Under the Dome

They had swung by the McClatchey house in Julia’s Prius to get Joe’s PowerBook. (Mrs. McClatchey had made Barbie swear he would keep her son safe, and Barbie had so sworn.) Now Joe pointed at the road. “Here?”

Barbie raised his hands to the sides of his face and sighted at the red X. “Little to the left. Can you try it? See how it looks?”

“Yeah.” Joe opened the PowerBook and turned it on. The Mac power-up chime sounded as pretty as ever, but Barbie thought he had never seen anything quite so surreal as the silver computer sitting on the patched asphalt of Little Bitch Road with its screen up. It seemed to summarize the last three days perfectly.

“Battery’s fresh, so it should run for at least six hours,” Joe said.

“Won’t it go to sleep?” Julia asked.

Joe gave her an indulgent Mother, please look. Then he turned back to Barbie. “If the missile roasts my Pro, do you promise to buy me another one?”

“Uncle Sam will buy you another one,” Barbie promised. “I’ll put in the requisition myself.”

“Sweet.”

Joe bent over the PowerBook. There was a little silver barrel mounted atop the screen. This, Joe had told them, was some current compu-miracle called iSight. He ran his finger over the computer’s touchpad, hit ENTER, and suddenly the screen filled with a brilliant image of Little Bitch Road. From ground level, each little bump and irregularity in the tar looked like a mountain. At mid-range, Barbie could see the Marine sentries up to their knees.

“Sir, does he have a picture, sir?” one of them asked.

Barbie looked up. “Let’s put it this way, Marine—if I was doing inspection, you’d be doing push-ups with my foot in your ass. There’s a scuff on your left boot. Unacceptable on a noncombat assignment.”

The Marine looked down at his boot, which was indeed scuffed. Julia laughed. Joe did not. He was absorbed. “It’s too low. Miz Shumway, have you got something in the car we can use to—?” He raised his hand about three feet off the road.

“I do,” she said.

“And get me my little gym bag, please.” He fiddled some more with the PowerBook, then held out his hand. “Cell?”

Barbie handed it to him. Joe hit the tiny buttons with blinding speed. Then: “Benny? Oh, Norrie, okay. You guys there?… Good. Never been in a beerjoint before, I bet. You ready?… Excellent. Stand by.” He listened, then grinned. “Are you kidding? Dude, according to what I’m getting, the jack is awesome. They’re blasting the Wi-Fi. Gotta jet.” He snapped the phone closed and handed it back to Barbie.

Julia came back with Joe’s gym bag and a carton containing undistributed sheets of the Democrat ’s Sunday extra edition. Joe set the PowerBook on the carton (the sudden rise in the image from ground level made Barbie a bit dizzy), then checked it and pronounced it totally rad. He rummaged in the gym bag, brought out a black box with an antenna, and plugged it into the computer. The soldiers were clustered on their side of the Dome, watching with interest. Now I know how a fish feels in an aquarium, Barbie thought.

“Looks okay,” Joe murmured. “I got a green bulb.”

“Shouldn’t you call your—”

“If it’s working, they’ll call me,” Joe said. Then: “Uh-oh, this could be trouble.”

Barbie thought he was referring to the computer, but the boy wasn’t even looking at it. Barbie followed his gaze and saw the green Chief of Police car. It wasn’t moving fast, but the bubblegums were pulsing. Pete Randolph got out from behind the wheel. Emerging from the passenger side (the cruiser rocked a little when his weight left the springs) came Big Jim Rennie.

“Just what in the heck do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

The phone in Barbie’s hand buzzed. He handed it to Joe without taking his eyes from the approaching Selectman and Chief of Police.

14

The sign over the door of Dipper’s said WELCOME TO THE BIGGEST DANCE FLOOR IN MAINE!, and for the first time in the roadhouse’s history, that floor was crowded at eleven forty-five in the morning. Tommy and Willow Anderson greeted people at the door as they arrived, a little like ministers welcoming parishioners to church. In this case, the First Church of Rock Bands Direct from Boston.

At first the audience was quiet, because there was nothing on the big screen but one blue word: WAITING. Benny and Norrie had plugged in their equipment and switched the TV’s feed to Input 4. Then, suddenly, Little Bitch Road appeared in living color, complete with brightly colored leaves swirling down around the Marine sentries.

The crowd broke into applause and cheers.

Benny gave Norrie a high five, but that wasn’t enough for Norrie; she kissed him on the mouth, and hard. It was the happiest moment of Benny’s life, even better than staying vertical while doing a full-pipe roughie.

“Call him!” Norrie demanded.

“Right on,” Benny said. His face felt as if it might actually catch fire and burn, but he was grinning. He punched REDIAL and held the phone to his ear. “Dude, we got it! The picture’s so radical it—”