Under the Dome

“The last thing we want to do is start a stampede of relations from all over the country to western Maine. We’ve already got close to ten thousand relatives of those trapped under the Dome in this immediate area; the hotels, motels, and camping areas are full to bursting. The message to relatives in other parts of the country is, ‘If you’re not here, don’t come.’ Not only will you not be granted a visitors’ pass, you’ll be turned around at checkpoints here, here, here, and here.” He highlighted Lewiston, Auburn, North Windham, and Conway, New Hampshire.

“Relatives currently in the area should procede to registration officers who are already standing by at the Fairgrounds and the Speed-way. If you’re planning to jump into your car right this minute, don’t. This isn’t the Filene’s White Sale, and being first in line guarantees you nothing. Visitors will be chosen by lottery, and you must register to get in. Those applying to visit will need two photo IDs. We’ll attempt to give priority to visitors with two or more relatives in The Mill, but no promises on that. And a warning, people: if you show up on Friday to board one of the buses and you have no pass or a counterfeit pass—if you clog up our operation, in other words—you’ll find yourself in jail. Do not test us on this.

“Embarkation on Friday morning will commence at 0800 hours. If this goes smoothly, you’ll have at least four hours with your loved ones, maybe longer. Gum up the works and everyone’s time Domeside goes down. Buses will depart the Dome at seventeen hundred hours.”

“What’s the visitors’ site?” a woman shouted.

“I was just getting to that, Andrea.” Cox picked up his controller and zoomed in on Route 119. Jackie knew the area well; she had damned near broken her nose on the Dome out there. She could see the roofs of the Dinsmore farmhouse, outbuildings, and dairy barns.

“There’s a flea market site on the Motton side of the Dome.” Cox binged it with his pointer. “The buses will park there. Visitors will debark and walk to the Dome. There’s plenty of field on both sides where people can gather. All the wreckage out there has been removed.”

“Will the visitors be allowed to go all the way up to the Dome?” a reporter asked.

Cox once more faced the camera, addressing the potential visitors directly. Rose could just imagine the hope and fear those people—watching in bars and motel TVs, listening on their car radios—must be feeling right now. She felt plenty of both herself.

“Visitors will be allowed within two yards of the Dome,” Cox said. “We consider that a safe distance, although we make no guarantees. This isn’t an amusement park ride that’s been safety-tested. People with electronic implants must stay away. You’re on your own with that; we can’t check each and every chest for a pacemaker scar. Visitors will also leave all electronic devices, including but not limited to iPods, cell phones, and Blackberries, on the buses. Reporters with mikes and cameras will be kept at a distance. The close-up space is for the visitors, and what goes on between them and their loved ones is no one’s business but their own. People, this will work if you help us make it work. If I can put it in Star Trek terms, help us make it so.” He put the pointer down. “Now I’ll take a few questions. A very few. Mr. Blitzer.”

Rose’s face lit up. She raised a fresh cup of coffee and toasted the TV screen with it. “Lookin good, Wolfie! You can eat crackers in my bed anytime you want.”

“Colonel Cox, are there any plans to add a press conference with the town officials? We understand that Second Selectman James Rennie is the actual man in charge. What’s going on with that?”

“We are trying to make a press conference happen, with Mr. Rennie and any other town officials who might be in attendance. That would be at noon, if things run to the schedule we have in mind.”

A round of spontaneous applause from the reporters greeted this. There was nothing they liked better than a press conference, unless it was a high-priced politician caught in bed with a high-priced whore.

Cox said, “Ideally, the presser will take place right there on the road, with the town spokespersons, whoever they might be, on their side and you ladies and gentlemen on this one.”

Excited gabble. They liked the visual possibilities.

Cox pointed. “Mr. Holt.”

Lester Holt from NBC shot to his feet. “How sure are you that Mr. Rennie will attend? I ask because there have been reports of financial mismanagement on his part, and some sort of criminal investigation into his affairs by the State of Maine Attorney General.”

“I’ve heard those reports,” Cox said. “I’m not prepared to comment on them, although Mr. Rennie may want to.” He paused, not quite smiling. “I’d certainly want to.”

“Rita Braver, Colonel Cox, CBS. Is it true that Dale Barbara, the man you tapped as emergency administrator in Chester’s Mill, has been arrested for murder? That the Chester’s Mill police in fact believe him to be a serial killer?”