to h—”

“Cuff him up,” Randolph said. “We’ll sort out what he was or wasn’t trying to do later. In the meantime, I want this mess shut down.” He raised his voice. “It’s over, folks! You’ve had your fun, and see what it’s come to! Now go home! ”

Jackie was removing a set of plasticuffs from her belt (she had no intention of handing them to Mel Searles, would put them on herself) when Julia Shumway spoke up. She was standing just behind Randolph and Big Jim (in fact, Big Jim had elbowed her aside on his way to where the action was).

“I wouldn’t do that, Chief Randolph, unless you want the PD embarrassed on the front page of the Democrat. ” She was smiling her Mona Lisa smile. “With you so new to the job and all.”

“What are you talking about?” Randolph asked. His frown was deeper now, turning his face into a series of unlovely crevices.

Julia held up her camera—a slightly older version of Pete Free-man’s. “I have quite a few pictures of Mr. Barbara assisting Rusty Everett with that wounded child, a couple of Officer Searles hauling Mr. Barbara off for no discernible reason… and one of Officer Sear-les punching Mr. Barbara in the mouth. Also for no discernible reason. I’m not much of a photographer, but that one is really quite good. Would you like to see it, Chief Randolph? You can; the camera’s digital.”

Barbie’s admiration for her deepened, because he thought she was running a bluff. If she’d been taking pictures, why was she holding the lenscap in her left hand, as if she’d just taken it off?

“It’s a lie, Chief,” Mel said. “He tried to take a swing at me. Ask Junior.”

“I think my pictures will show that young Mr. Rennie was involved in crowd control and had his back turned when the punch landed,” Julia said.

Randolph was glowering at her. “I could take your camera away,” he said. “Evidence.”

“You certainly could,” she agreed cheerily, “and Pete Freeman would take a picture of you doing it. Then you could take Pete’s camera… but everyone here would see you do it.”

“Whose side are you on here, Julia?” Big Jim asked. He was smiling his fierce smile—the smile of a shark about to take a bite out of some plump swimmer’s ass.

Julia turned her own smile on him, the eyes above it as innocent and enquiring as a child’s. “Are there sides, James? Other than over there”—she pointed at the watching soldiers —“and in here?”

Big Jim considered her, his lips now bending the other way, a smile in reverse. Then he flapped one disgusted hand at Randolph.

“I guess we’ll let it slide, Mr. Barbara,” Randolph said. “Heat of the moment.”

“Thanks,” Barbie said.

Jackie took her glowering young partner’s arm. “Come on, Officer Searles. This part’s over. Let’s move these people back.”

Searles went with her, but not before turning to Barbie and making the gesture: finger pointing, head cocked slightly. We ain’t done yet, Sunshine.

Rommie’s assistant Toby Manning and Jack Evans appeared, carrying a makeshift stretcher made out of canvas and tent poles. Rommie opened his mouth to ask what the hell they thought they were doing, then closed it again. The field day had been canceled anyway, so what the hell.

5

Those with cars got into them. Then they all tried to drive away at the same time.

Predictable, Joe McClatchey thought. Totally predictable.

Most of the cops worked to unclog the resulting traffic jam, although even a bunch of kids (Joe was standing with Benny Drake and Norrie Calvert) could tell that the new and improved Five-O had no idea what it was doing. The sound of po-po curses came clear on the summery air (“Can’t you back that sonofawhore UP!”). In spite of the mess, nobody seemed to be laying on their horns. Most folks were probably too bummed to beep.

Benny said, “Look at those idiots. How many gallons of gas do you think they’re blowing out their tailpipes? Like they think the supply’s endless.”

“Word,” Norrie said. She was a tough kid, a smalltown riot grrrl with a modified Tennessee Tophat mullet ’do, but now she only looked pale and sad and scared. She took Benny’s hand. Scarecrow Joe’s heart broke, then remended itself in an instant when she took his as well.

“There goes the guy who almost got arrested,” Benny said, pointing with his free hand. Barbie and the newspaper lady were trudging across the field toward the makeshift parking lot with sixty or eighty other people, some dragging their protest signs dispiritedly behind them.

“Nancy Newspaper wasn’t taking pictures at all, y’know,” Scarecrow Joe said. “I was standing right behind her. Pretty foxy.”

“Yeah,” Benny said, “but I still wouldn’t want to be him. Until this shit ends, the cops can do pretty much what they want.”

That was true, Joe reflected. And the new cops weren’t particularly nice guys. Junior Rennie, for example. The story of Sloppy Sam’s arrest was already making the rounds.

“What are you saying?” Norrie asked Benny.

“Nothing right now. It’s still cool right now.” He considered. “Fairly cool. But if this goes on… remember Lord of the Flies?” They had read it for honors English.

Benny intoned: “‘Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Bash her in.’ People call cops pigs, but I’ll tell you what I think, I think cops find pigs when the shit gets deep. Maybe