Under the Dome

“What do we do now?” Linda asks, her cheek pressed against Jackie’s shoulder. Marta stands close beside her, gaping at the market and pressing a palm against the discolored, rapidly swelling bruise on the side of her face. Beyond them, Food City surges with yells, laughter, the occasional cry of pain. Objects are thrown; Linda sees a roll of toilet tissue unspooling like a party streamer as it arcs over the housewares aisle.

“Honey,” Jackie says, “I just don’t know.”

11

Anson snatched Rose’s shopping list and went running into the market with it before the lady herself could stop him. Rose hesitated beside the restaurant panel truck, clenching and unclenching her hands, wondering whether or not to go in after him. She had just decided to stay put when an arm slipped around her shoulders. She jumped, then turned her head and saw Barbie. The depth of her relief actually weakened her knees. She clutched his arm—partly for comfort, mostly so she wouldn’t faint.

Barbie was smiling, without much humor. “Some fun, huh, kid?”

“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “Anson’s in there… everybody is… and the cops are just standing around. ”

“Probably don’t want to get beat up any worse than they already have been. And I don’t blame them. This was well planned and beautifully executed.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Never mind. Want to take a shot at stopping it before it gets any worse?”

“How?”

He lifted the bullhorn, plucked from the hood of the car where Toby Whelan left it. When he tried to hand it to her, Rose drew back, holding her hands to her chest. “You do it, Barbie.”

“No. You’re the one who’s been feeding them for years, you’re the one they know, you’re the one they’ll listen to.”

She took the bullhorn, although hesitantly. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t think of a single thing that will make them stop. Toby Whelan already tried. They didn’t pay any attention.”

“Toby tried to give orders,” Barbie said. “Giving orders to a mob is like giving orders to an anthill.”

“I still don’t know what to—”

“I’m going to tell you.” Barbie spoke calmly, and that calmed her. He paused long enough to beckon Linda Everett. She and Jackie came together, their arms around each other’s waists.

“Can you get in touch with your husband?” Barbie asked.

“If his cell phone’s on.”

“Tell him to get down here—with an ambulance, if possible. If he doesn’t answer his phone, grab a police car and drive on up to the hospital.”

“He’s got patients….”

“He’s got some patients right here. He just doesn’t know it.” Barbie pointed to Ginny Tomlinson, now sitting with her back against the cinderblock side of the market and her hands pressed to her bleeding face. Gina and Harriet Bigelow crouched on either side of her, but when Gina tried to stanch the bleeding from Ginny’s radically altered nose with a folded handkerchief, Ginny cried out in pain and turned her head away. “Starting with one of his two remaining trained nurses, if I’m not mistaken.”

“What are you going to do?” Linda asked, taking her cell phone from her belt.

“Rose and I are going to make them stop. Aren’t we, Rose?”

12

Rose stopped inside the door, mesmerized by the chaos before her. The eye-watering smell of vinegar was in the air, mingled with the aromas of brine and beer. Mustard and ketchup were splattered like gaudy puke on the linoleum of aisle 3. A cloud of mingled sugar and flour arose from aisle 5. People pushed their loaded shopping carts through it, many coughing and wiping their eyes. Some of the carts slued as they rolled through a drift of spilled dry beans.

“Stay there a sec,” Barbie said, although Rose showed no sign of moving; she was hypnotized with the bullhorn clasped between her breasts.

Barbie found Julia shooting pictures of the looted cash registers. “Quit that and come with me,” he said.

“No, I have to do this, there’s no one else. I don’t know where Pete Freeman is, and Tony—”

“You don’t have to shoot it, you have to stop it. Before something a lot worse than that happens.” He was pointing to Fern Bowie, who was strolling past with a loaded basket in one hand and a beer in the other. His eyebrow was split and blood was dripping down his face, but Fern seemed content enough withal.

“How?”

He led her back to Rose. “Ready, Rose? Showtime.”

“I… well…”

“Remember, serene. Don’t try to stop them; just try to lower the temperature.”

Rose took a deep breath, then raised the bullhorn to her mouth. “HI, EVERYBODY, THIS IS ROSE TWITCHELL, FROM SWEETBRIAR ROSE.”

To her everlasting credit, she did sound serene. People looked around when they heard her voice—not because it sounded urgent, Barbie knew, but because it didn’t. He had seen this in Takrit, Fallujah, Baghdad. Mostly after bombings in crowded public places, when the police and the troop carriers arrived. “PLEASE FINISH YOUR SHOPPING AS QUICKLY AND CALMLY AS POSSIBLE.”