Characters in Under the Dome

… uppers in his balled-up socks; once one of Adriette Nedeau’s thongs. Socks were a good hiding place. He took out the neatly made bundles one at a time, feeling them up. He hit paydirt on the third ball, something that felt like a flat piece of metal. No, two of …

“And who’s your mommy?” “I’m Alice Rachel Appleton,” she said. “This is Aidan Patrick Appleton. Our mother is Vera Appleton. Our father is Edward Appleton, but he and Mommy got a divorce last year and now he lives in Plano, Texas. We live in Weston, Massachusetts, at Sixteen Oak Way.

Nothing so bush-league as the University of Maine, either, not for Al Shumway’s girl. Al Shumway’s girl was going to Princeton. By the time I was in the fourth grade, there was a Princeton pennant over my bed and I practically had my bags packed.

“I was thinking I’d speak to Al Timmons about that.” Al was the Town Hall janitor, and a regular at Sweetbriar Rose. Barbie got on well with him. Julia shook her head. “No? Why no?”

… In the yellow glow cast by the domelight, Alden Dinsmore looked eighty-five instead of forty-five. She had never seen such a sad face . . . except maybe for her own, in the mirror of her hospital room before she set out on this journey. She leaned over and kissed …

“What’s your name, hon?” Junior asked. “And who’s your mommy?” “I’m Alice Rachel Appleton,” she said. “This is Aidan Patrick Appleton. Our mother is Vera Appleton. Our father is Edward Appleton, but he and Mommy got a divorce last year and now he lives in Plano, Texas.

“Truck-plane collision. The plane was trying to land.” “Are you shitting me?” Alva Drake looked around, frowning, then went back to her paperback. Or at least to looking at it while she tried to decide if her husband would support her in grounding Benny until he was eighteen.

… of a major disaster must feel, that CNN’s Anderson Cooper was standing out on Route 119 with the still-smoldering hulk of the wrecked pulp-truck in the background. Rose herself was waiting table, occasionally darting back to the counter to take an order. Wispy locks of hair were escaping her net …

“I was just getting to that, Andrea.” Cox picked up his controller and zoomed in on Route 119. Jackie knew the area well; she had damned near broken her nose on the Dome out there. She could see the roofs of the Dinsmore farmhouse, outbuildings, and dairy barns.

… along for the ride—right now Rose Twitchell’s sister, Andrea Grinnell). Andy had always enjoyed his partnership with Big Jim. Financially, yes, especially during the last two or three years, but also in his heart. Big Jim knew how to get things done, and why they should be done. We’re in …

I raised my hand and said it was Andy Manning. Andy punched Jessie in the nose when Jessie wouldn’t lend Andy his art-gum eraser. And I didn’t see anything wrong with that, because it was the truth. Are you getting this picture?” “You’re coming in five-by.”

She might cost Andy Sanders some real money before long; she loved the Seneca, and had expressed a desire to have one just like it, only new. That would run somewhere in the neighborhood of a million dollars.

It was how these things went. Randolph said, “I’m arresting you for the murders of Angela McCain, Dorothy Sanders, Lester A. Coggins, and Brenda Perkins.” Each name struck Barbie, but the last one hit the hardest. The last one was a fist. That sweet woman.

“A decorated veteran and most recently a short-order cook in the town restaurant. “Angelina Buffalino . . . do we have a picture of her? . . . no? . . . okay. “Romeo Burpee, owner of the local department store.” There was a picture of Rommie.

“I called Anson Wheeler. He used to be a thrasher himself, and he sometimes still takes his board to The Pit over in Oxford. I asked him if Mr. Barbara was at work yesterday morning, and he said yes.

Then this one girl—Arabella, my best friend back then—stopped trying to give this other girl a wedgie and shouted, ‘Stop, Linda, stop!’ I stopped and looked around. Know what I saw?” Jackie shook her head. “The Atlantic Ocean.

… Stewart had been doing a makeup job on Arletta Coombs, The Mill’s latest suicide and the Bowie Funeral Home’s latest customer. “Goddam sonofabitch fucking shitmonkey.” He dropped his cell phone onto the counter, and from the wide front pocket of his rubberized green apron removed a package of peanut butter–flavored …

No problems. Today there’s only gonna be three. All new ones. Aubrey Towle—his brother owns the bookshop, y’know—Todd Wendlestat, and Lauren Conree.” “And do you concur that that should be enough?” “Huh?” “Do you agree, Carter. Concur means agree.” “Yeah, that should do it. Daylight and all.”

“She can’t be dead!” Janelle screamed. “Audrey can’t be dead!” But she was. The Everetts’ golden retriever had died in the night, quietly and without fuss, as the Little Js slept on either side of her.

He knew that Aunt Lois and Uncle Scooter might come—they lived just over in New Gloucester—but what would he say if they did? Hey Unc, they’re all dead but me, thanks for coming?

“She probably went to the mall with Angie McCain, then to her aunt Peg’s in Sabattus when she couldn’t get back into town.” “Yeah, that’s probably it.” And when Dodee turned up right here in The Mill, he’d have a pleasant surprise. God knew he deserved one.

How much she hated them both. If they were dead, she could go live with her aunt Ruth in New York. Aunt Ruth knew how to have a good time. Not like some people. He had held his hands out to her, open, extended.

… were now based in Castle Rock—but it was Barbara Starr, the network’s Pentagon correspondent. She was standing outside the tent-and-trailer village serving as the Army’s forward base in Harlow. “Don, Kyra—Colonel James O. Cox, the Pentagon’s point man since the mammoth mystery known as the Dome came into being last …

Norrie, looking both grim and pretty, had her skateboard under one arm. “Alva Drake . . . her son Benjamin Drake . . .” “Turn that off,” Big Jim grunted. “At least they’re in the open,” Carter said wistfully. “Not stuck in a hole.

It was signed Bill “Spaceman” Lee. As he sat behind his desk in his high-backed chair, Big Jim took the ball from its cradle and began tossing it from hand to hand.

Ricky’s connects with the back of Bill Allnut’s head and knocks the janitor to the pavement, not far from Ginny Tomlinson. Shit! Ricky thinks. I was supposed to hit a fuckin cop! Not only were those his orders; it’s sort of what he has always wanted to do.

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.

… who had elected her Third Selectwoman when old Billy Cale, Jack Cale’s father, had died of a stroke four years ago. “You people need to put your fears aside for a moment,” she said. “When you do, you’ll see that the story he’s telling is ludicrous. Jim Rennie thinks you …

… 2 Billy and Wanda Debec never heard the double boom because they were on Route 117, and because they were arguing. The fight had started simply enough, with Wanda observing it was a beautiful day and Billy responding he had a headache and didn’t …

On God Creek Road, Bob Roux had been digging potatoes. He came in for lunch (more commonly known as “dinnah” in those parts), sitting astride his old Deere tractor and listening to his brand new iPod, a gift from his wife on what would prove to be his final birthday.

Bonnie Morrell, wife of the town’s lumberyard owner, carries one that proclaims DON’T FORGIVE THEM, BECAUSE THEY DO KNOW WHAT THEY DO! Trina Cole’s says THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD below a drawing of what is probably a sheep, although it’s tough to be sure.

