Under the Dome

'Okay.' He knew if he told her to stay home, she would… and all he'd accomplish would be to worry her just when her worries were starting to settle a bit. And if a crowd did show up out there, she'd be needed.

'Thank you,' she said. 'Thank you for understanding.'

'Just remember to send the dog to Marta's with the girls,' Rusty said. "You know what Haskell said.'

Dr Ron Haskell—The Wiz—had come up big for the Everett family this morning. Had come up big ever since the onset of the crisis, really. Rusty never would have expected it, but he appreciated it. And he could see by the old guy's pouched eyes and drooping mouth that Haskell was paying the price. The Wiz was too old for medical crises; snoozing in the third floor lounge was more his speed these days. But, other than Ginny Tomlinson and Twitch, it was now just Rusty and The Wiz holding the fort. It was bad luck all around that the Dome had crashed down on a beautiful weekend morning when anyone who could get out of town had done so.

Haskell, although pushing seventy, had stayed at the hospital with Rusty last night until eleven, when Rusty had literally forced him out the door, and he'd been back by seven this morning, when Rusty and Linda arrived with daughters in tow. Also with Audrey, who seemed to take the new environment of Cathy Russell calmly enough. Judy and Janelle had walked on either side of the big golden, touching her for comfort. Janelle had looked scared to death.

'What's with the dog?' Haskell asked, and when Rusty filled him in, Haskell had nodded and said to Janelle: 'Let's check you out, hon.'

'Will it hurt?'Janelle had asked apprehensively.

'Not unless getting a piece of candy after I look in your eyes hurts.'

When the exam was over, the adults left the two girls and the dog in the examining room and went into the hall. Haskell's shoulders were slumped. His hair seemed to have whitened overnight.

'What's your diagnosis, Rusty?' Haskell had asked.

'Petit mal. I'd think brought on by excitement and worry, but Audi's been doing that Whining Thing of hers for months.'

'Right. We'll start her on Zarontin.You agree?'

'Yes.' Rusty had been touched to be asked. He was beginning to regret some of the mean things he'd said and thought about Haskell.

'And keep the dog with her, yes?'

'Absolutely'

'Will she be all right, Ron?' Linda asked. She'd had no plans to work then; her plan then had been to spend the day in quiet activities with the girls.

'She 15 all right,' Haskell said. 'Many children suffer petit mal seizures. Most have only one or two. Others have more, over a course of years, and then stop. There's rarely any lasting damage.'

Linda looked relieved. Rusty hoped she would never have to know what Haskell wasn't telling her: that instead of finding their way out of the neurological thicket, some unlucky kids went in deeper, progressing to grand mal. And grand mal seizures could do damage. They could kill.

Now, after finishing morning rounds (only half a dozen patients, one a new mom with no complications) and hoping for a cup of coffee before jetting over to the Health Center, this call from Linda.

'I'm sure Marta will be fine with having Audi,' she said.

'Good.You'll have your cop walkie while you're on duty, right?'

'Yes. Of course.'

'Then give your personal walkie to Marta. Agree on a com channel. If something should go wrong with Janelle, I'll come on the run.'

'All right. Thanks, honeybunch. Is there any chance you could get out there this afternoon?'

As Rusty considered that, he saw DougieTwitchell coming down the hall. He had a cigarette tucked behind his ear and was walking in his usual don't-give-a-shit amble, but Rusty saw concern on his face.

'I might be able to play hookey for an hour. No promises.'

'I understand, but it would be so great to see you.'

'You too. Be careful out there. And tell folks not to eat the hotdogs. Burpee's probably had them in cold storage for ten thousand years.'

'Those are his mastadon steaks,' Linda said. 'Over and oat, sweet man. I'll look for you.'

Rusty stuck the walkie in the pocket of his white coat and turned to Twitch. 'What's up? And get that cigarette out from behind your ear. This is a hospitaL'

Twitch plucked the cigarette from its resting place and looked at it. T was going to smoke it out by the storage shed.'

'Not a good idea,' Rusty said. 'That's where the extra propane's stored.'

'That's what I came to tell you. Most of the tanks are gone.'

'Bullshit. Those things are huge. I can't remember if they hold three thousand gallons each or five thousand.'

'So what are you saying? I forgot to look behind the door?'

Rusty began to rub his temples. 'If it takes them—whoever they are—more than three or four days to short out that forcefield, we're going to need mucho LP.'