Under the Dome

“Sure,” Andy said. “Always a few minutes for you, Mrs. Perkins. I’m really sorry about Duke.”

“And I’m sorry about your wife,” she said gravely.

Their eyes met. It was a genuine Tender Moment, and it made Big Jim feel like tearing his hair out. He knew he wasn’t supposed to let such feelings grip him—it was bad for his blood pressure, and what was bad for his blood pressure was bad for his heart—but it was hard, sometimes. Especially when you’d just been handed a note from a fellow who knew far too much and now believed God wanted him to speak to the town. If Big Jim was right about what had gotten into Coggins’s head, this current business was piddling by comparison.

Only it might not be piddling. Because Brenda Perkins had never liked him, and Brenda Perkins was the widow of a man who was now perceived in town—for absolutely no good reason—as a hero. The first thing he had to do—

“Come on inside,” he said. “We’ll talk in the conference room.” His eyes flicked to Barbie. “Are you a part of this, Mr. Barbara? Because I can’t for the life of me understand why.”

“This may help,” Barbie said, holding out the sheets of paper they’d been passing around. “I used to be in the Army. I was a lieutenant. It seems that I’ve had my term of service extended. I’ve also been given a promotion.”

Rennie took the sheets, holding them by the corner as if they might be hot. The letter was considerably more elegant than the grubby note Richie Killian had handed him, and from a rather more well-known correspondent. The heading read simply: FROM THE WHITE HOUSE. It bore today’s date.

Rennie felt the paper. A deep vertical crease had formed between his bushy eyebrows. “This isn’t White House stationery.”

Of course it is, you silly man, Barbie was tempted to say. It was delivered an hour ago by a member of the FedEx Elf Squad. Crazy little fucker just teleported through the Dome, no problem.

“No, it’s not.” Barbie tried to keep his voice pleasant. “It came by way of the Internet, as a PDF file. Ms. Shumway downloaded it and printed it out.”

Julia Shumway. Another troublemaker.

“Read it, James,” Brenda said quietly. “It’s important.”

Big Jim read it.

4

Benny Drake, Norrie Calvert, and Scarecrow Joe McClatchey stood outside the offices of the Chester’s Mill Democrat. Each had a flash-light. Benny and Joe held theirs in their hands; Norrie’s was tucked into the wide front pocket of her hoodie. They were looking up the street at the Town Hall, where several people—including all three selectmen and the cook from Sweetbriar Rose—appeared to be having a conference.

“I wonder what that’s about,” Norrie said.

“Grownup shit,” Benny said, with a supreme lack of interest, and knocked on the door of the newspaper office. When there was no response, Joe pushed past him and tried the knob. The door opened. He knew at once why Miz Shumway hadn’t heard them; her copier was going full blast while she talked with the paper’s sports reporter and the guy who had been taking pictures out at the field day.

She saw the kids and waved them in. Single sheets were shooting rapidly in the copier’s tray. Pete Freeman and Tony Guay were taking turns pulling them out and stacking them up.

“There you are,” Julia said. “I was afraid you kids weren’t coming. We’re almost ready. If the damn copier doesn’t shit the bed, that is.”

Joe, Benny, and Norrie received this enchanting bon mot with silent appreciation, each resolving to put it to use as soon as possible.

“Did you get permission from your folks?” Julia asked. “I don’t want a bunch of angry parents on my neck.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Norrie said. “All of us did.”

Freeman was tying up a bundle of sheets with twine. Doing a bad job of it, too, Norrie observed. She herself could tie five different knots. Also fishing flies. Her father had shown her. She in turn had shown him how to do nosies on her rail, and when he fell off the first time he’d laughed until tears rolled down his face. She thought she had the best dad in the universe.

“Want me to do that?” Norrie asked.

“If you can do a better job, sure.” Pete stood aside.

She started forward, Joe and Benny crowding close behind her. Then she saw the big black headline on the one-sheet extra, and stopped. “Holy shit!”

As soon as the words were out she clapped her hands to her mouth, but Julia only nodded. “It’s an authentic holy shit, all right. I hope you all brought bikes, and I hope they all have baskets. You can’t haul these around town on skateboards.”

“That’s what you said, that’s what we brought,” Joe replied. “Mine doesn’t have a basket, but it’s got a carrier.”

“And I’ll tie his load on for him,” Norrie said.

Pete Freeman, who was watching with admiration as the girl quickly tied up the bundles (with what looked like a sliding butter-fly), said, “I bet you will. Those are good.”