“I’ve known Brenda Perkins since she was Brenda Morse,” Julia said. “Almost forty years. I thought she might tell me what was troubling her . . . but she didn’t.” Barbie pointed at the road. “I think you can go now.” As Julia started the engine, her cell phone trilled.

… Maine Electrical Service & Supplies (“Smiles Our Specialty”), punches Brendan Ellerbee, a retired University of Maine science teacher, when Ellerbee beats him to the last large sack of sugar. Ellerbee goes down, but he holds onto the ten-pound bag of Domino’s, and when Conroy bends to take it, Ellerbee snarls …

Rory saw his smiling (but of course modest) face on the front page of USA Today; being interviewed on Nightly News with Brian Williams; sitting on a flower-bedecked float in a parade in his honor, with Prom Queen–type girls surrounding him (probably in strapless gowns, but possibly in bathing suits) …

The two officers saw only one cashier, a teenager named Bruce Yardley. The kid was taking currency and writing chits instead of running credit cards. The meat counter was looking depleted, but there was still plenty of chicken and most of the canned and dry-goods shelves were fully stocked.

No, it was something else, and shortly after awakening, she realized what it was. The Freemans’ Irish setter, Buddy, was howling. Buddy never howled. He was the most polite dog on Battle Street, a short lane just beyond Catherine Russell Drive. Also, the Freemans’ generator had stopped.

I won’t consider it, and I won’t let you consider it.” “I have a kid, too,” Stacey said. “Calvin. He’s just five. It took all my courage just to stand guard at the funeral home tonight.

At this moment of reunion (or almost-reunion), politics and protest have been forgotten. Candy Crowley says: “Wolf, this is without a doubt the saddest, strangest event I’ve witnessed in all my years of reporting.”

She strikes Carla Venziano, who is fleeing with her infant in her arms. Velma feels the truck jounce as it passes over their bodies, and resolutely blocks her ears to Carla’s shrieks as her back is broken and baby Steven is crushed to death beneath …

Just enough to make sure Carlene Plummer would win instead of me. I didn’t want it. Not the speech, not the attention that went with the speech. I made some friends, the best ones in the smoking area behind the high school.

THE AREA IS BEING EVACUATED!” Thurston Marshall and Carolyn Sturges sat up in bed, listening to this weird blare and looking at each other with wide eyes.

… 23 Carrie Carver rarely had anything to do with Mill Gas & Grocery; although the little convenience store had made her and her husband a pretty good living over the years, she saw herself as Above All That. But when Johnny suggested they …

… taken one more, a kid from Kentucky everyone liked—Carstairs. So they’d started kicking the Abduls around the gym, and pulling off their clothes, and Barbie would like to say he had walked out, but he hadn’t. He would like to say that at least he hadn’t participated, but he had.

“These fellows are all at least twenty-one, and I believe Carter Thibodeau might be twenty-three.” Thibodeau was indeed twenty-three, and had lately been working as a part-time mechanic at Mill Gas & Grocery.

Anderson Cooper? Candy Crowley? Chad Myers? Soledad O’Brien? Does anybody know what the hell that was? What’s going on?” At the Dome, America’s newest TV stars are looking around, showing the cameras only their backs as they shield their eyes and stare toward town.

He sets his feet and unloads on the first person to come into range. This happens to be Charles “Stubby” Norman, who runs the antique shop on the 117 edge of town. Stubby drops, clutching his spouting mouth. “Get back, you fucks!” Carter snarls. “Back, you sons of bitches!

The picture switched to a concerned-looking Charlie Gibson, safe in New York. (Lucky bastard, Carter thought.) “Any word yet on what may have caused the fire?” Back to Jake Tapper . . . and then to the survivors in their small capsule of breathable air. “None, Charlie.

Henry Morrison and Jackie Wettington stand across from the funeral parlor with Chaz Bender, who teaches history up to the high school. “It’s just a meteor shower seen through a haze of pollution,” Chaz tells Jackie and Henry . . . but he still sounds awed.

Her mother has a big old pink mark on her cheek, so the kids call her Cherry Face or Strawberry Head. Kayla doesn’t have any nice clothes.

Both Howie and Chip, then eleven or twelve, were wearing the green jerseys of the Sanders Hometown Drug Monarchs; the picture had been taken the year Howie and Rusty Everett had taken the Sanders team to the state finals.

What made it cool. Chuck Thompson, her instructor, touched the control yoke gently, then pointed at the instrument panel. “I’m sure,” he said, “but let’s keep the shiny side up, Claudie, okay?” “Sorry, sorry.” “Not at all.”

I struggled at first, but then two of them—Lila was one, Cindy Collins, Toby Manning’s mother, was the other—punched me. Not in the shoulder, the way kids usually do, either. Cindy hit me in the cheek, and Lila punched me square in the right boob. How that hurt!

“That’s it?” Claire McClatchey asked unbelievingly. Joe’s mother wasn’t crying, but she was close; her eyes glistened. She was holding her husband’s picture in her hands, had taken it off the wall shortly after Joe and his friends had come in with the DVD. “That’s all?”

… 1 From two thousand feet, where Claudette Sanders was taking a flying lesson, the town of Chester’s Mill gleamed in the morning light like something freshly made and just set down. Cars trundled along Main Street, flashing up winks of sun. The steeple of the Congo Church …

The oldest resident of Chester’s Mill on what came to be known as Dome Day was Clayton Brassey. He was also the oldest resident of Castle County, and thus holder of the Boston Post Cane.

… total darkness (the Congo had no generator), with Clover, her German shepherd, lying behind her with his nose on his paws and his eyes at half-mast. “Hello, Not-There,” Piper said. Not-There was her private name for God just lately. Earlier in the fall it had been The Great Maybe. During …

“Right, Rev?” She nodded. “Go on. Coach Gromley did it right on the sidelines, and she was a total dope. Just hurry. And please don’t screw it up.” Barbie said: “Julia, grab a sling from the first aid kit, then help me lie her down on her back.”

When that game was over, Big Jim had collared Coach Woodhead. “If that girl doesn’t start next year, you’re crazy,” he said. “I’m not crazy,” Coach Woodhead had replied.

… them you need to get in touch with Colonel James O. Cox. Tell them it’s urgent, that you’re calling for Captain Dale Barbara. Can you remember that?” “Dale Barbara. That’s you. James Cox, that’s him. Got it.” “If you reach him . . . I’m not sure you will, but …

“Your sister took them this morning,” Linda says, and hugs her. “Don’t worry.” “Cora?” “Wendy.” Cora, Marta’s older sister, has been living in Seattle for years. Linda wonders if Marta has suffered a concussion.

They went to Boston for a conference. Coralee Dumagen asked me to water her plants while they’re gone.” “I teach in Boston,” Thurston said. “At Emerson. I edited the current issue of Ploughshares.” And sighed. “The key is under a flowerpot to the left of the door,” Piper said.

And then, just when I thought they were done, Corrie Macintosh said, ‘Let’s pants her!’ Because I was wearing slacks that day, nice ones my mom got from a catalogue. I loved them.

