Under the Dome

Julia was hurled away from the box as if a hand had swatted her. The held breath blew out of her. Before she could take another one, Barbie seized her by the shoulder, pulled the swatch of plastic from the spindle, and pushed her mouth onto it, hoping he wouldn't cut her tongue, or—God forbid—skewer the hard plastic into the roof of her mouth. But he couldn't let her breathe the poisoned air. As oxygen-starved as she was, it might send her into convulsions or kill her outright.

Wherever she'd been, Julia seemed to understand. Instead of trying to struggle away, she wrapped her arms around the Prius tire in a deathgrip and began sucking frantically at the spindle. He could feel huge, shuddering tremors racing through her body.

Sam had finally stopped coughing, but now there was another sound. Julia heard it, too. She sucked in another vast breath from the tire and looked up, eyes wide in their deep, shadowed sockets.

A dog was barking. It had to be Horace, because he was the only dog left. He—

Barbie grabbed her arm in a grip so strong she felt he would break it. On his face was an expression of pure amazement.

The box with the strange symbol on it was hovering four feet above the ground.

13

Horace was first to feel the fresh air, because he was lowest to the ground. He began to bark. Then Joe felt it: a breeze, startlingly cold, against his sweaty back. He was leaning against the Dome, and the Dome was moving. Moving up. Norrie had been dozing with her flushed face resting on Joe's chest, and now he saw a lock of her dirty, matted hair begin to flutter. She opened her eyes.

'What-? Joey, what's happening?'

Joe knew, but was too stunned to tell her. He could feel a cool sliding sensation against his back, like an endless sheet of glass being raised.

Horace was barking madly now, his back bowed, his snout on the ground. It was his 1-want-to-play position, but Horace wasn't playing. He stuck his nose beneath the rising Dome and sniffed cold sweet fresh air.

Heaven!

14

On the south side of the Dome, Pfc Clint Ames was also dozing. He sat cross-legged on the soft shoulder of Route 119 with a blanket wrapped around him Indian-style. The air suddenly darkened, as if the bad dreams flitting through his head had assumed physical form. Then he coughed himself awake.

Soot was swirling up around his booted feet and settling on the legs of his khaki everydays. Where in God's name was it coming from? All the burning had been inside. Then he saw. The Dome was going up like a giant windowblind. It was impossible—it went miles down as well as up, everybody knew that—but it was happening.

Ames didn't hesitate. He crawled forward on his hands and knees and seized Ollie Dinsmore by the arms. For a moment he felt the rising Dome scrape the middle of his back, glassy and hard, and there was time to think If it comes back down now, it'll cut me in two. Then he was dragging the boy out.

For a moment he thought he was hauling a corpse. 'No!' he shouted. He carried the boy up toward one of the roaring fans! Don't you dare die on me, cow-kid!'

Ollie began coughing, then leaned over and vomited weakly. Ames held him while he did it. The others were running toward them now, shouting jubilantly, Sergeant: Groh in the forefront.

Ollie puked again. 'Don't call me cow-kid; he whispered.

'Get an ambulance!' Ames shouted. 'We need an ambulance!'

'Nah, we'll take him to Central Maine General in the helicopter,' Groh said. 'You ever been in a helicopter, kid?'

Ollie, his eyes dazed, shook his head. Then he puked on Sergeant Groh's shoes.

Groh beamed and shook Ollie's filthy hand. 'Welcome back to the United States, son. Welcome back to the world.'

Ollie put an arm around Ames's neck. He was aware that he was passing out. He tried to hold on long enough to say thank you, but he didn't make it. The last thing he was aware of before the darkness took him again was the southern soldier kissing him on the cheek.

15

On the north end, Horace was the first one out. He raced directly to Colonel Cox and began to dance around his feet. Horace had no tail, but it didn't matter; his entire hind end was—wig-wagging.

'I'll be damned,' Cox said. He picked the Corgi up and Horace began to lick his face frantically.

The survivors stood together on their side (the line of demarcation was clear in the grass, bright on one side and listless gray on the other), beginning to understand but not quite daring to believe. Rusty, Linda, the Little Js, Joe McClatchey and Norrie Calvert, with their mothers standing to either side of them. Ginny, Gina Buffalino, and Harriet Bigelow with their arms around each other. Twitch was holding his sister Rose, who was sobbing and cradling Little Walter. Piper, Jackie, and Lissa were holding hands. Pete Freeman and Tony Guay, all that remained of the Democrat's staff, stood behind them. Alva Drake leaned against Rommie Burpee, who was holding Alice Appleton in his arms.