Under the Dome

Tonight, the mistrust was justified. She might still be able to e-mail comps to View Printing, but no one would be able to deliver the finished papers in the morning. She guessed that by the morning, nobody would be able to get within five miles of The Mill’s borders. Any of its borders. Luckily for her, there was a nice big generator in the former print room, her photocopying machine was a monster, and she had over five hundred reams of paper stacked out back. If she could get Pete Freeman to help her… or Tony Guay, who covered sports…

Horace, meanwhile, had finally assumed the position. When he was done, she swung into action with a small green bag labeled Doggie Doo, wondering to herself what Horace Greeley would have thought of a world where picking up dogshit from the gutter was not just socially expected but a legal responsibility. She thought he might have shot himself.

Once the bag was filled and tied off, she tried her phone again.

Nothing.

She took Horace back inside and fed him.

4

Her cell rang while she was buttoning her coat to drive out to the barrier. She had her camera over her shoulder and almost dropped it, scrabbling in her pocket. She looked at the number and saw the words PRIVATE CALLER.

“Hello?” she said, and there must have been something in her voice, because Horace—waiting by the door, more than ready for a nighttime expedition now that he was cleaned out and fed—pricked up his ears and looked around at her.

“Mrs. Shumway?” A man’s voice. Clipped. Official-sounding.

“Ms. Shumway. To whom am I speaking?”

“Colonel James Cox, Ms. Shumway. United States Army.”

“And to what do I owe the honor of this call?” She heard the sarcasm in her voice and didn’t like it—it wasn’t professional—but she was afraid, and sarcasm had ever been her response to fear.

“I need to get in touch with a man named Dale Barbara. Do you know this man?”

Of course she did. And had been surprised to see him at Sweet-briar earlier tonight. He was crazy to still be in town, and hadn’t Rose herself said just yesterday that he had given notice? Dale Barbara’s story was one of hundreds Julia knew but hadn’t written. When you published a smalltown newspaper, you left the lids on a great many cans of worms. You had to pick your fights. The way she was sure Junior Rennie and his friends picked theirs. And she doubted very much if the rumors about Barbara and Dodee’s good friend Angie were true, anyway. For one thing, she thought Barbara had more taste.

“Ms. Shumway?” Crisp. Official. An on-the-outside voice. She could resent the owner of the voice just for that. “Still with me?”

“Still with you. Yes, I know Dale Barbara. He cooks at the restaurant on Main Street. Why?”

“He has no cell phone, it seems, the restaurant doesn’t answer—”

“It’s closed—”

“—and the landlines don’t work, of course.”

“Nothing in this town seems to work very well tonight, Colonel Cox. Cell phones included. But I notice you didn’t have any trouble getting through to me, which makes me wonder if you fellows might not be responsible for that.” Her fury—like her sarcasm, born of fear—surprised her. “What did you do? What did you people do?”

“Nothing. So far as I know now, nothing.”

She was so surprised she could think of no follow-up. Which was very unlike the Julia Shumway longtime Mill residents knew.

“The cell phones, yes,” he said. “Calls in and out of Chester’s Mill are pretty well shut down now. In the interests of national security. And with all due respect, ma’am, you would have done the same, in our position.”

“I doubt that.”

“Do you?” he sounded interested, not angry. “In a situation that’s unprecedented in the history of the world, and suggestive of technology far beyond what we or anyone else can even understand?”

Once more she found herself stuck for a reply.

“It’s quite important that I speak to Captain Barbara,” he said, returning to his original scripture. In a way, Julia was surprised he’d wandered as far off-message as he had.

“Captain Barbara?”

“Retired. Can you find him? Take your cell phone. I’ll give you a number to call. It’ll go through.”

“Why me, Colonel Cox? Why didn’t you call the police station? Or one of the town selectmen? I believe all three of them are here.”

“I didn’t even try. I grew up in a small town, Ms. Shumway—”

“Bully for you.”

“—and in my experience, town politicians know a little, the town cops know a lot, and the local newspaper editor knows everything.”

That made her laugh in spite of herself.

“Why bother with a call when you two can meet face-to-face? With me as your chaperone, of course. I’m going out to my side of the barrier—was leaving when you called, in fact. I’ll hunt Barbie up—”

“Still calling himself that, is he?” Cox sounded bemused.

“I’ll hunt him up and bring him with me. We can have a mini press conference.”

“I’m not in Maine. I’m in D.C. With the Joint Chiefs.”

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Although it did, a little.

“Ms. Shumway, I’m busy, and probably you are, too. So, in the interests of resolving this thing—”