Under the Dome

“And turn in the bubble light I saw in your van. In case you forgot, you’re fired.”

19

She was upstairs when Thurston and the kids came in three minutes later. The first thing she did was look in the kids’ room. The traveling cases were on their beds. Judy’s teddy was sticking out of one.

“Hey, kids!” she called down gaily. Toujours gai, that was her. “Look at some picture-books, and I’ll be down in a few!”

Thurston came to the foot of the stairs. “We really ought to—”

He saw her face and stopped. She beckoned him.

“Mom?” Janelle called. “Can we have the last Pepsi if I share it out?”

Although she ordinarily would have vetoed the idea of soda this early, she said: “Go ahead, but don’t spill!”

Thurse came halfway up the stairs. “What happened?”

“Keep your voice down. There was a cop. Carter Thibodeau.”

“The big tall one with the broad shoulders?”

“That’s him. He came to question me—”

Thurse paled, and Linda knew he was replaying what he’d called to her when he thought she was alone.

“I think we’re okay,” she said, “but I need you to make sure he’s really gone. He was walking. Check the street and over the back fence into the Edmundses’ yard. I have to change my pants.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Nothing!” she hissed. “Just check to make sure he’s gone, and if he is, we are getting the holy hell out of here.”

20

Piper Libby let go of the box and sat back, looking at the town with tears welling in her eyes. She was thinking of all those late-night prayers to The Not-There. Now she knew that had been nothing but a silly, sophomoric joke, and the joke, it turned out, was on her. There was a There there. It just wasn’t God.

“Did you see them?”

She started. Norrie Calvert was standing there. She looked thinner. Older, too, and Piper saw that she was going to be beautiful. To the boys she hung with, she probably already was.

“Yes, honey, I did.”

“Are Rusty and Barbie right? Are the people looking at us just kids?”

Piper thought, Maybe it takes one to know one.

“I’m not a hundred percent sure, honey. Try it for yourself.” Norrie looked at her. “Yeah?”

And Piper—not knowing if she was doing right or doing wrong—nodded. “Yeah.”

“If I get… I don’t know… weird or something, will you pull me back?”

“Yes. And you don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s not a dare.”

But to Norrie it was. And she was curious. She knelt in the high grass and gripped the box firmly on either side. She was immediately galvanized. Her head snapped back so hard Piper heard the verte-brae in her neck crack like knuckles. She reached for the girl, then dropped her hand as Norrie relaxed. Her chin went to her breast-bone and her eyes, which had squeezed shut when the shock hit her, opened again. They were distant and hazy.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “Why?”

Piper’s arms broke out in gooseflesh.

“Tell me!” A tear fell from one of Norrie’s eyes and struck the top of the box, where it sizzled and then disappeared. “Tell me!”

Silence spun out. It seemed very long. Then the girl let go and rocked backward until her butt sat on her heels. “Kids.”

“For sure?”

“For sure. I couldn’t tell how many. It kept changing. They have leather hats on. They have bad mouths. They were wearing goggles and looking at their own box. Only theirs is like a television. They see everywhere, all over town.”

“How do you know?”

Norrie shook her head helplessly. “I can’t tell you, but I know it’s true. They’re bad kids with bad mouths. I never want to touch that box again. I feel so dirty. ” She began to cry.

Piper held her. “When you asked them why, what did they say?”

“Nothing.”

“Did they hear you, do you think?”

“They heard. They just didn’t care.”

From behind them came a steady beating sound, growing louder. Two transport helicopters were coming in from the north, almost skimming the TR-90 treetops.

“They better watch out for the Dome or they’ll crash like the airplane!” Norrie cried.

The copters did not crash. They reached the edge of safe airspace some two miles distant, then began to descend.

21

Cox had told Barbie of an old supply road that ran from the McCoy orchard to the TR-90 border, and said it still looked passable. Barbie, Rusty, Rommie, Julia, and Pete Freeman drove along it around seven thirty Friday morning. Barbie trusted Cox, but not necessarily pictures of an old truck-track snapped from two hundred miles up, so they’d taken the van Ernie Calvert had stolen from Big Jim Rennie’s lot. That one Barbie was perfectly willing to lose, if it got stuck. Pete was sans camera; his digital Nikon had ceased to work when he got close to the box.

“ETs don’t like the paparazzi, broha,” Barbie said. He thought it was a moderately funny line, but when it came to his camera, Pete had no sense of humor.