Under the Dome

“Okay.” Carter ran over to where Randolph was standing on the Town Hall steps (probably thinks he looks like Julius-Cotton-Picking-Caesar, Big Jim thought) and brought the Chief back.

“We go in the side door,” Big Jim said. He consulted his watch. “Five—no, four—minutes from now. You’ll lead, Peter, I’ll go second, Carter, you come behind me. We’ll go straight to the stage, all right? Walk confidently—no goshdarn slouching. There’ll be applause. Stand at attention until it starts to taper off. Then sit. Peter, you’ll be on my left. Carter, on my right. I’ll step forward to the podium. Prayer first, then everybody stands to sing the National Anthem. After that, I’ll speak and run the agenda just as fast as poop through a goose. They’ll vote yea on everything. Got it?”

“I’m nervous as a witch,” Randolph confessed.

“Don’t be. This is going to be fine.”

He was certainly wrong about that.

16

While Big Jim and his entourage were walking toward the side door of the Town Hall, Rose was turning the restaurant van into the McClatchey driveway. Following her was a plain Chevrolet sedan driven by Joanie Calvert.

Claire came out of the house, holding a suitcase in one hand and a canvas carry-bag filled with groceries in the other. Joe and Benny Drake also had suitcases, although most of the clothes in Benny’s had come from Joe’s dresser drawers. Benny was carrying another, smaller, canvas sack loaded with loot from the McClatchey pantry.

From down the hill came the amplified sound of applause.

“Hurry up,” Rose said. “They’re starting. Time for us to get out of Dodge.” Lissa Jamieson was with her. She slid open the van’s door and began handing stuff inside.

“Is there lead roll to cover the windows?” Joe asked Rose.

“Yes, and extra pieces for Joanie’s car as well. We’ll drive as far as you say it’s safe, then block the windows. Give me that suitcase.”

“This is insane, you know,” Joanie Calvert said. She walked a fairly straight line between her car and the Sweetbriar van, which led Rose to believe she’d had no more than a single drink or two to fortify herself. That was a good thing.

“You’re probably right,” Rose said. “Are you ready?”

Joanie sighed and put her arm around her daughter’s slim shoulders. “For what? Going to hell in a handbasket? Why not? How long will we have to stay up there?”

“I don’t know,” Rose said.

Joanie gave another sigh. “Well, at least it’s warm.”

Joe asked Norrie, “Where’s your gramps?”

“With Jackie and Mr. Burpee, in the van we stole from Rennie’s. He’ll wait outside while they go in to get Rusty and Mr. Barbara.” She gave him a scared-to-death smile. “He’s going to be their wheelman.”

“No fool like an old fool,” Joanie Calvert remarked. Rose felt like hauling off and hitting her, and a glance at Lissa told her that Lissa felt the same. But this was no time for argument, let alone fisticuffs.

Hang together or hang separately, Rose thought.

“What about Julia?” Claire asked.

“She’s coming with Piper. And her dog.”

From downtown, amplified (and with the bench-sitters outside adding their own voices), came the United Choir of Chester’s Mill, singing “The Star Spangled Banner.”

“Let’s go,” Rose said. “I’ll lead the way.”

Joanie Calvert repeated, with a kind of dolorous good cheer: “At least it’s warm. Come on, Norrie, copilot your old mom.”

17

There was a delivery lane on the south side of LeClerc’s Maison des Fleurs, and here the stolen phone company van was parked, nose out. Ernie, Jackie, and Rommie Burpee sat listening to the National Anthem coming from up the street. Jackie felt a sting behind her eyes and saw that she wasn’t the only one who was moved; Ernie, sitting behind the wheel, had produced a handkerchief from his back pocket and was dabbing at his eyes with it.

“Guess we won’t need Linda to give us a heads-up,” Rommie said. “I didn’t expect them speakers. They didn’t get em from me.”

“It’s still good for people to see her there,” Jackie said. “Got your mask, Rommie?”

He held up Dick Cheney’s visage, stamped in plastic. In spite of his extensive stock, Rommie hadn’t been able to provide Jackie with an Ariel mask; she had settled for Harry Potter’s chum, Hermione. Ernie’s Darth Vader mask was behind the seat, but Jackie thought they’d probably be in trouble if he actually had to put it on. She had not said this aloud.

And really, what does it matter? When we’re suddenly not around town anymore, everybody’s going to have a good idea why we’re gone.

But suspecting wasn’t the same as knowing, and if suspicion was the best Rennie and Randolph could do, the friends and relatives they were leaving behind might be subjected to no more than harsh questioning.

Might. Under circumstances like these, Jackie realized, that was a mighty big word.