Stephen King - Under the Dome

Barbie summoned all his will and called out to her. “Officer Everett!”

She jumped a little, startled. Had anyone ever called her Officer Everett before? Perhaps schoolchildren, when she pulled crossing-guard duty, which had probably been her heaviest responsibility as a part-time cop. Up until this week.

“Officer Everett! Ma’am! Please, ma’am!”

“Shut up!” Freddy Denton said.

Barbie paid him no mind. He thought he was going to pass out, or at least gray out, but for the time being he held on grimly.

“Tell your husband to examine the bodies! Mrs. Perkins’s in particular! Ma’am, he must examine the bodies! They won’t be at the hospital! Rennie won’t allow them to—”

Peter Randolph strode forward. Barbie saw what he had taken off Freddy Denton’s belt and tried to raise his arms across his face, but they were just too heavy.

“That’s enough out of you, son,” Randolph said. He shoved the Mace dispenser between the bars and squeezed the pistol grip.

Halfway over the rust-eaten Black Ridge Bridge, Norrie stopped her bike and stood looking at the far side of the cut.

“We better keep going,” Joe said. “Use the daylight while we’ve got it.”

“I know, but look,” Norrie said, pointing.

On the other bank, below a steep drop and sprawled on the drying mud where the Prestile had run full before the Dome began to choke its flow, were the bodies of four deer: a buck, two does, and a yearling. All were of good size; it had been a fine summer in The Mill, and they had fed well. Joe could see clouds of flies swarming above the carcasses, could even hear their somnolent buzz. It was a sound that would have been covered by running water on an ordinary day.

“What happened to them?” Benny asked. “Do you think it has anything to do with what we’re looking for?”

“If you’re talking about radiation,” Joe said, “I don’t think it works that fast.”

“Unless it’s really high radiation,” Norrie said uneasily.

Joe pointed at the Geiger counter’s needle. “Maybe, but this still isn’t very high. Even if it was all the way in the red, I don’t think it would kill animals as big as deer in only three days.”

Benny said, “That buck’s got a broken leg, you can see it from here.”

“I’m pretty sure one of the does has got two, ” Norrie said. She was shading her eyes. “The front ones. See how they’re bent?”

Joe thought the doe looked as if she had died while trying to do some strenuous gymnastic stunt.

“I think they jumped,” Norrie said. “Jumped off the bank like those little rat-guys are supposed to.”

“Lemons,” Benny said.

“Lem- mings, birdbrain,” Joe said.

“Trying to get away from something?” Norrie asked. “Is that what they were doing?”

Neither boy answered. Both looked younger than they had the week before, like children forced to listen to a campfire story that’s much too scary. The three of them stood by their bikes, looking at the dead deer and listening to the somnolent hum of the flies.

“Go on?” Joe asked.

“I think we have to,” Norrie said. She swung a leg over the fork of her bike and stood astride it.

“Right,” Joe said, and mounted his own bike.

“Ollie,” Benny said, “this is another fine mess you’ve gotten me into.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” Benny said. “Ride, my soul brother, ride.”

On the far side of the bridge, they could see that all the deer had broken legs. One of the yearlings also had a crushed skull, probably suffered when it came down on a large boulder that would have been covered by water on an ordinary day.

“Try the Geiger counter again,” Joe said.

Norrie turned it on. This time the needle danced just below +75.

Pete Randolph exhumed an old cassette recorder from one of Duke Perkins’s desk drawers, tested it, and found the batteries still good. When Junior Rennie came in, Randolph pressed REC and set the little Sony on the corner of the desk where the young man could see it.

Junior’s latest migraine was down to a dull mutter on the left side of his head, and he felt calm enough; he and his father had been over this, and Junior knew what to say.

“It’ll be strictly softball,” Big Jim had said. “A formality.”

And so it was.

“How’d you find the bodies, son?” Randolph asked, rocking back in the swivel chair behind the desk. He had removed all of Perkins’s personal items and put them in a file cabinet on the other side of the room. Now that Brenda was dead, he supposed he could dump them in the trash. Personal effects were no good when there was no next of kin.

“Well,” Junior said, “I was coming back from patrol out on 117—I missed the whole supermarket thing—”

“Good luck for you,” Randolph said. “That was a total cock-and-balls, if you’ll pardon my fran-kays. Coffee?”

“No thanks, sir. I’m subject to migraines, and coffee seems to make them worse.”

“Bad habit, anyway. Not as bad as cigarettes, but bad. Did you know I smoked until I was Saved?”

“No, sir, I sure didn’t.” Junior hoped this idiot would stop blathering and let him tell his story so he could get out of here.

“Yep, by Lester Coggins.” Randolph splayed his hands on his chest. “Full-body immersion in the Prestile. Gave my heart to Jesus right then and there. I haven’t been as faithful a churchgoer as some, certainly not as faithful as your dad, but Reverend Coggins was a good man.” Randolph shook his head. “Dale Barbara’s got a lot on his conscience. Always assuming he has one.”

“Yes, sir.”

“A lot to answer for, too. I gave him a shot of Mace, and that was just a small down payment on what he’s got coming. So. You were coming back from patrol and?”

“And I got to thinking that someone told me they’d seen Angie’s car in the garage. You know, the McCain garage.”

“Who told you that?”

“Frank?” Junior rubbed his temple. “I think maybe it was Frank.”

“Go on.”

“So anyway, I looked in one of the garage windows, and her car was there. I went to the front door and rang the bell, but nobody answered. Then I went around to the back because I was worried. There was… a smell.”

Randolph nodded sympathetically. “Basically, you just followed your nose. That was good police work, son.”

Junior looked at Randolph sharply, wondering if this was a joke or a sly dig, but the Chief’s eyes seemed to hold nothing but honest admiration. Junior realized that his father might have found an assistant (the first word actually to occur to him was accomplice ) who was even dumber than Andy Sanders. He wouldn’t have thought that possible.

“Go on, finish up. I know this is painful to you. It’s painful to all of us.”

“Yes, sir. Basically it’s just what you said. The back door was unlocked, and I followed my nose straight to the pantry. I could hardly believe what I found there.”

“Did you see the dog tags then?”

“Yes. No. Kind of. I saw Angie had something in her hand… on a chain… but I couldn’t tell what it was, and I didn’t want to touch anything.” Junior looked down modestly. “I know I’m just a rookie.”

“Good call,” Randolph said. “ Smart call. You know, we’d have a whole forensic team from the State Attorney General’s office in there under ordinary circumstances—really nail Barbara to the wall—but these aren’t ordinary circumstances. Still, we’ve got enough, I’d say. He was a fool to overlook those dog tags.”

“I used my cell phone and called my father. Based on all the radio chatter, I figured you’d be busy down here—”