Under the Dome

He struggled to his feet. “Mr. Sanders.” Some of the Mace had gotten into his mouth. His tongue and throat were swollen, his voice an unconvincing nasal croak. “I did not kill your daughter, sir. I did not kill anyone. If you think about this you’ll see that your friend Rennie needs a scapegoat and I’m the most convenient—”

But Andy was in no shape to think about anything. He dropped his hands to Randolph’s holster and began clawing at the Glock there. Alarmed, Randolph struggled to keep it where it was.

At that moment, a large-bellied figure descended the stairs, moving gracefully despite his bulk.

“Andy!” Big Jim boomed. “Andy, pal—come here!”

He opened his arms. Andy stopped struggling for the gun and rushed to him like a weeping child to the arms of his father. And Big Jim enfolded him.

“I want a gun!” Andy babbled, lifting his tear-streaked, snot-creamy face to Big Jim’s. “Get me a gun, Jim! Now! Right now! I want to shoot him for what he did! It’s my right as a father! He killed my baby girl!”

“Maybe not just her,” Big Jim said. “Maybe not just Angie, Lester, and poor Brenda, either.”

This halted the verbal flood. Andy stared up into Big Jim’s slab of a face, dumbfounded. Fascinated.

“Maybe your wife, too. Duke. Myra Evans. All the others.”

“Wha…”

“Somebody’s responsible for the Dome, pal—am I right?”

“Ye…” Andy was capable of no more, but Big Jim nodded benignly.

“And it seems to me that the people who did it had to have at least one inside man. Someone to stir the pot. And who’s better at pot-stirring than a short-order cook?” He put an arm around Andy’s shoulder and led him to Chief Randolph. Big Jim glanced back at Barbie’s red and swollen face as if looking at some species of bug. “We’ll find proof. I have no doubt of it. He’s already demonstrated he’s not smart enough to cover his tracks.”

Barbie fixed his attention on Randolph. “This is a setup,” he said in his nasal foghorning voice. “It might have started just because Rennie needed to cover his ass, but now it’s just a naked power-grab. You may not be expendable yet, Chief, but when you are, you’ll go, too.”

“Shut up,” Randolph said.

Rennie was stroking Andy’s hair. Barbie thought of his mother and how she used to stroke their cocker spaniel, Missy, when Missy got old and stupid and incontinent. “He’ll pay the price, Andy—you have my word on that. But first we’re going to get all the details: the what, the when, the why, and who else was involved. Because he’s not in it alone, you can bet your rooty-toot on that. He’s got accomplices. He’ll pay the price, but first we’re going to wring him dry of information.”

“What price?” Andy asked. He was looking up at Big Jim almost rapturously now. “What price will he pay?”

“Well, if he knows how to lift the Dome—and I wouldn’t put it past him—I guess we’ll have to be satisfied with seeing him in Shawshank. Life without parole.”

“Not good enough,” Andy whispered.

Rennie was still stroking Andy’s head. “If the Dome doesn’t let go?” He smiled. “In that case, we’ll have to try him ourselves. And when we find him guilty, we’ll execute him. Do you like that better?”

“Much,” Andy whispered.

“So do I, pal.”

Stroking. Stroking.

“So do I.”

18

They came out of the woods three abreast and stopped, looking up at the orchard.

“There’s something up there!” Benny said. “I see it!” His voice sounded excited, but to Joe it also sounded strangely far away.

“So do I,” Norrie said. “It looks like a… a…” Radio beacon were the words she wanted to say, but she never got them out. She managed only an rrr-rrr-rrr sound, like a toddler playing trucks in a sandpile. Then she fell off her bike and lay on the road with her arms and legs jerking.

“Norrie?” Joe looked down at her—more with bemusement than alarm—then up at Benny. Their eyes met for just a moment and then Benny also toppled, pulling his bike over on top of him. He began to thrash, kicking the High Plains off to one side. The Geiger counter flew into the ditch dial-side down.

Joe tottered toward it and reached out an arm that seemed to stretch like rubber. He turned the yellow box over. The needle had jumped to +200, just below the red danger zone. He saw this, then fell into a black hole full of orange flames. He thought they were coming from a huge heap of pumpkins—a funeral pyre of blazing jack-o-lanterns. Somewhere voices were calling: lost and terrified. Then the darkness swallowed him.

19

When Julia came into the Democrat office after leaving the supermarket, Tony Guay, the former sports reporter who was now the entire news department, was typing on his laptop. She handed him the camera and said, “Stop what you’re doing and print these.”