Under the Dome

“I know the one,” Freddy said. “That used to be Sloppy Sam Verdreaux’s woodlot out there, ’fore the bank took it back. I think now all that land belongs to Holy Redeemer.”

Big Jim smiled and nodded, although the land actually belonged to a Nevada corporation of which he was president. “Go in that way, then approach the station from the rear. It’s mostly old growth out there, and you should have no trouble.”

Big Jim’s cell phone rang. He looked at the display, almost let the phone ring over to voice mail, then thought: What the heck. Feeling as he did this morning, listening to Cox foam at the mouth might be enjoyable.

“This is Rennie. What do you want, Colonel Cox?”

He listened, his smile fading a little.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth about this?”

He listened some more, then ended the call without saying goodbye. He sat frowning for a moment, processing whatever he’d heard. Then he raised his head and spoke to Randolph. “Do we have a Geiger counter? In the fallout shelter, maybe?”

“Gee, I don’t know. Al Timmons probably would.”

“Find him and have him check that out.”

“Is it important?” Randolph asked, and at the same time Carter asked, “Is it radiation, boss?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Big Jim said. “As Junior would say, he’s just trying to freak me out. I’m sure of it. But check on that Geiger counter. If we do have one—and it still works—bring it to me.”

“Okay,” Randolph said, looking frightened.

Big Jim wished now that he’d let the call go to voice mail after all. Or kept his mouth shut. Searles was apt to blab about this, start a rumor. Heck, Randolph was apt to. And it was probably nothing, just that brass-hat cotton-picker trying to spoil a good day. The most important day of his life, maybe.

Freddy Denton, at least, had kept what mind he had on the issue at hand. “What time do you want us to hit the radio station, Mr. Rennie?”

Big Jim mentally reran what he knew about the Visitors Day schedule, then smiled. It was a genuine smile, wreathing his slightly greasy chops with good cheer and revealing his tiny teeth. “Twelve o’clock. Everybody will be schmoozing out on highway 119 by then and the rest of the town will be empty. So you go in and take out those cotton-pickers sitting on our propane at high noon. Just like in one of those old Western movies.”

6

At quarter past eleven on that Thursday morning, the Sweetbriar Rose van went trundling south along Route 119. Tomorrow the highway would be clogged with cars and stinking of exhaust, but today it was eerily deserted. Sitting behind the wheel was Rose herself. Ernie Calvert was in the passenger bucket. Norrie sat between them on the engine housing, clutching her skateboard, which was covered with stickers bearing the logos of long-gone punk bands like Stalag 17 and the Dead Milkmen.

“The air smells so bad, ” Norrie said.

“It’s the Prestile, honey,” Rose said. “It’s turned into a big old stinky marsh where it used to run into Motton.” She knew it was more than just the smell of the dying river, but didn’t say so. They had to breathe, so there was no point in worrying about what they might be breathing in. “Have you talked to your mother?”

“Yeah,” Norrie said glumly. “She’ll come, but she’s not crazy about the idea.”

“Will she bring whatever groceries she has, when it’s time?”

“Yes. In the trunk of our car.” What Norrie didn’t add was that Joanie Calvert would load in her booze supply first; food supplies would play second fiddle to that. “What about the radiation, Rose? We can’t plaster every car that goes up there with lead roll.”

“If people only go once or twice, they should be okay.” Rose had confirmed this for herself, on the Internet. She had also discovered that safety when it came to radiation depended on the strength of the rays, but saw no sense in worrying them about things they couldn’t control. “The important thing is to limit exposure… and Joe says the belt isn’t wide.”

“Joey’s mom won’t want to come,” Norrie said.

Rose sighed. This she knew. Visitors Day was a mixed blessing. It might cover their retreat, but those with relatives on the other side would want to see them. Maybe McClatchey will lose the lottery, she thought.

Up ahead was Jim Rennie’s Used Cars, with its big sign: YOU’LL LUV THE FEELIN’ WHEN BIG JIM IS DEALIN’! A$K U$ 4 CREDIT!

“Remember—” Ernie began.

“I know,” Rose said. “If someone’s there, just turn around in front and head back to town.”