Under the Dome

“What you do not know,” Big Jim continued, “is that the Dome is the result of a conspiracy perpetrated by an elite group of rogue scientists and covertly funded by a government splinter group. We are guinea pigs in an experiment, my fellow townspeople, and Dale Barbara was the man designated to chart and guide that experiment’s course from the inside! ”

Stunned silence greeted this. Then there was a roar of outrage.

When it had quieted, Big Jim continued, hands planted on either side of the podium, his large face shining with sincerity (and, perhaps, hypertension). His speech lay in front of him, but it was still folded. There was no need to look at it. God was using his vocal cords and moving his tongue.

“When I speak of covert funding, you may wonder what I mean. The answer is horrifying but simple. Dale Barbara, aided by an as yet unknown number of townspeople, set up a drug-manufacturing facility which has been supplying huge quantities of crystal methamphetamine to drug lords, some with CIA connections, all up and down the Eastern Seaboard. And although he hasn’t given us the names of all his co-conspirators yet, one of them—it breaks my heart to tell you this—appears to be Andy Sanders.”

Hubbub and cries of wonder from the audience. Big Jim saw Andi Grinnell start to rise from her seat, then settle back. That’s right, he thought, just sit there. If you’re reckless enough to question me, I’ll eat you alive. Or point my finger at you and accuse you. Then they’ll eat you alive.

And in truth, he felt as if he could do that.

“Barbara’s boss—his control—is a man you have all seen on the news. He claims to be a colonel in the U.S. Army, but in fact he is high in the councils of the scientists and government officials responsible for this Satanic experiment. I have Barbara’s confession to this much right here.” He tapped his sportcoat, whose inner pocket contained his wallet and a digest-sized New Testament with the words of Christ printed in red.

Meanwhile, more cries of “Hang him!” had arisen. Big Jim lifted one hand, head lowered, face grave, and the cries eventually stilled.

“We will vote on Barbara’s punishment as a town—one unified body dedicated to the cause of freedom. It’s in your hands, ladies and gentlemen. If you vote to execute, he will be executed. But there will be no hanging while I am your leader. He will be executed by police firing squad—”

Wild applause interrupted him, and most of the assembly rose to its feet. Big Jim leaned into the microphone.

“—but only after we get every bit of information which is still hidden in his MISERABLE TRAITOR’S HEART!”

Now almost all of them were up. Not Andi, though; she sat in the third row next to the center aisle, looking up at him with eyes that should have been soft and hazy and confused but were not. Look at me all you want, he thought. Just as long as you sit there like a good little girl.

Meanwhile, he basked in the applause.

20

“Now?” Rommie asked. “What you t’ink, Jackie?”

“Wait a little longer,” she said.

It was instinct, nothing else, and usually her instincts were dependable.

Later she would wonder how many lives might have been saved if she had told Rommie okay, let’s roll.

21

Looking through his crack in the sidewall of the Peace Bridge, Junior saw that even the people on the benches outside had risen to their feet, and the same instinct that told Jackie to stay a little longer told him it was time to move. He limped from beneath the bridge on the Town Common side and cut across to the sidewalk. When the creature who had sired him resumed speaking, he started toward the Police Department. The dark spot on the left side of his field of vision had expanded again, but his mind was clear.

I’m coming, Baaarbie. I’m coming for you right now.

22

“These people are masters of disinformation,” Big Jim continued, “and when you go out to the Dome to visit with your loved ones, the campaign against me will kick into high gear. Cox and his surrogates will stop at nothing to blacken me. They’ll call me a liar and a thief, they may even say I ran their drug operation myself—”

“You did,” a clear, carrying voice said.

It was Andrea Grinnell. Every eye fixed upon her as she rose, a human exclamation point in her bright red dress. She looked at Big Jim for a moment with an expression of cool contempt, then turned to face the people who had elected her Third Selectwoman when old Billy Cale, Jack Cale’s father, had died of a stroke four years ago.