Under the Dome

She could still feel Thibodeau rubbing against her bottom. The tickle of his stubble. The fingers squeezing her breast. She told herself not to look at what he’d left on the seat of her jeans when she took them off, but she couldn’t help it. The word that rose in her mind was mansplat, and she’d found herself in a short, grim struggle to keep her breakfast down. Which also would have pleased him, if he had known.

Sweat sprang out on her brow.

“Mom?” Judy, right in her ear. Linda jumped and uttered a cry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to jump you. Can I have something to eat?”

“Not now.”

“Why does that man keep loudspeakering?”

“Honey, I can’t talk to you right now.”

“Are you bummin?”

“Yes. A little. Now sit back.”

“Are we going to see Daddy?”

“Yes.” Unless we get caught and I get raped in front of you. “Now sit back.”

Thurse was finally coming. Thank God for small favors. He appeared to be carrying enough cut squares and rectangles of lead to armor a tank. “See? That wasn’t so ba—oh, shit.”

The kids giggled, the sound like rough files sawing away at Linda’s brain. “Quarter in the swear-jar, Mr. Marshall,” Janelle said.

Thurse was looking down, bemused. He had stuck the metal-snips in his belt.

“I’ll just put these back under the milk box—”

Linda snatched them before he could finish, restrained a momentary urge to bury them up to the handles in his narrow chest—admirable restraint, she thought—and got out to put them away herself.

As she did, a vehicle slid in behind the van, blocking access to West Street, the only way out of this cul-de-sac.

2

Atop Town Common Hill, just below the Y-intersection where Highland Avenue split off from Main Street, Jim Rennie’s Hummer sat idling. From below came the amplified exhortations for people to leave their cars and walk unless they were disabled. People were flowing down the sidewalks, many with packs on their backs. Big Jim eyed them with that species of longsuffering contempt which is felt only by caretakers who do their jobs not out of love but out of duty.

Going against the tide was Carter Thibodeau. He was striding in the middle of the street, every now and then shoving someone out of his way. He reached the Hummer, got in on the passenger side, and armed sweat from his forehead. “Man, that AC feels good. Not hardly eight in the morning and it’s got to be seventy-five degrees out there already. And the air smells like a frickin ashtray. ’Scuse the language, boss.”

“What kind of luck did you have?”

“The bad kind. I talked to Officer Everett. Ex -Officer Everett. The others are in the breeze.”

“Does she know anything?”

“No. She hasn’t heard from the doc. And Wettington treated her like a mushroom, kept her in the dark and fed her shit.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Her kids there with her?”

“Yup. The hippy, too. The one who straightened out your ticker. Plus the two kids Junior and Frankie found out at the Pond.” Carter thought about this. “With his chick dead and her husband gone, him and Everett’ll probably be boinking each other’s brains out by the end of the week. If you want me to take another run at her, boss, I will.”

Big Jim flicked a single finger up from the steering wheel to show that wouldn’t be necessary. His attention was elsewhere. “Look at them, Carter.”

Carter couldn’t very well help it. The foot traffic out of town was thickening every minute.

“Most of them will be at the Dome by nine, and their cotton-picking relatives won’t arrive until ten. At the earliest. By then they’ll be good and thirsty. By noon the ones who didn’t think to bring water will be drinking cow-piddle out of Alden Dinsmore’s pond, God love them. God must love them, because the majority are too dumb to work and too nervous to steal.”

Carter barked laughter.

“That’s what we’ve got to deal with,” Rennie said. “The mob. The cotton-picking rabble. What do they want, Carter?”

“I don’t know, boss.”

“Sure you do. They want food, Oprah, country music, and a warm bed to thump uglies in when the sun goes down. So they can make more just like them. And goodness me, here comes another member of the tribe.”

It was Chief Randolph, trudging up the hill and mopping his bright red face with a handkerchief.

Big Jim was now in full lecture mode. “Our job, Carter, is to take care of them. We may not like it, we may not always think they’re worth it, but it’s the job God gave us. Only to do it, we have to take care of ourselves first, and that’s why a good deal of fresh fruit and veg from Food City was stored in the Town Clerk’s office two days ago. You didn’t know that, did you? Well, that’s all right. You’re a step ahead of them and I’m a step ahead of you and that’s how it’s supposed to be. The lesson is simple: the Lord helps those that help themselves.”

“Yes, sir.”

Randolph arrived. He was puffing, there were circles under his eyes, and he appeared to have lost weight. Big Jim pushed the button that ran down his window.