Under the Dome

“What’s that about?” Andy asked. And before Big Jim could answer: “The factory? Is it the meth—”

“Shut up.”

Andy fell back a step, shocked. Big Jim had never told him to shut up before. This could be bad.

“One thing at a time,” Big Jim said, and marched forward toward the next problem.

3

Watching Rennie come, Barbie’s first thought was He walks like a man who’s sick and doesn’t know it. He also walked like a man who has spent his life kicking ass. He was wearing his most carnivorously sociable smile as he took Brenda’s hands and gave them a squeeze. She allowed this with calm good grace.

“Brenda,” he said. “My deepest condolences. I would have been over to see you before now… and of course I’ll be at the funeral… but I’ve been a little busy. We all have.”

“I understand,” she said.

“We miss Duke so much,” Big Jim said.

“That’s right,” Andy put in, pulling up behind Big Jim: a tugboat in the wake of an ocean liner. “We sure do.”

“Thank you both so much.”

“And while I’d love to discuss your concerns… I can see that you have them….” Big Jim’s smile widened, although it did not come within hailing distance of his eyes. “We have a very important meeting. Andrea, I wonder if you’d like to run on ahead and set out those files.”

Although pushing fifty, Andrea at that moment looked like a child who has been caught sneaking hot tarts off a windowsill. She started to get up (wincing at the pain in her back as she did so), but Brenda took her arm, and firmly. Andrea sat back down.

Barbie realized that both Grinnell and Sanders looked frightened to death. It wasn’t the Dome, at least not at this moment; it was Rennie. Again he thought: This is not as bad as it gets.

“I think you’d better make time for us, James,” Brenda said pleasantly. “Surely you understand that if this wasn’t important—very—I’d be at home, mourning my husband.”

Big Jim was at a rare loss for words. The people on the street who’d been watching the sunset were now watching this impromptu meeting instead. Perhaps elevating Barbara to an importance he did not deserve simply because he was sitting in close proximity to the town’s Third Selectman and the late Police Chief’s widow. Passing some piece of paper among themselves as if it were a letter from the Grand High Pope of Rome. Whose idea had this public display been? The Perkins woman’s, of course. Andrea wasn’t smart enough. Nor brave enough to cross him in such a public way.

“Well, maybe we can spare you a few minutes. Eh, Andy?”

“Sure,” Andy said. “Always a few minutes for you, Mrs. Perkins. I’m really sorry about Duke.”

“And I’m sorry about your wife,” she said gravely.

Their eyes met. It was a genuine Tender Moment, and it made Big Jim feel like tearing his hair out. He knew he wasn’t supposed to let such feelings grip him—it was bad for his blood pressure, and what was bad for his blood pressure was bad for his heart—but it was hard, sometimes. Especially when you’d just been handed a note from a fellow who knew far too much and now believed God wanted him to speak to the town. If Big Jim was right about what had gotten into Coggins’s head, this current business was piddling by comparison.

Only it might not be piddling. Because Brenda Perkins had never liked him, and Brenda Perkins was the widow of a man who was now perceived in town—for absolutely no good reason—as a hero. The first thing he had to do—

“Come on inside,” he said. “We’ll talk in the conference room.” His eyes flicked to Barbie. “Are you a part of this, Mr. Barbara? Because I can’t for the life of me understand why.”

“This may help,” Barbie said, holding out the sheets of paper they’d been passing around. “I used to be in the Army. I was a lieutenant. It seems that I’ve had my term of service extended. I’ve also been given a promotion.”

Rennie took the sheets, holding them by the corner as if they might be hot. The letter was considerably more elegant than the grubby note Richie Killian had handed him, and from a rather more well-known correspondent. The heading read simply: FROM THE WHITE HOUSE. It bore today’s date.

Rennie felt the paper. A deep vertical crease had formed between his bushy eyebrows. “This isn’t White House stationery.”

Of course it is, you silly man, Barbie was tempted to say. It was delivered an hour ago by a member of the FedEx Elf Squad. Crazy little fucker just teleported through the Dome, no problem.

“No, it’s not.” Barbie tried to keep his voice pleasant. “It came by way of the Internet, as a PDF file. Ms. Shumway downloaded it and printed it out.”

Julia Shumway. Another troublemaker.

“Read it, James,” Brenda said quietly. “It’s important.”

Big Jim read it.

4

Benny Drake, Norrie Calvert, and Scarecrow Joe McClatchey stood outside the offices of the Chester’s Mill Democrat. Each had a flash-light. Benny and Joe held theirs in their hands; Norrie’s was tucked into the wide front pocket of her hoodie. They were looking up the street at the Town Hall, where several people—including all three selectmen and the cook from Sweetbriar Rose—appeared to be having a conference.

“I wonder what that’s about,” Norrie said.

“Grownup shit,” Benny said, with a supreme lack of interest, and knocked on the door of the newspaper office. When there was no response, Joe pushed past him and tried the knob. The door opened. He knew at once why Miz Shumway hadn’t heard them; her copier was going full blast while she talked with the paper’s sports reporter and the guy who had been taking pictures out at the field day.

She saw the kids and waved them in. Single sheets were shooting rapidly in the copier’s tray. Pete Freeman and Tony Guay were taking turns pulling them out and stacking them up.

“There you are,” Julia said. “I was afraid you kids weren’t coming. We’re almost ready. If the damn copier doesn’t shit the bed, that is.”

Joe, Benny, and Norrie received this enchanting bon mot with silent appreciation, each resolving to put it to use as soon as possible.

“Did you get permission from your folks?” Julia asked. “I don’t want a bunch of angry parents on my neck.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Norrie said. “All of us did.”

Freeman was tying up a bundle of sheets with twine. Doing a bad job of it, too, Norrie observed. She herself could tie five different knots. Also fishing flies. Her father had shown her. She in turn had shown him how to do nosies on her rail, and when he fell off the first time he’d laughed until tears rolled down his face. She thought she had the best dad in the universe.

“Want me to do that?” Norrie asked.

“If you can do a better job, sure.” Pete stood aside.

She started forward, Joe and Benny crowding close behind her. Then she saw the big black headline on the one-sheet extra, and stopped. “Holy shit!”