Under the Dome

'Either you or him, but it's him I need to speak with. I'll be waiting with one hand on the phone.'

'Then give me the magic number.' She crooked the phon; against her ear and fumbled the pad out again. Of course you always wanted your pad again after you'd put it away; that was a fact of li::e when you were a reporter, which she now was. Again. The number he gave her to call somehow scared her more than anything else he'd said. The area code was 000.

'One more thing, Ms Shumway: do you have a pacemaker implant? Hearing-aid implants? Anything of that nature?'

'No. Why?'

She thought he might again decline to answer, but he didn't. 'Once you're close to the Dome, there's some kind of interference. It's not harmful to most people, they feel it as nothing more than a low-level electric shock which goes away a second or two after it comeS, but it plays hell with electronic devices. Shuts some down—most Icell phones, for instance, if they come closer than five feet or so— ^nd explodes others. If you bring a tape recorder out, it'll shut down. Bring an iPod or something sophisticated like a BlackBerry, it's apt to explode.'

'Did Chief Perkins's pacemaker explode? Is that what killed him?'

'Ten thirty. Bring Barbie, and be sure to tell him Ken says hello.'

He broke the connection, leaving Julia standing in silence beside her dog. She tried calling her sister in Lewiston.The numbers peeped… then nothing. Blank silence, as before.

The Dome, she thought. He didn't call it the barrier there at the end; he called it the Dome.

5

Barbie had taken off his shirt and was sitting on his bed to untie his sneakers when the knock came at the door, which one reached by climbing an outside flight of stairs on the side of Sanders Hometown Drug. The knock wasn't welcome. He had walked most of the day, then put on an apron and cooked for most of the evening. He was beat.

4.nd suppose it was Junior and a few of his friends, ready to throw him a welcome-back party? You could say it was unlikely, even paranoid, but the day had been a festival of unlikely. Besides, Junior and prank DeLesseps and the rest of their little band were among the few people he hadn't seen at Sweetbriar tonight. He supposed they might be out on 119 or 117, rubbernecking, but maybe somebody had told them he was back in town and they'd been making plans for later tonight. Later like now.

The knock came again. Barbie stood up and put a hand on the portable TV. Not much of a weapon, but it would do some damage if thrown at the first one who tried to cram through the door. There was a wooden closet rod, but all three rooms were small and it was too long to swing effectively. There was also his Swiss Army Knife, but he wasn't going to do any cutting. Not unless he had t—

'Mr Barbara?' It was a woman's voice. 'Barbie? Are you in there?'

He took his hand off the TV and crossed the kitchenette. 'Who is it?' But even as he asked, he recognized the voice.

'Julia Shumway. I have a message from someone who wants to speak to you. He told me to tell you that Ken says hello.'

Barbie opened the door and let her in.

6

In the pine-paneled basement conference room of the Chester's Mill Town Hall, the roar of the generator out back (an elderly Kelvinator) was no more than a dim drone. The table in the center of the room was handsome red maple, polished to a high gleam, twelve feet long. Most of the chairs surrounding it were empty that night. The four attendees of what Big Jim was calling the Emergency Assessment Meeting were clustered at one end. Big Jim himself, although only the Second Selectman, sat at the head of the table. Behind him was a map showing the athletic-sock shape of the town.

Those present were the selectmen and Peter Randolph, the acting Chief of Police. The only one who seemed entirely with it was Rennie. Randolph looked shocked and scared. Andy Sanders was, of course, dazed with grief. And Andrea Grinnell—an ovei-weight, graying version of her younger sister, Rose—just seemed dazed. This was not new.

Four or five years previous, Andrea had slipped in her icy driveway while going to the mailbox one January morning. She had fallen hard enough to crack two discs in her back (being eighty or ninety pounds overweight probably hadn't helped). Dr Haskell had prescribed that new wonder-drug, OxyContin, to ease what had been no doubt excruciating pain. And had been giving it to her ever since. Thanks to his good friend Andy, who ran the local drugstore, Big Jim knew that Andrea had begun at forty milligrams a day and had worked her way up to a giddy four hundred. This was useful information.

Big Jim said, T›ue to Andy's great loss, I'm going to chair this meeting, if no one objects. We're all very sorry, Andy'

'You bet, sir,' Randolph said.

'Thank you,' Andy said, and when Andrea briefly covered his hand with her own, he began to ooze at the eyes again.

'Now, we all have an idea of what's happened here,' Big Jim said, 'although no one in town understands it yet—'