Stephen King - Under the Dome

Joe bumped her, then pointed. “That way, two miles. Maybe three.” He turned the Geiger-Müller tube in that direction and they all watched, fascinated, as the needle rose to +10.

“I’ll be fucked,” Benny said.

“Maybe when you’re forty,” Norrie said. Tough as ever… but blushing. Just a little.

“There’s an old orchard out on the Black Ridge Road,” Joe said. “You can see the whole Mill from it—TR-90, too. That’s what my dad says, anyway. It could be there. Norrie, you’re a genius.” He didn’t have to wait for her to kiss him, after all. He did the honors, although daring no more than the corner of her mouth.

She looked pleased, but there was still a frown line between her eyes. “It might not mean anything. The needle’s not exactly going crazy. Can we go out there on our bikes?”

“Sure!” Joe said.

“After lunch,” Benny added. He thought of himself as the practical one.

While Joe, Benny, and Norrie were eating lunch at the McClatchey house (it was indeed chop suey) and Rusty Everett, assisted by Barbie and the two teenage girls, were treating supermarket-riot casualties at Cathy Russell, Big Jim Rennie sat in his study, going over a list and checking off items.

He saw his Hummer roll back up the driveway, and checked off another item: Brenda dropped off with the others. He thought he was ready—as ready as he could be, anyway. And even if the Dome disappeared this afternoon, he thought his butt was covered.

Junior came in and dropped the Hummer’s keys on Big Jim’s desk. He was pale and needed a shave worse than ever, but he no longer looked like death on a cracker. His left eye was red, but not flaming.

“All set, Son?”

Junior nodded. “Are we going to jail?” He spoke with an almost disinterested curiosity.

“No,” Big Jim said. The idea that he might go to jail had never crossed his mind, not even when the Perkins witch had shown up here and started making her accusations. He smiled. “But Dale Barbara is.”

“No one’s going to believe he killed Brenda Perkins.”

Big Jim continued to smile. “They will. They’re frightened, and they will. It’s how these things work.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I’m a student of history. You ought to try it sometime.” It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Junior why he had left Bowdoin—had he quit, flunked out, or been asked to leave? But this wasn’t the time or the place. Instead he asked his son if he was up to one more errand.

Junior rubbed at his temple. “I guess. In for a penny, in for a pound.”

“You’ll need help. You could take Frank, I suppose, but I’d prefer the Thibodeau lad, if he’s able to move around today. Not Sear-les, though. A good fellow, but stupid.”

Junior said nothing. Big Jim wondered again what was wrong with the boy. But did he really want to know? Perhaps when this crisis was over. In the meantime, he had many pots and skillets on the stove, and dinner would be served soon.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Let me check one thing first.” Big Jim picked up his cell. Each time he did this, he expected to find it as useless as tits on a bull, but it was still working. At least for in-town calls, which was all he cared about. He selected PD. It rang three times at the cop-shop before Stacey Moggin picked up. She sounded harried, not at all like her usual businesslike self. Big Jim wasn’t surprised by that, given the morning’s festivities; he could hear quite an uproar in the background.

“Police,” she said. “If this isn’t an emergency, please hang up and call back later. We’re awfully bus—”

“It’s Jim Rennie, hon.” He knew that Stacey hated being called hon. Which was why he did it. “Put on the Chief. Chop-chop.”

“He’s trying to break up a fistfight in front of the main desk right now,” she said. “Maybe you could call back la—”

“No, I can’t call back later,” Big Jim said. “Do you think I’d be calling if this wasn’t important? Just go over there, hon, and Mace the most aggressive one. Then you send Pete into his office to—”

She didn’t let him finish, and she didn’t put him on hold, either. The phone hit the desk with a clunk. Big Jim was not put out of countenance; when he was getting under somebody’s skin, he liked to know it. In the far distance, he heard someone call someone else a thieving sonofabitch. This made him smile.

A moment later he was put on hold, Stacey not bothering to inform him. Big Jim listened to McGruff the Crime Dog for awhile. Then the phone was picked up. It was Randolph, sounding out of breath.

“Talk fast, Jim, because this place is a madhouse. The ones who didn’t go to the hospital with broken ribs or something are mad as hornets. Everybody’s blaming everybody else. I’m trying to keep from filling up the cells downstairs, but it’s like half of them want to go there.”

“Does increasing the size of the police force sound like a better idea to you today, Chief?”

“Christ, yes. We took a beating. I’ve got one of the new officers—that Roux girl—up to the hospital with the whole lower half of her face broken. She looks like the Bride of Frankenstein.”

Big Jim’s smile widened to a grin. Sam Verdreaux had come through. But of course that was another thing about feeling it ; when you did have to pass the ball, on those infrequent occasions when you couldn’t shoot it yourself, you always passed it to the right person.

“Someone nailed her with a rock. Mel Searles, too. He was knocked out for a while, but he seems to be all right now. It’s ugly, though. I sent him to the hospital to get patched up.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Big Jim said.

“Someone was targeting my officers. More than one someone, I think. Big Jim, can we really get more volunteers?”

“I think you’ll find plenty of willing recruits among the upstanding young people of this town,” Big Jim said. “In fact, I know several from the Holy Redeemer congregation. The Killian boys, for instance.”

“Jim, the Killian boys are dumber than Crackerjacks.”

“I know, but they’re strong and they’ll take orders.” He paused. “Also, they can shoot.”

“Are we going to arm the new police?” Randolph sounded doubtful and hopeful at the same time.

“After what happened today? Of course. I was thinking ten or a dozen good trustworthy young people to start with. Frank and Junior can help pick them out. And we’ll need more if this thing isn’t sorted out by next week. Pay em in scrip. Give em first dibs on supplies, when and if rationing starts. Them and their families.”

“Okay. Send Junior down, will you? Frank’s here, and so’s Thibodeau. He got banged around some at the market and he had to get the bandage on his shoulder changed, but he’s pretty much good to go.” Randolph lowered his voice. “He said Barbara changed the bandage. Did a good job, too.”

“That’s ducky, but our Mr. Barbara won’t be changing bandages for long. And I’ve got another job for Junior. Officer Thibodeau, too. Send him up here.”

“What for?”

“If you needed to know, I’d tell you. Just send him up. Junior and Frank can make a list of possible new recruits later on.”

“Well… if you say s—”

Randolph was interrupted by a fresh uproar. Something either fell over or was thrown. There was a crash as something else shattered.

“Break that up!” Randolph roared.

Smiling, Big Jim held the phone away from his ear. He could hear perfectly well, just the same.

“Get those two… not those two, you idiot, the OTHER two…. NO, I don’t want em arrested! I want em the hell out of here! On their asses, if they won’t go any other way!”