Under the Dome

An exceedingly unpleasant idea surfaced in Rusty’s mind. Probably just transient paranoia brought on by stress, but persuasive. “Andrea, is someone blackmailing you?”

“Are you kidding? Everyone knows I take those pills, it’s a small town.” Which did not, in Rusty’s opinion, actually answer the question. “What’s the absolute shortest it can take?”

“With B₁₂ shots—plus thiamine and vitamins—you might manage it in ten days. But you’d be miserable. You wouldn’t be able to sleep much, and you’ll have restless leg syndrome. Not mild, either, they don’t call it kicking the habit for nothing. And you’d have to have someone administer the step-down dosage—someone who can hold the pills and won’t give them to you when you ask. Because you will.”

“Ten days?” She looked hopeful. “And this might be over by then anyway, yes? This Dome thing?”

“Maybe this afternoon. That’s what we all hope.”

“Ten days,” she said. “Ten days.”

And, he thought, you’ll want those goddam things for the rest of your life. But this he didn’t say aloud either.

11

Sweetbriar Rose had been extraordinarily busy for a Monday morning… but of course there had never been a Monday morning like this in the town’s history. Still, the patrons had left willingly enough when Rose announced the grill was closed, and wouldn’t reopen until five that afternoon. “And by then, maybe you can all go over to Moxie’s in Castle Rock and eat there!” she finished. That had brought spontaneous applause, even though Moxie’s was a famously filthy greasepit.

“No lunch?” Ernie Calvert asked.

Rose looked at Barbie, who raised his hands to his shoulders. Don’t ask me.

“Sandwiches,” Rose said. “Until they’re gone.”

This had brought more applause. People seemed surprisingly upbeat this morning; there had been laughter and raillery. Perhaps the best sign of the town’s improved mental health was at the rear of the restaurant, where the bullshit table was back in session.

The TV over the counter—now locked on CNN—was a big part of the reason. The talking heads had little more to broadcast than rumors, but most were hopeful. Several scientists who’d been interviewed said the Cruise had a good chance of smashing through and ending the crisis. One estimated the chances of success as “better than eighty percent.” But of course he’s at MIT in Cambridge, Barbie thought. He can afford optimism.

Now, as he scraped the grill, a knock came at the door. Barbie looked around and saw Julia Shumway, with three children clustered around her. They made her look like a junior high school teacher on a field trip. Barbie went to the door, wiping his hands on his apron.

“If we let everyone in who wants to eat, we’ll be out of food in no time,” Anson said irritably from where he was swabbing down tables. Rose had gone back to Food City to try and purchase more meat.

“I don’t think she wants to eat,” Barbie said, and he was right about that.

“Good morning, Colonel Barbara,” Julia said with her little Mona Lisa smile. “I keep wanting to call you Major Barbara. Like the—”

“The play, I know.” Barbie had heard this one a few times before. Like ten thousand. “Is this your posse?”

One of the children was an extremely tall, extremely skinny boy with a mop of dark brown hair; one was a stocky young fellow wearing baggy shorts and a faded 50 Cent tee-shirt; the third was a pretty little girl with a lightning bolt on her cheek. A decal rather than a tattoo, but it still gave her a certain savoir faire. He realized if he told her she looked like the middle-school version of Joan Jett, she wouldn’t know who he was talking about.

“Norrie Calvert,” Julia said, touching the riot grrl’s shoulder. “Benny Drake. And this tall drink of water is Joseph McClatchey. Yesterday’s protest demonstration was his idea.”

“But I never meant anyone to get hurt,” Joe said.

“And it wasn’t your fault they did,” Barbie told him. “So rest easy on that.”

“Are you really the bull goose?” Benny asked, looking him over.

Barbie laughed. “No,” he said. “I’m not even going to try and be the bull goose unless I absolutely have to.”

“But you know the soldiers out there, right?” Norrie asked.

“Well, not personally. For one thing, they’re Marines. I was Army.”

“You’re still Army, according to Colonel Cox,” Julia said. She was wearing her cool little smile, but her eyes were dancing with excitement. “Can we talk to you? Young Mr. McClatchey has had an idea, and I think it’s brilliant. If it works.”

“It’ll work,” Joe said. “When it comes to computer shi—stuff, I’m the bull goose.”

“Step into my office,” Barbie said, and escorted them toward the counter.

12

It was brilliant, all right, but it was already going on ten thirty, and if they were really going to make this thing happen, they would have to move fast. He turned to Julia. “Do you have your cell ph—”

Julia slapped it smartly into his palm before he could finish. “Cox’s number is in memory.”