Stephen King - Under the Dome

“Got you now,” Junior panted. Gah-ooo d’now. But deep down in what remained of his overheated thinking-engine, he wondered. His left eye was blind and his right one had blurred over. He saw not one Barbie but three.

The hateful sonofabitch hit the deck as Junior fired, and this bullet also missed. A small black eye opened in the center of the pillow at the head of the bunk. But at least he was down. No more jigging and jogging. Thank God I put in that fresh clip, Junior thought.

“You poisoned me, Baaarbie. ”

Barbie had no idea what he was talking about, but agreed at once. “That’s right, you loathsome little fuckpuppet, I sure did.”

Junior pushed the Beretta through the bars and closed his bad left eye; that reduced the number of Barbies he saw to just a pair. His tongue was snared between his teeth. His face ran with blood and sweat. “Let’s see you run now, Baaarbie. ”

Barbie couldn’t run, but he could and did crawl, scuttling right at Junior. The next bullet whistled over his head and he felt a vague burn across one buttock as the slug split his jeans and undershorts and removed the top layer of skin beneath them.

Junior recoiled, tripped, almost went down, caught the bars of the cell on his right, and hauled himself back up. “Hold still, mother-fucker!”

Barbie whirled to the bunk and groped beneath it for the knife. He had forgotten all about the fucking knife.

“You want it in the back?” Junior asked from behind him. “Okay; that’s all right with me.”

“Get him!” Rusty shouted. “Get him, GET HIM!”

Before the next gunshot came, Barbie had just time to think, Jesus Christ, Everett, whose side are you on?

Jackie came down the stairs with Rommie behind her. She had time to register the haze of gunsmoke drifting around the caged overhead lights, and the stink of expended powder, and then Rusty Everett was screaming Get him, get him.

She saw Junior Rennie at the end of the corridor, crowding against the bars of the cell at the far end, the one the cops sometimes called the Ritz. He was screaming something, but it was all garbled.

She didn’t think. Nor did she tell Junior to raise his hands and turn around. She just put two in his back. One entered his right lung; the other pierced his heart. Junior was dead before he slid to the floor with his face pressed between two bars of the cell, his eyes pulled up so stringently he looked like a Japanese death mask.

What his collapsing body revealed was Dale Barbara himself, crouching on his bunk with the carefully secreted knife in his hand. He had never had a chance to open it.

Freddy Denton grabbed Officer Henry Morrison’s shoulder. Denton was not his favorite person tonight, and was never going to be his favorite person again. Not that he ever was, Henry thought sourly.

Denton pointed. “Why’s that old fool Calvert going into the PD?”

“How the hell should I know?” Henry asked, and grabbed Donnie Baribeau as Donnie ran by, shouting some senseless shit about terrorists.

“Slow down!” Henry bellowed into Donnie’s face. “It’s all over! Everything’s cool!”

Donnie had been cutting Henry’s hair and telling the same stale jokes twice a month for ten years, but now he looked at Henry as if at a total stranger. Then he tore free and ran in the direction of East Street, where his shop was. Perhaps he meant to take refuge there.

“No civilians got any business being in the PD tonight,” Freddy said. Mel Searles steamed up beside him.

“Well, why don’t you go check him out, killer?” Henry said. “Take this lug with you. Because neither of you are doing the slightest bit of damn good here.”

“She was going for a gun,” Freddy said for the first of what would be many times. “And I didn’t mean to kill her. Only wing her, like.”

Henry had no intention of discussing it. “Go in there and tell the old guy to leave. You can also make sure nobody’s trying to free the prisoners while we’re out here running around like a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off.”

A light dawned in Freddy Denton’s dazed eyes. “The prisoners! Mel, let’s go!”

They started away, only to be frozen by Henry’s bullhorn-amplified voice three yards behind them: “AND PUT AWAY THOSE GUNS, YOU IDIOTS!”

Freddy did as the amplified voice commanded. Mel did the same. They crossed War Memorial Plaza and trotted up the PD steps with their guns holstered, which was probably a very good thing for Norrie’s grandfather.

Blood everywhere, Ernie thought, just as Jackie had. He stared at the carnage, dismayed, and then forced himself to move. Everything inside the reception desk had spilled out when Rupe Libby hit it. Lying amid the litter was a red plastic rectangle which he prayed the people downstairs might still be able to put to use.

He was bending down to get it (and telling himself not to throw up, telling himself it was still a lot better than the A Shau Valley in Nam) when someone behind him said, “Holy fucking God in the morning! Stand up, Calvert, slow. Hands over your head.”

But Freddy and Mel were still reaching for their weapons when Rommie came up the stairs to search for what Ernie had already found. Rommie had the speed-pump Black Shadow he’d put away in his safe, and he pointed it at the two cops without a moment’s hesitation.

“You fine fellas might as well come all the way in,” he said. “And stay together. Shoulder to shoulder. If I see light between you, I’ll shoot. Ain’t fuckin the dog on dis, me.”

“Put that down,” Freddy said. “We’re police.”

“Prime assholes is what you are. Stand over dere against that bulletin board. And keep rubbin shoulders while you do it. Ernie, what the damn hell you doin in here?”

“I heard shooting. I was worried.” He held up the red key card that opened the cells in the Coop. “You’ll need this, I think. Unless… unless they’re dead.”

“They ain’t dead, but it was fuckin close. Take it down to Jackie. I’ll watch these fellas.”

“You can’t release em, they’re prisoners,” Mel said. “Barbie’s a murderer. The other one tried to frame Mr. Rennie with some papers or… or somethin like that.”

Rommie didn’t bother replying. “Go on, Ernie. Hurry.”

“What happens to us?” Freddy asked. “You ain’t gonna kill us, are you?”

“Why would I kill you, Freddy? You still owe on that rototiller you bought from me las’ spring. Behind in payments, too, is my recollection. No, we’ll just lock you in the Coop. See how you like it down dere. Smells kinda pissy, but who knows, you might like it.”

“Did you have to kill Mickey?” Mel asked. “He wasn’t nothing but a softheaded boy.”

“We didn’t kill none of em,” Rommie said. “Your good pal Junior did dat.” Not that anybody will believe it come tomorrow night, he thought.

“Junior!” Freddy exclaimed. “Where is he?”

“Shoveling coal down in hell would be my guess,” Rommie said. “Dat’s where they put the new help.”

Barbie, Rusty, Jackie, and Ernie came upstairs. The two erstwhile prisoners looked as if they did not quite believe they were still alive. Rommie and Jackie escorted Freddy and Mel down to the Coop. When Mel saw Junior’s crumpled body, he said, “You’ll be sorry for this!”

Rommie said, “Shut your hole and get in your new home. Bot’ in the same cell. You’re chums, after all.”

As soon as Rommie and Jackie had returned to the top floor, the two men began to holler.