Stephen King - Under the Dome

“Yes, sir.”

Randolph arrived. He was puffing, there were circles under his eyes, and he appeared to have lost weight. Big Jim pushed the button that ran down his window.

“Step in, Chief, grab yourself some AC.” And when Randolph started for the front passenger seat, Big Jim added: “Not there, Carter’s sitting there.” He smiled. “Get in back.”

It wasn’t a police car that had pulled up behind the Odyssey van; it was the hospital ambulance. Dougie Twitchell was at the wheel. Ginny Tomlinson was in the passenger seat with a sleeping baby in her lap. The rear doors opened and Gina Buffalino got out. She was still in her candy-striper uniform. The girl who followed her, Harriet Bigelow, wore jeans and tee-shirt that said U.S. OLYMPIC KISSING TEAM.

“What… what…” That seemed to be all Linda was capable of. Her heart was racing, the blood pounding so hard in her head that she seemed to feel her eardrums flapping.

Twitch said, “Rusty called and told us to get out to the orchard at Black Ridge. I didn’t even know there was an orchard up there, but Ginny did, and… Linda? Honey, you’re white as a ghost.”

“I’m okay,” Linda said, and realized she was on the verge of fainting. She pinched her earlobes, a trick Rusty had taught her a long time ago. Like many of his folk-remedies (beating down wens with the spine of a heavy book was another), it worked. When she spoke again, her voice seemed both nearer and somehow realer. “He told you to come here first?”

“Yes. To get some of that.” He pointed to the lead roll sitting on the loading dock. “Just to be on the safe side is what he said. But I’ll need those snips.”

“Uncle Twitch!” Janelle cried, and dashed into his arms.

“What’s up, Tiger Lily?” He hugged her, swung her, set her down. Janelle peered into the passenger window at the baby. “What’s her name?”

“It’s a he,” Ginny said. “His name’s Little Walter.”

“Cool!”

“Jannie, get back in the van, we have to go,” Linda said.

Thurse asked, “Who’s minding the store, you guys?”

Ginny looked embarrassed. “Nobody. But Rusty said not to worry, unless there was somebody in need of constant care. Other than Little Walter, there wasn’t. So I grabbed the baby and we boogied. We might be able to go back later, Twitch says.”

“ Somebody better be able to,” Thurse said gloomily. Gloom, Linda had noticed, seemed to be Thurston Marshall’s default position. “Three-quarters of the town is hoofing it out 119 to the Dome. The air quality’s bad and it’s going to be eighty-five by ten o’clock, which will be about the time the visitor buses arrive. If Rennie and his cohorts have done anything about providing shelter, I haven’t heard of it. There’s apt to be a lot of sick people in Chester’s Mill before sundown. With luck, only heatstroke and asthma, but there could be a few heart attacks as well.”

“Guys, maybe we should go back,” Gina said. “I feel like a rat deserting a sinking ship.”

“No!” Linda said so sharply that they all looked at her, even Audi. “Rusty said something bad is going to happen. It might not be today… but he said it might be. Get your lead for the ambulance windows and go. I don’t dare wait around. One of Rennie’s thugs came to see me this morning, and if he swings by the house and sees the van’s gone—”

“Go on, go,” Twitch said. “I’ll back up so you can get out. Don’t bother with Main Street, it’s already a mess.”

“Main Street past the cop-shop?” Linda almost shuddered. “No thanks. Mom’s taxi goes West Street up to Highland.”

Twitch got in behind the wheel of the ambulance and the two young nurse draftees got in back again, Gina giving Linda a final doubtful look over her shoulder.

Linda paused, looking first at the sleeping, sweaty baby, then at Ginny. “Maybe you and Twitch can go back to the hospital tonight to see how things are there. Say you were on a call way the hell and gone out in Northchester, or something. Just, whatever you do, don’t mention anything about Black Ridge.”

“No.”

Easy to say now, Linda thought. You might not find dummying up so easy if Carter Thibodeau bends you over a sink.

She pushed Audrey back, shut the slider, and got behind the wheel of the Odyssey Green.

“Let’s get out of here,” Thurse said, climbing in beside her. “I haven’t been this paranoid since my off-the-pig days.”

“Good,” she said. “Because perfect paranoia is perfect awareness.”

She backed her van around the ambulance and started up West Street.

“Jim,” Randolph said from the backseat of the Hummer, “I’ve been thinking about this raid.”

“Have you, now. Why don’t you give us the benefit of your thinking, Peter?”

“I’m the Chief of Police. If it comes down to a choice between crowd control at Dinsmore’s farm and leading a raid on a drug lab where there may be armed addicts guarding illegal substances… well, I know where my duty lies. Let’s just say that.”

Big Jim discovered he didn’t want to argue the point. Arguing with fools was counterproductive. Randolph had no idea what sort of weapons might be stockpiled at the radio station. In truth, neither did Big Jim himself (there was no telling what Bushey might have put on the corporate tab), but at least he could imagine the worst, a mental feat of which this uniformed gasbag seemed incapable. And if something should happen to Randolph… well, hadn’t he already decided that Carter would be a more than adequate replacement?

“All right, Pete,” he said. “Far be it for me to stand between you and your duty. You’re the new OIC, with Fred Denton as your second. That satisfy you?”

“You’re gosh-damn right it does!” Randolph puffed his chest. He looked like a fat rooster about to crow. Big Jim, although not renowned for his sense of humor, had to stifle a laugh.

“Then get down there to the PD and start putting together your crew. Town trucks, remember.”

“Correct! We strike at noon!” He shook a fist in the air.

“Go in through the woods.”

“Now, Jim, I wanted to talk to you about that. It seems a little complicated. Those woods behind the station are pretty snarly… there’ll be poison ivy… and poison oak, which is even w—”

“There’s an access road,” Big Jim said. He was reaching the end of his patience. “I want you to use it. Hit them on their blind side.”

“But—”

“A bullet in the head would be much worse than poison ivy. Nice talking to you, Pete. Glad to see you’re so…” But what was he so? Pompous? Ridiculous? Idiotic?

“So totally gung-ho,” Carter said.

“Thank you, Carter, my thought exactly. Pete, tell Henry Morrison he’s now in charge of crowd control out on 119. And use the access road. ”

“I really think—”

“Carter, get the door for him.”

“Oh my God,” Linda said, and swerved the van to the left. It bumped up over the curb not a hundred yards from where Main and Highland intersected. All three girls laughed at the bump, but poor little Aidan only looked scared, and grabbed the longsuffering Audrey’s head once more.

“What?” Thurse snapped. “What?”

She parked on someone’s lawn, behind a tree. It was a good-sized oak, but the van was big, too, and the oak had lost most of its listless leaves. She wanted to believe they were hidden but couldn’t.

“That’s Jim Rennie’s Hummer sitting in the middle of the goddam intersection.”

“You swore big,” Judy said. “ Two quarters in the swear-jar.” Thurse craned. “Are you sure?”