Under the Dome

But Sam was shaking his head. “It better be Missus Shumway’s car, on account of the tires are smaller and easier to handle. Also, they’re brand-new. The air inside them’ll be fresher.”

Joe McClatchey broke into a sudden grin. “The air from the tires! Put the air from the tires in the garbage bags! Homemade scuba tanks! Mr. Verdreaux, that is genius!”

Sloppy Sam grinned himself, showing all six of his remaining teeth. “Can’t take the credit, son. Pete Bergeron gets the credit. He told about a couple of men got trapped behind that fire in Bar Harbor after it went and crowned. They were okay, but the air wasn’t fit to breathe. So what they did was bust the cap off a pulp-truck tire and took turns breathin right from the stem until the wind cleared the air. Pete said they told him it was nasty-tasting, like old dead fish, but it kep em alive.”

“Will one tire be enough?” Julia asked.

“Might be, but we dassn’t trust the spare if it’s one of those little emergency doughnuts built to get you twenty miles down the highway and no more.”

“It’s not,” Julia said. “I hate those things. I asked Johnny Carver to get me a new one, and he did.” She looked toward town. “I suppose Johnny’s dead now. Carrie, too.”

“We better take one off the car as well, just to be safe,” Barbie said. “You’ve got your jack, right?”

Julia nodded.

Rommie Burpee grinned without much humor. “I’ll race you back here, Doc. Your van against Julia’s hybrid.”

“I’ll drive the Prius over,” Piper said. “You stay where you are, Rommie. You look like shit.”

“Nice talk from a minister,” Rommie grumbled. “You ought to be thankful I still feel lively enough to talk some trash.” In truth Reverend Libby looked far from lively, but Julia handed over her keys anyway. None of them looked ready to go out drinking and juking, and Piper was in better shape than some; Claire McClatchey was as pale as milk.

“Okay,” Sam said. “We got one other little problem, but first—”

“What?” Linda asked. “What other problem?”

“Don’t worry about that now. First let’s get our rollin iron over here. When do you want to try it?”

Rusty looked at The Mill’s Congregational minister. Piper nodded. “No time like the present,” Rusty said.

3

The remaining townies watched, but not alone. Cox and almost a hundred other soldiers had gathered on their side of the Dome, looking on with the silent attention of spectators at a tennis match.

Rusty and Piper hyperventilated at the Dome, loading their lungs with as much oxygen as possible. Then they ran, hand-in-hand, toward the vehicles. When they got there they separated. Piper stumbled to one knee, dropping the Prius keys, and all the watchers groaned.

Then she snatched them from the grass and was up again. Rusty was already in the Odyssey van with the motor running as she opened the door of the little green car and flung herself inside.

“Hope they remembered to turn off the air-conditioning,” Sam said.

The vehicles turned in almost perfect tandem, the Prius shadowing the much larger van like a terrier herding a sheep. They drove quickly to the Dome, bouncing over the rough ground. The exiles scattered before them, Alva carrying Alice Appleton and Linda with a coughing Little J under each arm.

The Prius stopped less than a foot away from the dirty barrier, but Rusty swung the Odyssey around and backed it in.

“Your husband’s got a good set of balls on him and an even better set of lungs,” Sam told Linda matter-of-factly.

“It’s because he gave up smoking,” Linda said, and either did not hear Twitch’s strangled snort or affected not to.

Good lungs or not, Rusty didn’t linger. He slammed the door behind him and hustled to the Dome. “Piece of cake,” he said… and began to cough.

“Is the air inside the van breathable, like Sam said?”

“Better than what’s here.” He laughed distractedly. “But he’s right about something else—every time the doors open, a little more good air gets out and a little more bad air gets in. You probably can get out to the box without tire-air, but I don’t know if you can get back without it.”

“They ain’t gonna be driving, neither one of them,” Sam said. “ I’m gonna drive.”

Barbie felt his lips turn up in the first genuine grin to grace his face in days. “Thought you lost your license.”

“Don’t see any cops out here,” Sam said. He turned to Cox. “What about you, Cap? See any local yokels or County Mounties?”

“Not a one,” Cox said.

Julia drew Barbie aside. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.”

“You know the chances hover somewhere between slim and none, right?”

“Yes.”

“How are you at begging, Colonel Barbara?”

He flashed back to the gym in Fallujah: Emerson kicking one prisoner’s balls so hard they flew up in front of him, Hackermeyer pulling another up by his keffiyeh and putting a gun to his head. The blood had hit the wall like it always hits the wall, right back to the time when men fought with clubs.

“I don’t know,” he said. “All I know is it’s my turn.”

4