… about screwing up to bother with groundlings like Dale Barbara. But he wished them well. Sightseers or a kid still six weeks from his first solo cruise, Barbie wished them very well. It was a good day, and every step away from Chester’s Mill made it better. Too many assholes …

As the daughter of Dale Compton, a scrawny pulp-cutter from Tarker’s Mills who was usually drunk and always argumentative, Hanna had come by her out-of-my-face ’tude naturally enough.

… another of him shaking with the Big Number 3, Dale Earnhardt, when Earnhardt had done a fundraiser for some children’s charity at the annual Oxford Plains Crash-A-Rama. There was even a picture of Big Jim shaking hands with Tiger Woods, who had seemed like a very nice Negro. The only …

Manuel Ortega, Alden Dinsmore’s hired man, and his good friend Dave Douglas go straight to the checkout cash registers and start punching NO SALE buttons, grabbing money and stuffing it into their pockets, laughing like fools as they do so. The supermarket is full now; it is sale day.

The memories had been very clear tonight, from the pervasive aroma of patchouli oil in David Perna’s apartment to the paisley headband Thurse had worn to the candlelight memorial service for Bobby Kennedy. He went his rounds humming “Big Leg Woman” very softly under his breath.

Judy and Janelle Everett sat at the far end of the play-yard with their friend Deanna Carver, who was six—thus fitting neatly between the Little Js, age-wise. Deanna was wearing a small blue armband around the left sleeve of her tee-shirt.

… . . who in the heck runs Brownie’s since Dil Brown died?” “Velma Winter,” Andrea said. “She’s from Away, but she’s very nice.” Rennie was pleased to see Randolph writing the names down in his pocket notebook. “Tell those three people that beer and liquor sales are off until further …

… we’ve lost some of the younger recruits for good—Dodson, Rawcliffe, and the Richardson boy are all gone—but most of the others stuck. And I’ve got some new ones. Joe Boxer . . . Stubby Norman . . . Aubrey Towle . . . his brother owns the bookstore, you know …

Ollie Dinsmore sees Dolly, the beautiful Brown Swiss who once won him a 4-H blue ribbon (his mother named her, thought Ollie and Dolly was just so cute). Dolly gallops heavily toward the Dome with somebody’s Weimaraner nipping at her legs, which are already bloody.

“Don, Kyra—Colonel James O. Cox, the Pentagon’s point man since the mammoth mystery known as the Dome came into being last Saturday, is about to speak to the press for only the second time since this crisis began.

One of those experts—chemistry professor Donald Irving of Princeton—told me via cell phone that the air inside the Dome now might not be all that much different from the atmosphere of Venus.” The picture switched to a concerned-looking Charlie Gibson, safe in New York.

“This is James Rennie, Second Selectman of Chester’s Mill. Who are you, sir?” “Donald Wozniak, Homeland Security. I understand you have some sort of problem out there on Highway 119. An interdiction of some kind.” Interdiction? Interdiction? What kind of Fedspeak was that? “You have been misinformed, sir,” Rennie said.

“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!”

… 5 Dodee Sanders was still a little stoned and a little drunk; she was hungover; her mother was dead; she was fumbling up the hall of her best friend’s house in the dark; she stepped on something that slid away under her foot and almost went ass over teapot. She …

… probably true; the winner that year had been Dougie Twitchell, who happened to be the Third Selectman’s brother. Twitch had juggled half a dozen Indian clubs while singing “Moon River.” Joe didn’t care if the fix was in or not. He had lost interest in dancing the way he lost …

I go to Dr. Hartwell over in Castle Rock.” “But Joe knows Barbie,” Jackie said patiently. “Joe was the one who set up the video feed when they shot the missiles. And Big Jim knows that.

The sign read JOSEPH BOXER, DDS. And, below that: BOXER IS BRIEF! And he was fairly speedy, everyone agreed, but he recognized no medical plans and accepted only cash.

Buzz, cuz. Twitch is waiting.” “You’ll finish the kid?” “Yes. Go on, go.” “Dr. Rayburn?” “Had patients in Stephens Memorial.” This was the Norway–South Paris hospital. “He’s on his way, Rusty. Go.” He paused on his way out to tell Mrs. Drake that Benny was fine.

Haskell, although pushing seventy, had stayed at the hospital with Rusty last night until eleven, when Rusty had literally forced him out the door, and he’d been back by seven this morning, when Rusty and Linda arrived with daughters in …

… black since eighth grade, when Junior broke the Dupree kid’s arm. The little fag had dared to swish his bubble-butt onto the town common basketball court and ask to play. And she supposed Junior must have had the same thunderstorm on his face that night in Dipper’s parking lot, but …

“Dusty? You there yet?” He listened some more, then said: “Okay.” He ended the call. “My friend Dusty and I started east of here. Split up. He went south. We’ve been staying in touch by phone. When we can get through, that is. He’s where the copter crashed now.

Rusty had thought the same thing about Ed Carty, who was suffering from end-stage stomach cancer, a week ago, and the man was still hanging in. “Comatose?” “Roger that, sensei.” Twitch was able to count their other patients off on the digits of one hand—which, Rusty knew, was extraordinarily lucky.

At the exact same moment the woodchuck fell in two pieces, a scarecrow did the same in Eddie Chalmers’s pumpkin field, not far from Pretty Valley Road. The scarecrow stood directly on the town line dividing The Mill from TR-90.

“This is Aidan Patrick Appleton. Our mother is Vera Appleton. Our father is Edward Appleton, but he and Mommy got a divorce last year and now he lives in Plano, Texas. We live in Weston, Massachusetts, at Sixteen Oak Way.

Benny shook his head, smiling indulgently. “I’m talking about El Kliyder, the terrible Mexican bandit who has relocated to western Maine in order to avoid—” “Let’s try the Geiger counter,” Norrie said, dismounting her bike. It was back in the carrier of Benny’s High Plains Schwinn.

… Norrie said. “She was even my leader in Girl Scouts before I quit.” The fact that she’d actually been kicked out for smoking did not seem relevant, so she omitted it. “And I know from Mom what people are saying about the murders,” Joe said. “She told me all she …

Half a day. Wendy Goldstone and Ellen Vanedestine volunteered to take classes. K through three in one room, four through six in another. I don’t know if any actual learning will happen, but it’ll give the kids a place to go, and a sense of normalcy. Maybe.”

Her best friend, Elsa Andrews, tutted. The two women, both retired nurses, exchanged a glance but not a single word. They had been friends too long for words to be necessary in such situations. Meanwhile, Wanda asked Billy where he thought he was going.

He remembered Emerson kicking the other one’s dangling cojones so hard they flew up in front of him and saying That’s for Carstairs, you fucking sandnigger. Someone would soon be giving his mom a flag while she sat on a folding chair near the grave, same old same old.

“As for Emily Whitehouse . . .” Twitch shrugged. “It ain’t good, sensei.” Emmy Whitehouse, forty years old and not even an ounce overweight, had suffered her own MI an hour or so after Rory Dinsmore’s accident.

