Under the Dome

Rennie marked Alden Dinsmore for later action. Sooner or later, farmers always came to the Selectmen with their hats in their hands—wanting an easement, a zoning exception, something—and when Mr. Dinsmore next showed up, he would find little comfort, if Rennie had anything to say about it. And he usually did.

“Control this scene!” he told Randolph.

“Jackie, move those people back,” the Assistant Chief said, pointing toward the lookie-loos on the pulp-truck side of the accident. “Establish a perimeter.”

“Sir, I think those folks are actually in Motton—”

“I don’t care, move them back.” Randolph glanced over his shoulder to where Duke Perkins was working his way out of the green Chief’s car—a car Randolph longed to see in his own driveway. And would, with Big Jim Rennie’s help. In another three years at the very latest. “Castle Rock PD’ll thank you when they get here, believe me.”

“What about…” She pointed at the smoke-smudge, which was still spreading. Seen through it, the October-colorful trees looked a uniform dark gray, and the sky was an unhealthy shade of yellowy-blue.

“Stay clear of it,” Randolph said, then went to help Hank Morrison establish the perimeter on the Chester’s Mill side. But first he needed to bring Perk up to speed.

Jackie approached the people on the pulp-truck side. The crowd over there was growing all the time as the early arrivers worked their cell phones. Some had stamped out little fires in the bushes, which was good, but now they were just standing around, gawking. She used the same shooing gestures Hank was employing on The Mill side, and chanted the same mantra.

“Get back, folks, it’s all over, nothing to see you haven’t seen already, clear the road for the firetrucks and the police, get back, clear the area, go home, get ba—”

She hit something. Rennie had no idea what it was, but he could see the result. The brim of her hat collided with it first. It bent, and the hat tumbled off behind her. An instant later those insolent tiddies of hers—a couple of cotton-picking gunshells was what they were—flattened. Then her nose squashed and gave up a jet of blood that splattered against something… and began to run down in long drips, like paint on a wall. She went on her well-padded ass with an expression of shock on her face.

The goddarn farmer stuck his oar in then: “See? What’d I tell you?”

Randolph and Morrison hadn’t seen. Neither had Perkins; the three of them were conferring together by the hood of the Chief’s car. Rennie briefly considered going to Wettington, but others were doing that, and besides—she was still a little too close to whatever it was she’d run into. He hurried toward the men instead, set face and big hard belly projecting get-’er-done authority. He spared a glare for Farmer Dinsmore on his way by.

“Chief,” he said, butting in between Morrison and Randolph.

“Big Jim,” Perkins said, nodding. “You didn’t waste any time, I see.”

This was perhaps a gibe, but Rennie, a sly old fish, did not rise to the bait. “I’m afraid there’s more going on here than meets the eye. I think someone had better get in touch with Homeland Security.” He paused, looking suitably grave. “I don’t want to say there’s terrorism involved… but I won’t say there isn’t.”

3

Duke Perkins looked past Big Jim. Jackie was being helped to her feet by Ernie Calvert and Johnny Carver, who ran Mill Gas & Grocery. She was dazed and her nose was bleeding, but she appeared all right otherwise. Nevertheless, this whole situation was hinky. Of course, any accident where there were fatalities felt that way to some extent, but there was more wrong here.

For one thing, the plane hadn’t been trying to land. There were too many pieces, and they were too widely scattered, for him to believe that. And the spectators. They weren’t right, either. Randolph hadn’t noticed, but Duke Perkins did. They should have formed into one big spreading clump. It was what they always did, as if for comfort in the face of death. Only these had formed two clumps, and the one on the Motton side of the town line marker was awfully close to the still-burning truck. Not in any danger, he judged… but why didn’t they move over here?

The first firetrucks swept around the curve to the south. Three of them. Duke was glad to see that the second one in line had CHESTER’S MILL FIRE DEPARTMENT PUMPER NO. 2 printed in gold on the side. The crowd shuffled back farther into the scrubby bushes, giving them room. Duke returned his attention to Rennie. “What happened here? Do you know?”

Rennie opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Ernie Calvert spoke up. “There’s a barrier across the road. You can’t see it, but it’s there, Chief. The truck hit it. The plane, too.”

“Damn right!” Dinsmore exclaimed.

“Officer Wettington hit it, too,” Johnny Carver said. “Lucky for her she was goin slower.” He had placed an arm around Jackie, who looked dazed. Duke observed her blood on the sleeve of Carver’s I GOT GASSED AT MILL DISCOUNT jacket.