Under the Dome

Carter Thibodeau had been waiting for this. He was still standing in front of Rennie, shielding him with his body, but he had drawn his gun and laid it over his forearm. Now he squeezed the trigger, and the troublesome woman in the red dress—the one who had caused this ruckus—went flying backward.

The Town Hall was in chaos, but Carter ignored it. He descended the stairs and walked steadily to where the woman in the red dress had fallen. When people came running down the center aisle, he threw them out of his way, first left and then right. The little girl, crying, tried to cling to his leg and Carter kicked her aside without looking at her.

He didn't see the envelope at first. Then he did. It was lying beside one of the Grinnell woman's outstretched hands. A large foot-track printed in blood had been stamped across the word VADER. Still calm in the chaos, Carter glanced around and saw that Rennie was staring at the shambles of his audience, his face shocked and unbelieving. Good.

Carter yanked out the tails of his shirt. A screaming woman—it was Carla Venziano—ran into him, and he hurled her aside. Then he jammed the VADER envelope into his belt at the small of his back and Moused the tails of his shirt out over it.

A little insurance was always a good thing.

He backed toward the stage, not wanting to be blindsided.When he reached the stairs, he turned arid trotted up them. Randolph, the town's fearless Chief, was still in his seat with his hands planted on his naeaty thighs. He could have been a statue except for the single vein pulsing in the center of his forehead.

Carter took Big Jim by the arm. 'Come on, boss.'

Big Jim looked at him as if he did not quite know where or even who he was. Then his eyes cleared a little. 'Grinnell?'

Carter pointed to the body of the woman sprawled in the center aisle, the growing puddle around her head matching her dress.

'Okay, good,' Big Jim said. 'Let's get out of here. Downstairs. You too, Peter. Get up.' And when Randolph continued to sit and stare at the maddened crowd, Big Jim kicked him in the shin. 'Move.'

In the pandemonium, no one heard the shots from next door.

25

Barbie and Rusty stared at each other.

'What the hell is going on over there?' Rusty asked.

'I don't know,' Barbie said, 'but it doesn't sound good.'

There were more gunshots from the Town Hall, then one that was much closer: from upstairs. Barbie hoped it was their guys… and then he heard someone yell, 'No, Junior! Wliat are you, crazy? Wardlaw, back me up!' More gunshots followed. Four, maybe five.

'Ah, Jesus,' Rusty said. 'We're in trouble.'

'I know,' Barbie said.

26

Junior paused on the PD steps, looking over his shoulder toward the newly hatched uproar at the Town Hall. The people on the benches outside were now standing and craning their necks, but there was nothing to see. Not for them, and not for him. Perhaps someone had assassinated his father—he could hope; it would save him the trouble—but in the meantime, his business was inside the PD. In the Coop, to be specific.

Junior pushed through the door with WORKING TOGETHER: YOUR HOMETOWN POLICE DEPARTMENT AND YOU printed on it. Stacey Moggin came hurrying toward him. Rupe Libby was behind her. In the ready-room, standing in front of the grumpy sign reading COFFEE AND DONUTS ARE NOT FREE, was Mickey Wardlaw. Hulk or not, he looked very frightened and unsure of himself.

'You can't come in here, Junior,' Stacey said.

'Sure, I can.' Sure came out sum. It was the numbness at the side of his mouth. Thallium poisoning! Barbie! 'I'm on the force.' Um onna forsh.

'You're drunk, is what you are. What's going on over there?' But then, perhaps deciding he was incapable of any coherent reply, the bitch gave him a push in the center of his chest. It made him stagger on his bad leg and almost fall. 'Go away, Junior.' She looked back over her shoulder and spoke her last words on Earth. 'You stay where you are, Wardlaw. No one goes downstairs.'

When she turned back, meaning to bulldoze Junior out of the station ahead of her, she found herself looking into the muzzle of a police-issue Beretta. There was time for one more thought—Oh no, he wouldn't—and then a painless boxing glove hit her between the breasts and drove her backward. She saw Rupe Libby's amazed face upside down as her head tilted back. Then she was gone.

'No, Junior! What are you, crazy?' Rupe shouted, clawing for his gun. 'Wardlaw, back me up!'