The adult was Eric “Rusty” Everett, thirty-seven, a physician’s assistant working with Dr. Ron Haskell, whom Rusty often thought of as The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

Barbie recognized him from Sweetbriar Rose: Ernie Calvert, the previous manager of Food City, now retired. Ernie was staring at the burning clutter on the road with wide eyes, but he had his cell phone in his hand and was ratchet-jawing into it.

someone else asked. “Is she really dead?” “Yes,” Fernald Bowie said. The town’s only undertaker, Stewart Bowie, was Fern’s older brother. Fern sometimes helped him out when he was sober, and he looked sober tonight. Shocked sober. “Now shutcha quack so I can hear this.”

… No Money Down—and for the last four years Francine Rennie had been hanging out nonstop at Pleasant Ridge Cemetery. The town whistle had quit and the police sirens had faded off to the south somewhere. The house was blessedly quiet. He took two Imitrex, then dropped his clothes and got …

“Frank DeLesseps punched you?” Andy simply didn’t believe this. Frankie had delivered his Lewiston Sun for four years and never missed a day. Well, yes, one or two, now that he thought of it, but those had come during big snowstorms. And once he’d had the measles.

… 16 Frederick Howard Denton, aka Baldy, wasn’t thinking about anything when he reached the back of the WCIK studio. He had seen the Conree girl go down with her throat blown out, and that was the end of rational consideration. All he knew now was that he didn’t …

Most frequently to Freeman Brown, owner of Brownie’s Store, where she did most of her shopping because Brownie gave her credit. He was old and didn’t smell very good, but he was randy, and that was actually a plus. It made him quick.

BEFORE IT’S 2-LATE!! Frieda Morrison’s asks—ungrammatically but passionately—WHO’S CRIMES ARE WE DYING FOR? Bruce Yardley’s is the only one to strike a completely positive note.

… was just luck Howie was on that night; George Frederick was supposed to have the duty, but he called in with stomach flu.” She paused. “You might call it providence instead of luck.” “So I might,” Barbie agreed. “Would you like to come inside, Mr. Barbara?” “Why don’t we sit …

George Lathrop. One year he got a magnifying glass for his birthday. And sometimes . . . at recess we . . .” Rusty helped Julia to her feet.

“George Werner I’d call stable.” Werner, an Eastchester resident, sixty years old and obese, had suffered a myocardial infarction on Dome Day. Rusty thought he would pull through . . . this time. “As for Emily Whitehouse . . .” Twitch shrugged. “It ain’t good, sensei.”

There were actually five of them, and one was not a fella but a stocky young woman named Georgia Roux. She was an unemployed hairdresser and Carter Thibodeau’s girlfriend.

Gertrude Evans, eighty-seven (or maybe eighty-eight), had died of congestive heart failure two days before. Andy had sent a condolence note, although God knew who’d eventually receive it; Gert’s husband had died a decade ago. It didn’t matter.

He waited. And behold, the Lord God said unto Lester Coggins, “I will shew you a sign. Goest thou to thy Bible, even as you did as a child after those nasty dreams of yours.” “This minute,” Lester said. “This second.”

“That’s what Granddad Twitchell used to claim.” “I hope he was right,” Julia said, and got rolling again. She watched closely for oncoming headlights, but the next glow they saw was from the spots set up at the Harlow edge of the Dome. They didn’t see Sammy Bushey.

… of which he was proudest—the one he treasured—was Hanna Compton’s, the little sophomore point guard who had led the Lady Wildcats to that one and only gold ball. When you’re a season ticket holder, you get to know the other season ticket holders around you, and their reasons for being …

… patients arrived were Ginny Tomlinson, Gina Buffalino, and Harriet Bigelow, a friend whom Gina had recruited to help out at the hospital. The three of them had their arms around each other, as if for comfort, and were staring up into the sky. It was filled with blazing pink stars, …

“Frank’s parents are out of town,” Twitch said, “but I got in touch with Helen Roux. She took it quite calmly.” “Drunk?” Andy asked. “As a skunk.” Andy wandered a little way up the hall.

Carla Venziano, with her baby goggling over her shoulder from the carrier on her back, pushes Henrietta Clavard away from the display of Texmati Rice—Baby Steven loves rice, he also loves to play with the empty plastic containers, and Carla means to make sure she has plenty.

The sight of Henry McCain’s 4Runner or LaDonna McCain’s Prius in the driveway might have; in that case he might’ve turned around, gone back to his own house, taken another Imitrex, and lain down in his bedroom with the shades drawn and a cool washcloth on …

So it was car Four, one of their two remaining Dodges, and Henry Morrison would be driving. He stopped raking and stood, head cocked. The siren started to fade, and he started raking again. Brenda came out on the stoop.

… lived over the offices of the Democrat with Horace, her elderly Welsh Corgi. She had named him after the great Mr. Greeley, who was remembered for a single bon mot—“Go West, young man, go West”—but whose real claim to fame, in Julia’s mind, was his work as a newspaper editor.

Everybody in The Mill had heard about it. She’d been called in to talk to Chief Perkins, that damn Barbie had been there, and eventually that had gotten out, too. “Junior? Junior, what—” Then he slapped her, and thinking pretty much ceased.

Jim Rennie may persuade whoever manages it now—” “Jack Cale. He took over when Ernie Calvert retired last year.” “Well, Rennie may persuade him to close until further notice. Or get Chief Perkins to order the place closed.” “You don’t know?” Rose asked, and at his blank look: “You don’t.

It was too quick and sharp and clean for that. Jack Evans was in the kitchen, whipping eggs for a noontime frittata. LCD Soundsystem was playing—“North American Scum”—and Jack was singing along when a small voice spoke his name from behind him.

… illegal drug ring operating out of the Sixty-seventh Combat Support Hospital in Würzburg, Germany, and was personally recommended by a man named Jack Reacher, the toughest goddam Army cop that ever served, in my humble opinion.” “There’s nothing humble about you, sir, and your sacrilegious language doesn’t go down well …

“I suppose I do,” Jackie said, and gave a rather helpless laugh. “After six years with the U.S. Army, I never would have expected it—I’ve always been a my-country-right-or-wrong sort of girl—but . . . has it occurred to you that the Dome might not break?

“This is Jake Tapper in TR-90, an unincorporated township just north of Chester’s Mill. This is as close as we’ve been allowed, but as you can see, there are survivors. I repeat, there are survivors.”

Judy and Janelle Everett sat at the far end of the play-yard with their friend Deanna Carver, who was six—thus fitting neatly between the Little Js, age-wise.

… leave us alone for a few minutes, little Jessie Vachon’s nose was bleeding. Mrs. Connaught said we’d all have to stay after unless someone told her who did it. I raised my hand and said it was Andy Manning. Andy punched Jessie in the nose when Jessie wouldn’t lend Andy …

“Our Halloween treat. First the trick . . . then the treat.” The fire was becoming a face, an orange version of the bloody ones he’d been looking at in the clouds just before the fit fell on him. It was the face of Jesus. Jesus was scowling at him.

… just before everything exploded above the neck, and Junior Rennie (who didn’t know he had a brain tumor—wheezy old Dr. Haskell had never even considered the possibility, not in an otherwise healthy young man hardly out of his teens) went crazy. It wasn’t a lucky morning for Claudette Sanders or …

… plane flew over him just after he passed Jim Rennie’s Used Cars, a place for which Barbie had no love. Not that he’d bought a lemon there (he hadn’t owned a car in over a year, had sold the last one in Punta Gorda, Florida). It was just that Jim …

… 8 Jimmy Sirois died late that afternoon, as Scarecrow Joe and his friends were tearing back toward town on their bikes. Rusty sat in the hallway with his arm around Gina Buffalino and let her cry against his chest. There was a time when he would have felt exceedingly uncomfortable …

“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.

