Under the Dome

“No doubt. She goes, ‘What are you going to do, arrest me?’ ” Frankie raised his voice to a snarky falsetto that scraped Junior’s nerves. The dancing white spot actually seemed to turn red, and for a moment he considered putting his hands around his old friend’s neck and choking the life out of him so that he, Junior, would never have to be subjected to that falsetto again.

“What I’m thinking,” Frankie continued, “is I might go out there after I’m off. Teach her a lesson. You know, Respect Your Local Police.”

“She’s a skank. Also a lesboreenie.”

“That might make it even better.” Frankie had paused, looking toward the weird sunset. “This Dome thing could have an upside. We can do pretty much whatever we want. For the time being, anyway. Consider it, chum.” Frankie squeezed his crotch.

“Sure,” Junior had replied, “but I’m not particularly horny.”

Except now he was. Well, sort of. It wasn’t like he was going to fuck them, or anything but—

“But you’re still my girlfriends,” Junior said in the darkness of the pantry. He’d used a flashlight at first, but then had turned it off. The dark was better. “Aren’t you?”

They didn’t reply. If they did, Junior thought, I’d have a major miracle to report to my dad and Reverend Coggins.

He was sitting against a wall lined with shelves of canned goods. He had propped Angie on his right and Dodee on his left. Menagerie a trios, as they said in the Penthouse Forum. His girls hadn’t looked too good with the flashlight on, their swollen faces and bulging eyes only partially obscured by their hanging hair, but once he turned it off… hey! They could have been a couple of live chicks!

Except for the smell, that was. A mixture of old shit and decay just starting to happen. But it wasn’t too bad, because there were other, more pleasant smells in here: coffee, chocolate, molasses, dried fruit, and—maybe—brown sugar.

Also a faint aroma of perfume. Dodee’s? Angie’s? He didn’t know. What he knew was that his headache was better again and that disturbing white spot had gone away. He slid his hand down and cupped Angie’s breast.

“You don’t mind me doing that, do you, Ange? I mean, I know you’re Frankie’s girlfriend, but you guys sort of broke up and hey, it’s only copping a feel. Also—I hate to tell you this, but I think he’s got cheating on his mind tonight.”

He groped with his free hand, found one of Dodee’s. It was chilly, but he put it on his crotch anyway. “Oh my, Dodes,” he said. “That’s pretty bold. But you do what you feel, girl; get down with your bad self.”

He’d have to bury them, of course. Soon. The Dome was apt to pop like a soap bubble, or the scientists would find a way to dissolve it. When that happened, the town would be flooded with investigators. And if the Dome stayed in place, there would likely be some sort of food-finding committee going house to house, looking for supplies.

Soon. But not right now. Because this was soothing.

Also sort of exciting. People wouldn’t understand, of course, but they wouldn’t have to understand. Because—

“This is our secret,” Junior whispered in the dark. “Isn’t it, girls?”

They did not reply (although they would, in time).

Junior sat with his arms around the girls he had murdered, and at some point he drifted off to sleep.

8

When Barbie and Brenda Perkins left the Town Hall at eleven, the meeting was still going on. The two of them walked down Main to Morin without speaking much at first. There was still a small stack of the Democrat one-page extras on the corner of Main and Maple. Barbie slid one out from beneath the rock anchoring the pile. Brenda had a Penlite in her purse and shone the beam on the headline.

“Seeing it in print should make it easier to believe, but it doesn’t,” she said.

“No,” he agreed.

“You and Julia collaborated on this to make sure James couldn’t cover it up,” she said. “Isn’t that so?”

Barbie shook his head. “He wouldn’t try, because it can’t be done. When that missile hits, it’s going to make one hell of a bang. Julia just wanted to make sure Rennie doesn’t get to spin the news his way, whatever way that might be.” He tapped the one-sheet. “To be perfectly blunt, I see this as insurance. Selectman Rennie’s got to be thinking, ‘If he was ahead of me on this, what other information is he ahead of me on?’”

“James Rennie can be a very dangerous adversary, my friend.” They began walking again. Brenda folded the paper and tucked it under her arm. “My husband was investigating him.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know how much to tell you,” she said. “The choices seem to come down to all or nothing. And Howie had no absolute proof—that’s one thing I do know. Although he was close.”

“This isn’t about proof,” Barbie said. “It’s about me staying out of jail if tomorrow doesn’t go well. If what you know might help me with that—”

“If staying out of jail is the only thing you’re worried about, I’m disappointed in you.”