Under the Dome

But Big Jim was in full flight. 'Every town has its ants—which is good—and its grasshoppers, which aren't so good but we can live with them because we understand them and can make them do what's in their own best interests, even if we have to squeeze em a little. But every town also has its locusts, just like in the Bible, and that's what people like the Busheys are. On them we've got to bring the hammer down. You might not like it and I might not like it, but personal freedom's going to have to take a hike until this is over. And we'll sacrifice, too. Aren't we going to shut down our little business?'

Andy didn't want to point out that they really had no choice, since they had no way of shipping the stuff out of town anyway, but settled for a simple yes. He didn't want to discuss things any further, and he dreaded the upcoming meeting, which might drag on until midnight. All he wanted was to go home to his empty house and have a stiff drink and then lie down and think about Claudie and cry himself to sleep.

'What matters right now, pal, is keeping things on an even keel. That means law and order and oversight. Our oversight, because we're not grasshoppers. We're ants. Soldier ants.'

Big Jim considered. When he spoke again, his tone was all business. 'I'm rethinking our decision to let Food City continue on a business-as-usual basis. I'm not saying we're going to shut it down—at least not yet—but we'll have to watch it pretty closely over the next couple of days. Like a cotton-picking hawk. Same with the Gas and Grocery. And it might not be a bad idea if we were to appropriate some of the more perishable food for our own personal—'

He stopped, squinting at the Town Hall steps. He didn't believe what he saw and raised a hand to block the sunset. It was still there: Brenda Perkins and that gosh-darned troublemaker Dale Barbara. Not side by side, either. Sitting between them, and talking animatedly to Chief Perkins's widow, was Andrea Grinnell, the Third Selectman. They appeared to be passing sheets of paper from hand to hand.

Big Jim did not like this.

At all.

He started forward, meaning to put a stop to the conversation no matter the subject. Before he could get half a dozen steps, a kid ran up to him. It was one of the Killian boys. There were about a dozen Killians living on a ramshackle chicken farm out by the Tarker's Mills town line. None of the kids was very bright—which they came by honestly, considering the parents from whose shabby loins they had sprung—but all were members in good standing at Holy Redeemer; all Saved, in other words. This one was Ronnie… at least Rennie thought so, but it was hard to be sure. They all had the same bullet heads, bulging brows, and beaky noses.

The boy was wearing a tattered WCIK tee-shirt and carrying a note. 'Hey, Mr Rennie!' he said. 'Gorry, I been lookin all over town for you!'

'I'm afraid I don't have time to talk right now, Ronnie,' Big Jim said. He was still looking at the trio sitting on the Town Hall steps. The Three Gosh-Darn Stooges. 'Maybe tomor—'

'It's Richie, Mr Rennie. Ronnie's my brother.'

'Richie. Of course. Now if you'll excuse me.' Big Jim strode on.

Andy took the note from the boy and caught up to Rennie before he could get to the trio sitting on the steps. 'You better look at this.'

What Big Jim looked at first was Andy^s face, more pinched and worried than ever. Then he took the note.

James—

I must see you tonight. God has spoken to me. Now I must speak to you before I speak to the town. Please reply. Richie Killian will carry your message to me.

Reverend Lester Coggins

Not Les; not even Lester. No. Reverend Lester Coggins. This was not good. Why oh why did everything have to happen at the same time?

The boy was standing in front of the bookstore, looking in his faded shirt and baggy, slipping-down jeans like a gosh-darn orphan. Big Jim beckoned to him. The kid raced forward eagerly. Big Jim took his pen from his pocket (written in gold down the barrel: YOU'LL LUV THE FEELIN' WHEN BIG JIM'S DEALIN') and scribbled a three-word reply: Midnight. My house. He folded it over and handed it to the boy.

'Take that back to him. And don't read it.'

'I won't! No way! God bless you, Mr Rennie.'

'You too, son.' He watched the boy speed off

'What's that about?'Andy asked. And before Bigjim could answer: 'The factory? Is it the meth—'

'Shut up.'

Andy fell back a step, shocked. Big Jim had never told him to shut up before. This could be bad.

'One thing at a time,' Bigjim said, and marched forward toward the next problem.

3

Watching Rennie come, Barbie's first thought was He walks like a man who's sick and doesn't know it. He also walked like a man who has spent his life kicking ass. He was wearing his most carnivorously sociable smile as he took Brenda's hands and gave them a squeeze. She allowed this with calm good grace.