Benny’s mother agreed, and—somewhat to her surprise—so did Norrie’s. “Good deal,” Joanie Calvert said. “I’ve been wanting to get schnockered ever since this happened. Looks like tonight’s my chance. And Claire? Tell that girl to hunt up her grandfather tomorrow and give him a kiss.” “Who’s her grandfather?” “Ernie.

Plus, she’d found her late husband’s fanny-ring (John Clavard had suffered hemorrhoids), and that helped considerably. No, it was something else, and shortly after awakening, she realized what it was. The Freemans’ Irish setter, Buddy, was howling. Buddy never howled.

Jackie was being helped to her feet by Ernie Calvert and Johnny Carver, who ran Mill Gas & Grocery. She was dazed and her nose was bleeding, but she appeared all right otherwise. Nevertheless, this whole situation was hinky.

Only Three and Four still had the old warblers, but Johnny Trent had taken Three over to Castle Rock with the FD, to that damned training exercise. A “controlled burn,” they called it, although what it really amounted to was grown men having fun.

I know that.” Joe McClatchey rolled over and pushed himself to his knees. “Jo-Jo?” Benny asked. He hadn’t called his friend Jo-Jo since fourth grade. “You okay?” “Yeah. The pumpkins were on fire.” “What pumpkins?” Joe shook his head. He couldn’t remember.

There was a long pause on the line and then Marta said, “Oh.” “Oh? What does that mean, oh?” “It was Judy, Linda. Not Janelle. This time it was Judy.”

… dozed a little bit, because all at once Kayla Bevins was standing over me. She’d been right in there with the rest, slapping and pulling my hair and spitting on me. She didn’t say as much as the rest, but she was part of it. She helped hold me while …

“Don, Kyra—Colonel James O. Cox, the Pentagon’s point man since the mammoth mystery known as the Dome came into being last Saturday, is about to speak to the press for only the second time since this crisis began.

The sight of Henry McCain’s 4Runner or LaDonna McCain’s Prius in the driveway might have; in that case he might’ve turned around, gone back to his own house, taken another Imitrex, and lain down in his bedroom with the shades drawn and a cool washcloth on his forehead.

His name was Latif abd al-Khaliq Hassan. A good troop. “Look Turkey, but no-no-no.” Big grin. White teeth. A week after that day in the marketplace, a sniper’s bullet had blown Latif abd al-Khaliq Hassan’s brains right out through the back of his head.

… multitudinous Killian brothers, a smalltown biker chick and Dipper’s habitué named Lauren Conree, and Carter Thibodeau. The others she couldn’t name, but she recognized two as chronic truants from high school who had also been in on various minor drug and MV violations. The new “officers”—the newest of the new—weren’t …

She hadn’t been at Food City, but when she’d gone down later to inspect the damage with her friend Leah Anderson, the shattered windows and the blood still on the pavement had frightened her badly. Those things had frightened her for the future.

Lennie Meechum, the town postmaster (at least until this week, when delivery of the U.S. mail was canceled for the foreseeable future), borrows a cane for her. Then he tells Henry that Mabel needs a ride back to town. Henry says he can’t spare a car.

Most are equally silent. A few are crying. Leo Lamoine, a faithful member of the late Reverend Coggins’s Holy Redeemer congregation, shouts it’s the Apocalypse, that he sees the Four Horsemen in the sky, that the Rapture will begin soon, et cetera, et cetera.

Randolph said, “I’m arresting you for the murders of Angela McCain, Dorothy Sanders, Lester A. Coggins, and Brenda Perkins.” Each name struck Barbie, but the last one hit the hardest. The last one was a fist. That sweet woman. She had forgotten to be careful.

Excited gabble. They liked the visual possibilities. Cox pointed. “Mr. Holt.” Lester Holt from NBC shot to his feet. “How sure are you that Mr. Rennie will attend?

the lieutenant colonel asked. According to the name-strip on his fatigues, he was STRINGFELLOW. “Report.” “Fuck your report!” Rommie shouted. He was holding a semi-conscious child—Aidan Appleton—in his arms.

There were six of them. The ringleader was Lila Strout, who’s now Lila Killian—she married Roger Killian, which serves her absolutely right. Don’t ever let anyone tell you children can’t carry their grudges into adulthood. “They took me to the bandstand.

“Yes. Drag the big tent out of storage. Get Lily to help you.” “The Summer Blowout Sale tent?” “That’s the baby,” Romeo said. “We’re gonna pitch it in that cowgrass where Chuck Thompson’s plane crashed.” “Alden Dinsmore’s field? What if he wants money to use it?” “Then we’ll pay him.”

… raised the mask long enough to say, “I’m Linda Everett, of the Chester’s Mill Police Department. My badge number is seven-seven-five. I also recognize these four bodies.” She put her mask back in place. Above it, her eyes pleaded. Rusty motioned her back. It was all a charade, anyway. He …

“He says American senator bought five like these. Lindsay Graham. Five rug, five hundred dollar. Five hundred out front, for press. More on the down-low. But all senator rug fake. Yes-yes-yes. This one not fake, this one real. I, Latif Hassan, tell you this, Barbie. Not Lindsay Graham rug.”

… true—Sam Verdreaux, who seemed to be thriving in the bad air, and Little Walter Bushey, who did nothing but sleep and suck the occasional ration of milk or juice. Barbie sat against the Dome with his arm around Julia. Not far away, Thurston Marshall sat beside the …

Sitting on the redwood apron between the earthly remains of Will and Lois Freeman was a whiskey bottle and a small medicine vial. “Stop,” he said. He didn’t know if he was talking to himself, or Mrs. Clavard, or possibly to Buddy, who had just voiced another bereft howl.

… past War Memorial Plaza, where the statue of Lucien Calvert (Norrie’s great-grandfather; I probably don’t have to tell you that) keeps his long watch. We’ll stop for a quick check on Barbie and Rusty, shall we? There’ll be no problem getting downstairs; there are only three cops in the ready …

Most get scratched up before finding relief. One overweight woman (Mabel Alston; she also suffers from what she calls the dia-betties) sprains her ankle and lies there hollering until a couple of men come over and get her on her remaining good foot.

The mission was code-named GRAND ISLE. The pilot-commander was Major Gene Ray, who had served in both the Gulf and Iraq wars (in private conversations he referred to the latter as “Big Dubya’s fuck-a-monkey show”). He had two Fasthawk Cruise missiles in his bomb bay.

Nobody was shouting, nobody was wailing with a scraped knee, Mindy and Mandy Pruitt weren’t begging Miss Goldstone to admire their matching hair-dos. They all looked like they were just pretending snack-time, even the grownups.

