Under the Dome

Chef felt monstrous heat bake against his back and had time to think of the grenades. Would they blow? He saw the man by the radio tower aiming at him, and suddenly there was a clear choice: shoot: back or grab the door opener. He chose the door opener, and as his hand closed on it, the air around him was suddenly full of unseen buzzing bees. One stung his shoulder; another punched into his side and rearranged his intestines. Chef Bushey tumbled and rolled over, once more losing his grip on the door opener. He reached for it and another swarm of bees filled the air around him. He crawled into the high grass, leaving the door opener where it was, now only hoping for Sanders. The man from the radio tower—One brave bitter man among seven, Chef thought, yea, verily—was walking toward him. GOD'S WARRIOR was very heavy now, his whole body was heavy, but Chef managed to get to his knees and pull the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Either the clip was empty or it had jammed.

'You numb fuck,'Aubrey Towle said. 'You nutbag tweeker.Tweek on this, fuckhea—'

'Claudette!' Sanders screamed.

Towle wheeled around, but he was too late. There was a short, hard rattle of gunfire, and four 7.62 Chinese slugs tore most of Aubrey's head from his shoulders.

'Chef!' Andy screamed, and ran to where his friend knelt in the grass, blood streaming from his shoulder, side, and temple. The entire left side of Chef's face was red and wet. 'Chef! Chef!' He fell to his knees! and hugged Chef. Neither of them saw Mel Searles, the last man Standing, emerge from the woods and begin to walk cautiously toward them.

'Get the trigger,' Chef whispered.

'What?' Andy looked down at CLAUDETTE's trigger for a moment, but that obviously wasn't what Chef meant.

'Door opener,' Chef whispered. His left eye was drowning in blood; the other regarded Andy with bright and lucid intensity. 'Door opener, Sanders.'

Andy saw the garage door opener lying in the grass. He picked it up and handed it to the Chef. Chef wrapped his hand around it.

'You… too… Sanders.'

Andy curled his hand over Chef's hand. 'I love you, Chef,' he said, and kissed Chef Bushey's dry, blood-freckled lips.

'Love… you… too… Sanders.'

'Hey, fags!' Mel cried with a kind of delirious joviality. He was standing just ten yards away. 'Get a room! No, wait, I got a better idea! Get a room in hell!'

'Now… Sanders… now!

Mel opened fire.

Andy and Chef were driven sideways by the bullets, but before they were torn asunder, their joined hands pushed the white button marked OPEN.

The explosion was white and all-encompassing.

21

On the edge of the orchard, the Chester's Mill exiles are having a picnic lunch when gunfire breaks out—not from 119, where the visiting continues, but to the southwest.

'That's out on Little Bitch Road,' Piper says. 'God, I wish we had some binoculars.'

But they need none to see the yellow bloom that opens when the Meals On Wheels truck explodes. Twitch is eating deviled chicken with a plastic spoon. 'I dunno what's going on down there, but that's the radio station for sure,' he says.

Rusty grabs Barbie's shoulder. 'That's where the propane is! They stockpiled it to make drugs! That's where the propane is!'

Barbie has one moment of clear, premonitory terror; one moment when the worst is still ahead.Then, four miles distant, a brilliant white spark flicks the hazy sky, like a stroke of lightning that goes up instead of down. A moment later, a titanic explosion hammers a hole straight through the center of the day. A red ball of fire blots out first the WCIK tower, then the trees behind it, and then the whole horizon as it spreads north and south.

The people on Black Ridge scream but are unable to hear themselves over the vast, grinding, building roar as eighty pounds of plastic explosive and ten thousand gallons of propane undergo an explosive change. They cover their eyes and stagger backward, stepping on their sandwiches and spilling their drinks. Thurston snatches Alice and Aidan into his arms and for a moment Barbie sees his face against the blackening sky—the long and terrified face of a man observing the literal Gates of Hell swing open, and the ocean of fire waiting just beyond.

'We have to go back to the farmhouse!" Barbie yells. Julia is clinging to him, crying. Beyond her is Joe McClatchey, trying to help his weeping mother to her feet. These people are going nowhere, at least for a while.

To the southwest, where most of Little Bitch Road will within the next three minutes cease to exist, the yellowy-blue sky is turning black and Barbie has time to think, with perfect calm: Now we're under the magnifying glass.

The blast shatters every window in the mostly deserted downtown, sends shutters soaring, knocks telephone poles askew, rips doors from their hinges, flattens mailboxes. Up and down Main Street, car alarms go off. To Big Jim Rennie and Carter Thibodeau, it feels as if the conference room has been struck by an earthquake.