Under the Dome

“Check it again,” Randolph said, sounding more irritable than ever. “No one’s seen Coggins, and a couple of his parishioners want to canoodle with him, or whatever they call it.”

Jackie put a finger to her temple and mimed shooting herself. Linda, who wanted to get back and check on her kids at Marta Edmunds’s house, nodded.

“Roger that, Chief,” Linda said. “Will do. Over.”

“Check the parsonage, too.” There was a pause. “Also the radio station. The damn thing keeps bellowing away, so there must be someone there.”

“Will do.” She started to say over and out, then thought of something else. “Chief, is there anything new on the TV? Has the President said anything? Over?”

“I don’t have time to listen to every word that guy drops out of his silly mouth. Just go on and hunt up the padre and tell him to get his butt back here. And get your butts back, too. Out.”

Linda racked the mike and looked at Jackie.

“Get our butts back there?” Jackie said. “Our butts?”

“He’s a butt,” Linda said.

The remark was supposed to be funny, but it fell flat. For a moment they just sat in the idling car, not talking. Then Jackie spoke in a voice that was almost too low to be heard. “This is so bad.”

“Randolph instead of Perkins, you mean?”

“That, and the new cops.” She gave the last word verbal quotation marks. “Those kids. You know what? When I was punching in, Henry Morrison told me Randolph hired two more this morning. They came in off the street with Carter Thibodeau and Pete just signed em up, no questions asked.”

Linda knew the sort of guys who hung out with Carter, either at Dipper’s or at the Gas & Grocery, where they used the garage to tune up their finance-company motorcycles. “Two more? Why? ”

“Pete told Henry we might need em if that missile doesn’t work. ‘To make sure the situation doesn’t get out of hand,’ he said. And you know who put that idea in his head.”

Linda knew, all right. “At least they’re not carrying guns.”

“A couple are. Not department issue; their personals. By tomorrow—if this doesn’t end today, that is—they all will be. And as of this morning Pete’s letting them ride together instead of pairing them with real cops. Some training period, huh? Twenty-four hours, give or take. Do you realize those kids now outnumber us?”

Linda considered this silently.

“Hitler Youth,” Jackie said. “That’s what I keep thinking. Probably overreacting, but I hope to God this thing ends today and I don’t have to find out.”

“I can’t quite see Peter Randolph as Hitler.”

“Me, either. I see him more as Hermann Goering. It’s Rennie I think of when I think of Hitler.” She put the cruiser in gear, made a K-turn, and headed them back toward Christ the Holy Redeemer Church.

5

The church was unlocked and empty, the generator off. The parson-age was silent, but Reverend Coggins’s Chevrolet was parked in the little garage. Peering in, Linda could read two stickers on the bumper. The one on the right: IF THE RAPTURE’S TODAY, SOMEBODY GRAB MY STEERING WHEEL! The one on the left boasted MY OTHER CAR IS A 10-SPEED.

Linda called the second one to Jackie’s attention. “He does have a bike—I’ve seen him riding it. But I don’t see it in the garage, so maybe he rode it into town. Saving gas.”

“Maybe,” Jackie said. “And maybe we ought to check the house to make sure he didn’t slip in the shower and break his neck.”

“Does that mean we might have to look at him naked?”

“No one said police work was pretty,” Jackie said. “Come on.”

The house was locked, but in towns where seasonal residents form a large part of the population, the police are adept at gaining entry. They checked the usual places for a spare key. Jackie was the one who found it, hanging on a hook behind a kitchen shutter. It opened the back door.

“Reverend Coggins?” Linda called, sticking her head in. “It’s the police, Reverend Coggins, are you here?”

No answer. They went in. The lower floor was neat and orderly, but it gave Linda an uncomfortable feeling. She told herself it was just being in someone else’s house. A religious person’s house, and uninvited.

Jackie went upstairs. “Reverend Coggins? Police. If you’re here, please make yourself known.”

Linda stood at the foot of the stairs, looking up. The house felt wrong, somehow. That made her think of Janelle, shaking in the grip of her seizure. That had been wrong, too. A queer certainty stole into her mind: if Janelle were here right now, she would have another seizure. Yes, and start talking about queer things. Halloween and the Great Pumpkin, maybe.

It was a perfectly ordinary flight of stairs, but she didn’t want to go up there, just wanted Jackie to report the place was empty so they could go on to the radio station. But when her partner called for her to come up, Linda did.

6