… (Ollie; you remember Ollie), and his hired man (Manuel Ortega, a no-greencard Yankee who can ayuh with the best of them). Alden’s knocking down five dollars a car, a fortune for a shirttail dairyman who for the last two years has been keeping his farm out of Keyhole Bank’s hands …

Marta Edmunds said she’d take the girls, so God bless Marta. Try not to wake me. (Altho I may not be asleep.) We are in for hard days I fear, but we’ll get thru this. Plenty to eat in pantry, thank God.

We don’t know anything. There is a theory, however. Yes. Marty, come over here.” One of the older gentlemen who had been running tests approached the Dome. He was holding his gas mask by the strap. “Your analysis?” Cox asked, and when he saw the older gentleman’s hesitation: “Speak freely.”

“He just about lives on Advair.” “And as you know, Marty Arsenault and Toby Whelan aren’t up to much these days. The only part-timer I’d call really able-bodied is Linda Everett. Between that damned firefighting exercise and the football game, this couldn’t have happened at a worse time.”

“That’s Mary Lou Costas. She’s seventeen, she’s been married for a year to a trucker who’s almost twice her age, and she’s probably hoping he comes to see her.” Henry sighs. “She’s still an idiot, but I guess at seventeen we all are.” And still they come.

… nightmares of masturbating and looking up to see Mary Magdalene standing in his bedroom doorway. The church was almost as new as the generator, and constructed of expensive red maple. It was also plain to the point of starkness. Behind Lester’s bare back stretched a triple rank of pews beneath …

Then he saw a rainbow on the Mill side as well: a small one. One of the spectators—Lissa Jamieson, the town librarian—walked toward it. “Lissa, get away from there!” Duke shouted. She ignored him. It was as if she were hypnotized.

This is greeted by laughter and applause. They are pumped up, excited to have pulled what Melvin Searles calls “possible shootin duty.” “We saddle up at eleven fifteen,” Randolph tells Freddy. “That gives us almost forty-five minutes to watch the show on TV.” “Want popcorn?” Freddy asks.

… the Burpee generator was still working) with Romeo and his wife, Michela. Both of them looked pale and grim. Rommie was dressed, Michela still in her housecoat. “You t’ink dat guy Barbie really killed Bren?” Rommie asked. “Because if he did, my friend, I’m gonna kill him myself.” Michela put …

“Well, boys,” he said, directing his attention particularly to young Mickey Wardlaw—God, what a bruiser! “I had a lot more to say, but it seems we’ve got ourselves a little more excitement. Fern Bowie, do you happen to know if we have any Indian pumps in the FD barn?”

Nobody was shouting, nobody was wailing with a scraped knee, Mindy and Mandy Pruitt weren’t begging Miss Goldstone to admire their matching hair-dos. They all looked like they were just pretending snack-time, even the grownups.

Barbie thought of his mother and how she used to stroke their cocker spaniel, Missy, when Missy got old and stupid and incontinent. “He’ll pay the price, Andy—you have my word on that.

a gray-haired man shouted, and there was general laughter. “Boy, I’m glad someone’s havin fun,” Ernie Calvert said bitterly. Cox allowed himself a smile. “I stand corrected, Mr. Gregory.

… front row and always raised my hand when Mrs. Connaught asked a question, and I always got the answer right. I turned in my assignments ahead of time if I could, and volunteered for extra credit. I was a grade-grind and a bit of a wheedler. Once, when Mrs. Connaught …

Randolph asked. Big Jim spared a moment to wonder which dumbtree Mrs. Randolph’s little boy had fallen out of. Then he pressed ahead. He wouldn’t get a good eight hours’ sleep tonight, but with the blessing he might manage five. And he needed it. His poor old heart needed it.

This was the case with Jack and Myra Evans’s home at 379 Motton Road. Myra had a vegetable garden behind their house, and although most of the goodies had been harvested, there were still a few fat Blue Hubbard squashes beyond the remaining (and badly rotted) pumpkins.

There’s no sign of Nell Toomey, his great-great granddaughter and chief caregiver; she’s gone out to the Dome with her brother and sister-in-law. Marta says, “Oh, Unc—I’m sorry, but probably it was time.”

“The Freeman girl is getting better, Jimmy Sirois is holding up, and Nora Coveland is totally cool. Out after lunch. On the whole, not so bad.” “No,” Rusty said, “but it’ll get worse. I guarantee you.

On the road behind him, Nora Robichaud honked. Her best friend, Elsa Andrews, tutted. The two women, both retired nurses, exchanged a glance but not a single word. They had been friends too long for words to be necessary in such situations.

“And this is Norman Drake, reminding you of three important facts: you’re listening to the Revival Time Hour on WCIK, God loves you, and He sent his Son to die for you on Calvary’s cross.

Janelle had two seizures, and so did a little kid named Norman Sawyer, but in both cases the second seizure was milder than the first, and not accompanied by any babble. Most of the kids Rusty saw had only the one, and there seemed to be no after-effects.

He remembered wondering if it would explode. It hadn’t, and that was a very good thing for Oliver H. Dinsmore. If it had, he would now be lying dead under a burial mound of russets and long whites.

He has ridden out with Pamela Chen, the only one of the new “special deputies” he completely trusts, and when he sees the size of the crowd, he tells her to call the hospital. He wants the ambulance out here, standing by.

… in the studio, leaning against the poster of Pat Robertson with his arm around the late Lester Coggins. “Let’s get it,” Chef said, picking up GOD’S WARRIOR and checking the clip. “And from now on you carry it with you, have you got that?” “Okay.” “Box of ammo in there?”

… 3 Sea Dogs turned out to be Paul Gendron, a car salesman from upstate who had retired to his late parents’ farm in Motton two years before. Barbie learned this and a great deal more about Gendron between their departure from the crash scene on 119 and their discovery …

Both Julia Shumway and Pete Freeman are taking pictures. Julia stops long enough to give Barbie her attractive but somehow inward-turning smile. “Some show, wouldn’t you say?” Barbie grins. “Yessum.”

“Sure it will,” Sam said. “Guy named Peter Bergeron told me, not long after the big Bar Harbor fire back in forty-seven. Pete was a lot of things, but never a liar.” “Even if it does,” Linda said, “why?” “Because there’s one thing we haven’t tried,” Julia said.

Or sitting in the crapper. Peter Randolph was a fair cop, and he could be just as hard as he needed to be, but Duke didn’t like him.

I dropped off the keys with Petra Searles in the drugstore before I left this morning, but I still have a dupe on my key ring.” “Okay. See you in the morning, Rose. Will you be here, Barbie?” “Wouldn’t miss it.” Anson’s grin widened. “Excellent.”

One of them was Pfc Clint Ames, from Hickory Grove, South Carolina. He had a green plastic Hefty bag in one hand and was moving slowly through the beaten-down grass, picking up the occasional discarded sign or flattened Coke can so if that hardass Sergeant Groh glanced over he’d look …

‘All done and buttoned up,’ as the little boy said after he made his first wee. He told the Chef himself.” “That guy,” Andy said dourly. Big Jim chuckled. “Don’t you worry about Phil. We’re shut down and we’re going to stay shut down until the crisis is over.

