Stephen King - Under the Dome

Barbie surveyed the long shed. Despite the stored plows and cartons of reserve parts, the place looked empty. Especially around the generator. “Never mind whatever got kited from the hospital; where’s the rest of the town’s tanks?”

“I don’t know.”

“And what could they be using them for?”

“I don’t know,” Rusty said, “but I mean to find out.”

Barbie and Rusty stepped outside and breathed deeply of the open air. It had a smoky tang from the recently extinguished fire west of town, but seemed very fresh after the exhaust fumes in the shed. A lackadaisical little breeze cat’s-pawed their cheeks. Barbie was carrying the Geiger counter in a brown shopping bag he’d found in the fallout shelter.

“This shit will not stand,” Rusty said. His face was set and grim.

“What are you going to do about it?” Barbie asked.

“Now? Nothing. I’m going back to the hospital and do rounds. Tonight, though, I intend to knock on Jim Rennie’s door and ask for a goddam explanation. He better have one, and he better have the rest of our propane as well, because we’re going to be dead out at the hospital by the day after tomorrow, even with every nonessential shut down.”

“This might be over by the day after tomorrow.”

“Do you believe it will be?”

Instead of answering the question, Barbie said, “Selectman Rennie could be a dangerous man to press right about now.”

“Just now? That tags you for a town newbie like nothing else could. I’ve been hearing that about Big Jim for the ten thousand or so years he’s been running this town. He either tells people to get lost or pleads patience. ‘For the good of the town,’ he says. That’s number one on his hit parade. Town meeting in March is a joke. An article to authorize a new sewer system? Sorry, the town can’t afford the taxes. An article to authorize more commercial zoning? Great idea, the town needs the revenue, let’s build a Walmart out on 117. The University of Maine Small Town Environmental Study says there’s too much graywater in Chester Pond? The selectmen recommend tabling discussion because everybody knows all those scientific studies are run by radical humanist bleeding-heart atheists. But the hospital is for the good of the town, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes. I would.” Barbie was a little bemused by this outburst.

Rusty stared at the ground with his hands in his back pockets. Then he looked up. “I understand the President tapped you to take over. I think it’s high time you did so.”

“It’s an idea.” Barbie smiled. “Except… Rennie and Sanders have got their police force; where’s mine?”

Before Rusty could reply, his cell phone rang. He flipped it open and looked at the little window. “Linda? What?”

He listened.

“All right, I understand. If you’re sure they’re both okay now. And you’re sure it was Judy? Not Janelle?” He listened some more, then said: “I think this is actually good news. I saw two other kids this morning—both with transient seizures that passed off quickly, long before I saw them, and both fine afterward. Had calls on three more. Ginny T. took another one. It could be a side effect of whatever force is powering the Dome.”

He listened.

“Because I didn’t have a chance to,” he said. His tone patient, nonconfrontational. Barbie could imagine the question which had prompted that: Kids have been having seizures all day and now you tell me?

“You’re picking the kids up?” Rusty asked. He listened. “Okay. That’s good. If you sense anything wrong, call me ASAP. I’ll come on the run. And make sure Audi stays with them. Yes. Uh-huh. Love you, too.” He hooked the phone on his belt and ran both hands through his hair hard enough to make his eyes look briefly Chinese. “Jesus jumped-up Christ.”

“Who’s Audi?”

“Our golden retriever.”

“Tell me about these seizures.”

Rusty did so, not omitting what Jannie had said about Halloween and what Judy had said about pink stars.

“The Halloween thing sounds like what the Dinsmore boy was raving about,” Barbie said.

“Does, doesn’t it?”

“What about the other kids? Any of them talking about Halloween? Or pink stars?”

“The parents I saw today said their kids babbled while the seizure was ongoing, but they were too freaked to pay any attention.”

“The kids themselves didn’t remember?”

“The kids didn’t even know they’d had seizures.”

“Is that normal?”

“It’s not ab normal.”

“Any chance your younger daughter was copying the older one? Maybe… I don’t know… vying for attention?”

Rusty hadn’t considered this—hadn’t had the time, really. Now he did. “Possible, but not likely.” He nodded to the old-fashioned yellow Geiger counter in the bag. “You going prospecting with that thing?”

“Not me,” Barbie said. “This baby’s town property, and the powers that be don’t like me much. I wouldn’t want to be caught with it.” He held the bag out to Rusty.

“Can’t. I’m just too busy right now.”

“I know,” Barbie said, and told Rusty what he wanted him to do. Rusty listened closely, smiling a little.

“Okay,” he said. “Works for me. What are you going to be doing while I’m running your errands?”

“Cooking dinner at Sweetbriar. Tonight’s special is chicken à la Barbara. Want me to send some up to the hospital?”

“Sweet,” Rusty said.

On his way back to Cathy Russell, Rusty stopped by the the Democrat ’s office and handed off the Geiger counter to Julia Shumway.

She listened as he relayed Barbie’s instructions, smiling faintly. “The man knows how to delegate, I’ll say that for him. I’ll see to this with pleasure.”

Rusty thought of cautioning her to be careful about who saw the town’s Geiger counter in her possession, but didn’t need to. The bag had disappeared into the kneehole of her desk.

On his way to the hospital, he reached Ginny Tomlinson and asked her about the seizure call she’d taken.

“Little kid named Jimmy Wicker. The grandfather called it in. Bill Wicker?”

Rusty knew him. Bill delivered their mail.

“He was taking care of Jimmy while the boy’s mom went to gas up their car. They’re almost out of regular at the Gas and Grocery, by the way, and Johnny Carver’s had the nerve to jack the price of regular to eleven dollars a gallon. Eleven! ”

Rusty bore this patiently, thinking he could have had his conversation with Ginny face-to-face. He was almost back to the hospital. When she was done complaining, he asked her if little Jimmy had said anything while he was seizing.

“Yes indeed. Bill said he babbled quite a bit. I think it was something about pink stars. Or Halloween. Or maybe I’m getting it confused with what Rory Dinsmore said after he was shot. People have been talking about that.”

Of course they have, Rusty thought grimly. And they’ll be talking about this, too, if they find out. As they probably will.

“All right,” he said. “Thanks, Ginny.”

“When you comin back, Red Ryder?”

“Almost there now.”

“Good. Because we have a new patient. Sammy Bushey. She was raped.”

Rusty groaned.

“It gets better. Piper Libby brought her in. I couldn’t get the names of the doers out of the girl, but I think Piper did. She went out of here like her hair was on fire and her ass—” A pause. Ginny yawned loud enough for Rusty to hear. “—her ass was catching.”

“Ginny my love—when’s the last time you got some sleep?”