Under the Dome

She pushed him. Mel wasn’t expecting it. He was still holding his cup of soda. He went tumbling into Georgia Roux’s lap, flailing his arms uselessly for balance, and for a moment the soda was a dark manta ray hanging against the reddening sky. Georgia cried out in surprise as Mel landed on her. She sprawled backward, spilling her own soda. It went running across the wide granite slab in front of the double doors. Piper could smell either whiskey or bourbon. Their Cokes had been spiked with what the rest of the town could no longer buy. No wonder they’d been laughing.

The red fissure inside her head opened wider.

“You can’t—” Frankie began, starting to get up himself. She pushed him. In a galaxy far far away, Clover—ordinarily the sweetest of dogs—was growling.

Frankie went on his back, eyes wide and startled, for a moment looking like the Sunday school boy he once might have been.

“Rape is the problem!” Piper shouted. “Rape!”

“Shut up,” Carter said. He was still sitting, and although Georgia was cowering against him, Carter remained calm. The muscles of his arms rippled below his short-sleeved blue shirt. “Shut up and get out of here right now, if you don’t want to spend the night in a cell downstai—”

“You’re the one who’ll be going into a cell,” Piper said. “All of you.”

“Make her shut up,” Georgia said. She wasn’t whimpering, but she was close. “Make her shut up, Cart.”

“Ma’am—” Freddy Denton. His uniform shirt untucked and bourbon on his breath. Duke would have taken one look and fired his ass. Fired all their asses. He started to get up and this time he was the one who went sprawling, a look of surprise on his face that would have been comical under other circumstances. It was nice that they had been sitting while she was standing. Made it easier. But oh, how her temples were thudding. She returned her attention to Thibodeau, the most dangerous one. He was still looking at her with maddening calm. As though she were a freak he’d paid a quarter to see in a sideshow tent. But he was looking up at her, and that was her advantage.

“But it won’t be a cell downstairs,” she said, speaking directly to Thibodeau. “It’ll be in Shawshank, where they do to little play-yard bullies like you what you did to that girl.”

“You stupid bitch,” Carter said. He spoke as if remarking on the weather. “We weren’t anywhere near her house.”

“That’s right,” Georgia said, sitting up again. There was Coke splattered on one of her cheeks, where a virulent case of teenage acne was fading (but still holding onto a few final outposts). “And besides, everyone knows Sammy Bushey is nothing but a lying lesbo cunt.”

Piper’s lips stretched in a smile. She turned it on Georgia, who recoiled from the crazy lady who had appeared so suddenly on the steps while they’d been having a nice sunsetter or two. “How did you know the lying lesbo cunt’s name? I didn’t say it.”

Georgia’s mouth dropped into an O of dismay. And for the first time something flickered beneath Carter Thibodeau’s calm. Whether fear or just annoyance, Piper didn’t know.

Frank DeLesseps got cautiously to his feet. “You better not go around spreading accusations you can’t back up, Reverend Libby.”

“Nor assaulting police officers,” Freddy Denton said. “I’m willing to let it go this time—everyone’s under stress—but you have to cease and desist these accusations right now.” He paused, then added lamely: “And the pushing, of course.”

Piper’s gaze remained fixed on Georgia, her right hand curled so tightly around the black plastic grip of Clover’s leash it was throbbing. The dog stood with his forepaws spread and his head lowered, still growling. He sounded like a powerful outboard motor set to idle. The fur on his neck had bushed out enough to hide his collar.

“How’d you know her name, Georgia?”

“I… I… I just assumed…”

Carter gripped her shoulder and squeezed it. “Shut up, babe.” And then, to Piper, still not standing (Because he doesn’t want to be pushed back down, the coward), he said: “I don’t know what kind of bee you’ve got in your Jesus bonnet, but we were all together last night, at Alden Dinsmore’s farm. Trying to see if we could get anything out of the soldier-boys stationed on 119, which we couldn’t. That’s on the other side of town from Busheys’.” He looked around at his friends.

“Right,” Frankie said.

“Right,” Mel chimed in, looking at Piper distrustfully.

“Yeah!” Georgia said. Carter’s arm was around her again and her moment of doubt was gone. She looked at Piper defiantly.

“Georgie-girl assumed it was Sammy you were yelling about,” Carter said with that same infuriating calm. “Because Sammy’s the biggest lying scumbucket in this town.”

Mel Searles yodeled laughter.