Rance Conroy, proprietor and sole employee of Conroy’s Western Maine Electrical Service & Supplies (“Smiles Our Specialty”), punches Brendan Ellerbee, a retired University of Maine science teacher, when Ellerbee beats him to the last …

At the back of the crowd, Ricky and Randall Killian have arrived in a Chevrolet Canyon pickemup. Sam Verdreaux is not far behind, walking, of course; Sam lost his license to drive for good in ’07.

… lost some of the younger recruits for good—Dodson, Rawcliffe, and the Richardson boy are all gone—but most of the others stuck. And I’ve got some new ones. Joe Boxer . . . Stubby Norman . . . Aubrey Towle . . . his brother owns the bookstore, you know . …

I have no reason to say I made a mistake based on what I know at this time.” “Ray Suarez, Colonel, PBS. Do you believe the charges against Lieutenant Barbara—now Colonel Barbara—may have been politically motivated?

… car lot stood where its big screen had once towered over 119), but somehow Ray Towle had kept this dirty little emporium galorium crutching along. Part of the window display consisted of self-help books. The rest of the window was heaped with paperbacks featuring fogbound mansions, ladies in distress, and …

The Reverend Piper Libby, who ministered to her flock from the pulpit of the First Congregational Church, no longer believed in God, although this was a fact she had not shared with her congregants.

… Castle Rock known as The View; CNN’s meteorologist, Reynolds Wolf (no relation to Rose Twitchell’s Wolfie), says that while no one can as yet be entirely sure, it seems likely that the west-to-east airflow is pushing the clouds against the western side of the Dome and squeezing them like sponges …

… the younger recruits for good—Dodson, Rawcliffe, and the Richardson boy are all gone—but most of the others stuck. And I’ve got some new ones. Joe Boxer . . . Stubby Norman . . . Aubrey Towle . . . his brother owns the bookstore, you know . . .” Big …

Clinging to the back door of the bus, Richie Killian suddenly cannot breathe. He has time to see his arms catch fire.

… instant later two more rocks fly, one from Ricky Killian, one from Randall. Ricky’s connects with the back of Bill Allnut’s head and knocks the janitor to the pavement, not far from Ginny Tomlinson. Shit! Ricky thinks. I was supposed to hit a fuckin cop! Not only were those his …

He paused, not quite smiling. “I’d certainly want to.” “Rita Braver, Colonel Cox, CBS. Is it true that Dale Barbara, the man you tapped as emergency administrator in Chester’s Mill, has been arrested for murder? That the Chester’s Mill police in fact believe him to be a serial killer?”

Andy Sanders? The Bowie brothers? And Roger Killian! He’s got I think nine kids to support! What if we’re not so glad, Lester?” “I can’t help that.” Now Lester began to whack himself on the shoulders with his Bible. Back and forth; first one side and then the other.

In his thick Yankee accent, home came out hum. “Ricky and Randall are here, but Roland was in Oxford buying feed when the Christing Dome came down.” He paused and considered what he had just said. In the background, the chickens clucked. “Sorry about the profanity.”

… stronger” as his personal motto, that man was Romeo Burpee, a hustler with a daddy-cool Elvis pomp and pointed boots with elastic sides. He owed his first name to a romantic Franco-American mother; his last to a hardass Yankee father who was practical to his dry pinchpenny core. Romeo had …

“Maybe tomor—” “It’s Richie, Mr. Rennie. Ronnie’s my brother.” “Richie. Of course. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Big Jim strode on. Andy took the note from the boy and caught up to Rennie before he could get to the trio sitting on the steps. “You better look at this.”

His face broke into a smile of extraordinary sweetness. “I know his name.” “Shut up, Roar,” his brother warned. Mr. Rennie’s face had darkened. In Ollie Dinsmore’s experience, this was the way teachers looked just before they slapped you with a week’s worth of detention. Rory, however, paid no mind.

… to be currently along for the ride—right now Rose Twitchell’s sister, Andrea Grinnell). Andy had always enjoyed his partnership with Big Jim. Financially, yes, especially during the last two or three years, but also in his heart. Big Jim knew how to get things done, and why they should be …

See the reinforcements. Toby Whelan and Rupert Libby (he’s Piper’s cousin, though she doesn’t brag on the connection) are first to arrive on the scene. They survey it . . . then hang back. Next comes Linda Everett.

Sada went to Derry to visit her folks.” Sada was Anson’s wife. Barbie in fact did have a place to go, almost directly across the street. “Thanks, but I’ll go back to my apartment. I’m paid up until the end of the month, so why not?

… the University of Maine, and that back then Sam McClatchey’s friends had called him Bump, but Mom hardly ever called him that anymore, and when she did, she laughed and blushed, as if the nickname had some sort of dirty subtext. About that Joe didn’t know. What he knew was …

“Can you find Sam Verdreaux?” “Sure. He’ll be in that little shack out on God Creek Road. Ordinarily he’d be sleeping it off, but today he’s more apt to be shaking himself awake with the DTs.” Junior snickered at this image, then winced and went back to rubbing his temple.

Bushey?” He pronounced it Bouchez, but Sammy didn’t bother to correct him, or to tell him that boys called her Bushey the Tushie. “Yes, Doctor,” she said. Nor did Thurse bother to correct her misapprehension. That undefined joy—the kind that comes with tears hidden in it—swelled a little more.

Henry shouts the question to Allnut, who is standing at the Dome with his wife Sarah, both of them eagerly scanning the empty highway on the other side of the Motton town line. “Number Sixteen is a standard!” Allnut shouts back. “All the rest are automatics!

There was also a framed picture of Big Jim shaking hands with Sarah Palin and another of him shaking with the Big Number 3, Dale Earnhardt, when Earnhardt had done a fundraiser for some children’s charity at the annual Oxford Plains Crash-A-Rama.

… or flattened Coke can so if that hardass Sergeant Groh glanced over he’d look like he was working. He was nearly asleep on his feet, and at first he thought the knocking he heard (it sounded like knuckles on a thick Pyrex dish) was part of a dream. It almost …

… he was technically in charge of these men, Sergeant Hackermeyer pulled one of them up by the unwinding remains of the keffiyeh that was now his only clothing and held him against the wall and put his gun to the Abdul’s head and there was a pause and no one …

… the day before, and there he has stationed his wife (Shelley), his older son (Ollie; you remember Ollie), and his hired man (Manuel Ortega, a no-greencard Yankee who can ayuh with the best of them). Alden’s knocking down five dollars a car, a fortune for a shirttail dairyman who for …

Anderson Cooper? Candy Crowley? Chad Myers? Soledad O’Brien? Does anybody know what the hell that was? What’s going on?” At the Dome, America’s newest TV stars are looking around, showing the cameras only their backs as they shield their eyes and stare toward town.

It was Stacey Moggin. “Stacey?” He knew he didn’t have to bellow into the goddam thing, Brenda had told him so a hundred times, but he couldn’t seem to help it. “What are you doing at the station on Saturday m—” “I’m not, I’m at home.

… Carla’s shrieks as her back is broken and baby Steven is crushed to death beneath her. All Velma knows is that she has to get out of here. Somehow, she has to get out. At the Dome, the reunions have been ended by an apocalyptic party-crasher. Those on the inside …

“Is she really dead?” “Yes,” Fernald Bowie said. The town’s only undertaker, Stewart Bowie, was Fern’s older brother. Fern sometimes helped him out when he was sober, and he looked sober tonight. Shocked sober. “Now shutcha quack so I can hear this.”

