Stephen King - Under the Dome

“Not a word about how they found your dog tags in that poor girl’s hand, not word-fucking- one about that! And then the tin-pants bastid went and took after Jim Rennie, who’s held this town together by himself since this happened! By himself! With SPIT and BALING WIRE! ”

“Take it easy, Manuel,” Barbie said.

“That’s Officer Ortega to you, motherfucker!”

“Fine. Officer Ortega.” Barbie was sitting on the bunk and thinking about just how easy it would be for Ortega to unholster the elderly.45 Schofield on his belt and start shooting. “I’m in here, Rennie’s out there. As far as he’s concerned, I’m sure it’s all good.”

“SHUT UP!” Manuel screamed. “We’re ALL in here! All under the fucking Dome! Alden don’t do nothing but drink, the boy that’s left won’t eat, and Miz Dinsmore never stops crying over Rory. Jack Evans blew his brains out, do you know that? And those military pukes out there can’t think of anything better to do than sling mud. A lot of lies and trumped-up stories while you start supermarket riots and then burn down our newspaper! Probably so Miz Shumway couldn’t publish WHAT YOU ARE! ”

Barbie kept silent. He thought that one word spoken in his own defense would get him shot for sure.

“This is how they get any politician they don’t like,” Manuel said. “They want a serial killer and a rapist—one who rapes the dead —in charge instead of a Christian? That’s a new low.”

Manuel drew his gun, lifted it, pointed it through the bars. To Barbie the hole at the end looked as big as a tunnel entrance.

“If the Dome comes down before you been stood up against the nearest wall and ventilated,” Manuel continued, “I’ll take a minute to do the job myself. I’m head of the line, and right now in The Mill, the line waiting to do you is a long one.”

Barbie kept silent and waited to die or keep on drawing breath. Rose Twitchell’s BLTs were trying to crowd back up his throat and choke him.

“We’re trying to survive and all they can do is dirty up the man who’s keeping this town out of chaos.” He abruptly shoved the oversized pistol back into its holster. “Fuck you. You’re not worth it.”

He turned and strode back toward the stairs, head down and shoulders hunched.

Barbie leaned back against the wall and let out a breath. There was sweat on his forehead. The hand he lifted to wipe it off was shaking.

When Romeo Burpee’s van turned into the McClatchey driveway, Claire rushed out of the house. She was weeping.

“Mom!” Joe shouted, and was out even before Rommie could come to a complete stop. The others piled out after. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Claire sobbed, grabbing him and hugging him. “There’s going to be a Visitors Day! On Friday! Joey, I think we might get to see your dad!”

Joe let out a cheer and danced her around. Benny hugged Norrie… and took the opportunity to steal a quick kiss, Rusty observed. Cheeky little devil.

“Take me to the hospital, Rommie,” Rusty said. He waved to Claire and the kids as they backed down the driveway. He was glad to get away from Mrs. McClatchey without having to talk to her; Mom Vision might work on PAs, as well. “And could you do me a favor and talk English instead of that comic-book on parle shit while you do it?”

“Some people have no cultural heritage to fall back on,” Rommie said, “and are thus jealous of those who do.”

“Yeah, and your mother wears galoshes,” Rusty said.

“Dat’s true, but only when it rains, her.”

Rusty’s cell phone chimed once: a text message. He flipped it open and read: MEETING AT 2130 CONGO PARSONAGE B THERE OR B SQUARE JW

“Rommie,” he said, closing his phone. “Assuming I survive the Rennies, would you consider attending a meeting with me tonight?”

At the hospital, Ginny met him in the lobby. “It’s Rennie Day at Cathy Russell,” she announced, looking as if this did not exactly displease her. “Thurse Marshall has been in to see them both. Rusty, that man is a gift from God. He clearly doesn’t like Junior—he and Frankie were the ones who roughed him up out at the Pond—but he was totally professional. The guy’s wasted in some college English department—he should be doing this.” She lowered her voice. “He’s better than me. And way better than Twitch.”

“Where is he now?”

“Went back to where he’s living to see that young girlfriend of his and the two children they took on. He seems to genuinely care about the kids, too.”

“Oh my goodness, Ginny’s in love,” Rusty said, grinning.

“Don’t be juvenile.” She glared at him.

“What rooms are the Rennies in?”

“Junior in Seven, Senior in Nineteen. Senior came in with that guy Thibodeau, but must have sent him off to run errands, because he was on his own when he went down to see his kid.” She smiled cynically. “He didn’t visit long. Mostly he’s been on that cell phone of his. The kid just sits, although he’s rational again. He wasn’t when Henry Morrison brought him in.”

“Big Jim’s arrhythmia? Where are we with that?”

“Thurston got it quieted down.”

For the time being, Rusty thought, and not without satisfaction. When the Valium wears off, he’ll recommence the old cardiac jitterbug.

“Go see the kid first,” Ginny said. They were alone in the lobby, but she kept her voice low-pitched. “I don’t like him, I’ve never liked him, but I feel sorry for him now. I don’t think he’s got long.”

“Did Thurston say anything about Junior’s condition to Rennie?”

“Yes, that the problem was potentially serious. But apparently not as serious as all those calls he’s making. Probably someone told him about Visitors Day on Friday. Rennie’s pissed about it.”

Rusty thought of the box on Black Ridge, just a thin rectangle with an area of less than fifty square inches, and still he hadn’t been able to lift it. Or even budge it. He also thought of the laughing leatherheads he’d briefly glimpsed.

“Some people just don’t approve of visitors,” he said.

“How are you feeling, Junior?”

“Okay. Better.” He sounded listless. He was wearing a hospital johnny and sitting by the window. The light was merciless on his haggard face. He looked like a rode-hard forty-year-old.

“Tell me what happened before you passed out.”

“I was going to school, then I went to Angie’s house instead. I wanted to tell her to make it up with Frank. He’s been majorly bummin.”

Rusty considered asking if Junior knew Frank and Angie were both dead, then didn’t—what was the point? Instead he asked, “You were going to school? What about the Dome?”

“Oh, right.” The same listless, affectless voice. “I forgot about that.”

“How old are you, son?”

“Twenty… one?”

“What was your mother’s name?”

Junior considered this. “Jason Giambi,” he said at last, then laughed shrilly. But the listless, haggard expression on his face never changed.

“When did the Dome drop down?”

“Saturday.”

“And how long ago was that?”

Junior frowned. “A week?” he said at last. Then, “Two weeks? It’s been awhile, for sure.” He turned at last to Rusty. His eyes were shining with the Valium Thurse Marshall had injected. “Did Baaarbie put you up to all these questions? He killed them, you know.” He nodded. “We found his gog-bags.” A pause. “ Dog tags.”

“Barbie didn’t put me up to anything,” Rusty said. “He’s in jail.”