He calls it “a fascinating phenomenon.” Suzanne Malveaux, the anchor, asks him what the long-term weather under the Dome might be like, if the crisis continues. “Suzanne,” Reynolds Wolf says, “that’s a great question.

The supermarket’s big front windows have been covered with plywood requisitioned from Tabby Morrell’s lumberyard, and the worst of the gluck on the floor has been mopped up by Jack Cale and Ernie Calvert, but Food City is still a godawful mess, with boxes and dry goods strewn from hell …

Tansy Freeman, the appendectomy, was reading a magazine. “What’s the fire whistle blowing for?” she asked him. “Don’t know, hon. How’s your pain?” “A three,” she said matter-of-factly. “Maybe a two. Can I still go home tomorrow?”

THE AREA IS BEING EVACUATED!” Thurston Marshall and Carolyn Sturges sat up in bed, listening to this weird blare and looking at each other with wide eyes.

… a picture of Big Jim shaking hands with Tiger Woods, who had seemed like a very nice Negro. The only piece of memorabilia on his desk was a gold-plated baseball in a Lucite cradle. Below it (also in Lucite) was an autograph reading: To Jim Rennie, with thanks for your …

Rommie’s assistant Toby Manning and Jack Evans appeared, carrying a makeshift stretcher made out of canvas and tent poles. Rommie opened his mouth to ask what the hell they thought they were doing, then closed it again. The field day had been canceled anyway, so what the hell.

“He just about lives on Advair.” “And as you know, Marty Arsenault and Toby Whelan aren’t up to much these days. The only part-timer I’d call really able-bodied is Linda Everett. Between that damned firefighting exercise and the football game, this couldn’t have happened at a worse time.” “Linda Everett?”

All new ones. Aubrey Towle—his brother owns the bookshop, y’know—Todd Wendlestat, and Lauren Conree.” “And do you concur that that should be enough?” “Huh?” “Do you agree, Carter. Concur means agree.” “Yeah, that should do it. Daylight and all.” No pause to calculate what the boss might want to hear.

“And WE’LL WIN!” ToldjaSo87 wrote. “Because with this new weapon, WHO CAN STAND AGAINST US? My friends, WE HAVE BECOME THE NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS OF NATIONS!!!!” Joe didn’t know which if any of these theories was the truth. He didn’t really care.

The room behind the door with the note on it had been Grampy Tom’s. Suffering the slow misery of congestive heart failure, he had come to live with them when he could no longer do for himself.

Tommy Anderson from Dipper’s and Lissa Jamieson—a little New Age-y but also as strong as a horse—were carrying the sump pump …

The important thing about Andrea was that she had been a Twitchell before Tommy Grinnell married her, and Twitchells were tough, even the shy ones. Brenda thought she could leave the envelope containing the VADER file with Andrea . . . assuming her place wasn’t also locked and empty.

Single sheets were shooting rapidly in the copier’s tray. Pete Freeman and Tony Guay were taking turns pulling them out and stacking them up. “There you are,” Julia said. “I was afraid you kids weren’t coming. We’re almost ready. If the damn copier doesn’t shit the bed, that is.”

Inside were six teeth. “Torie McDonald picked these up outside the supermarket. She got down on her knees and grubbed through puddles of Georgia Roux’s blood to find them.

Trina Cole’s says THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD below a drawing of what is probably a sheep, although it’s tough to be sure. Donnie Baribeau’s simply reads PRAY FOR US. Marta Edmunds, who sometimes babysits for the Everetts, isn’t among the pilgrims.

He knew that Aunt Lois and Uncle Scooter might come—they lived just over in New Gloucester—but what would he say if they did? Hey Unc, they’re all dead but me, thanks for coming?

“Velma Winter,” Andrea said. “She’s from Away, but she’s very nice.” Rennie was pleased to see Randolph writing the names down in his pocket notebook. “Tell those three people that beer and liquor sales are off until further notice.”

“I’m Alice Rachel Appleton,” she said. “This is Aidan Patrick Appleton. Our mother is Vera Appleton. Our father is Edward Appleton, but he and Mommy got a divorce last year and now he lives in Plano, Texas. We live in Weston, Massachusetts, at Sixteen Oak Way.

… was a perfunctory knock at the door, followed by Ginny Tomlinson’s head. “Can I speak to you for a minute?” “Don’t worry about me,” Benny said. “I’m like, freely radical.” Cheeky little bugger. “In the hall, Rusty?” Ginny said. She didn’t give the kid a glance. “I’ll be right back, …

That would be Wanda Crumley from Eastchester. The Crumleys live next to the Evanses, out near the Motton town line. When Wanda went over this morning to check on Jack, she found him dead not twenty feet from where the Dome cut off his wife’s hand.

This cracked him up and he started laughing. Wanda Debec realized she had finally had enough. This clarified the world and her future in a way that was almost magical.

Then he remembered that when his little brother Wendell tried to say enemies it came out enemas. This made him laugh harder than ever. There could be worse ways to go out, he thought as he reached both hands through the bars and shot Junior a nice double-bird.

Wendell Crumley was lucky not to crash his little Subaru wagon on his way to the hospital—he did eighty most of the way. Rusty is with Wanda now, but Ginny doesn’t think Wanda—fifty, overweight, a heavy smoker—is going to make it. “Girls,” she says.

“What happened?” Marta asks, dazed. “Did someone hit me? The side of my face is all hot. Who’s watching Judy and Janelle?” “Your sister took them this morning,” Linda says, and hugs her. “Don’t worry.” “Cora?” “Wendy.” Cora, Marta’s older sister, has been living in Seattle for years.

Half a day. Wendy Goldstone and Ellen Vanedestine volunteered to take classes. K through three in one room, four through six in another. I don’t know if any actual learning will happen, but it’ll give the kids a place to go, and a sense of normalcy. Maybe.”

Henry Morrison’s brother Whit suffers a slashed jugular. The crowd stampedes toward the doors, the big-screen TV completely forgotten. They trample poor Whit Morrison as he lies dying in a spreading pool of his own blood.

… dealership that time, the company had settled on Will Freeman instead. Given his sales figures and location out on 119, Big Jim hadn’t been able to understand how Toyota could be so stupid. Andy could. He maybe wasn’t the brightest bear in the woods, but he knew Big Jim had …

That was when Chief Perkins—called by either Tommy or Willow Anderson, the roadhouse proprietors—drove into the parking lot with his jackpots lit and his headlights winking back and forth. The combatants were illuminated like actors on a stage. Perkins hit the siren once; it blipped half a whoop and died.

Drink Severe Beer, Barbie thought, and nearly chuckled. Wolf Blitzer took Anderson Cooper’s place. Rose had a crush on Blitzer and would not allow the TV to be tuned to anything but The Situation Room on weekday afternoons; she called him “my Wolfie.”

I think that bitch Yvonne Nedeau stole them.” She lit a match and touched it first to Scarecrow Joe’s cigarette, then to Benny’s. When she tried to use it to light her own, Benny blew it out. “What did you do that for?” she asked. “Three on a match.