On an entirely normal, beautiful fall day in Chester’s Mill, Maine, the town is inexplicably and suddenly sealed off from the rest of the world by an invisible force field.
Авторы: King Stephen Edwin
said. ‘But maybe I’d better pray on it first. Do you want to get kneebound with me, son?’
Junior would have sooner poured lighter fluid down his pants and set his balls on fire, but didn’t say so. ‘Speak to God on your own, and you’ll hear Him answer more clearly. That’s what my dad always says.’
‘AH right, son. That’s good advice.’
Before Randolph could say any more, Junior slipped first out of the office, then out of the police station. He walked home, deep in thought, mourning his lost girlfriends and wondering if he could get another. Maybe more than one.
Under the Dome, all sorts of things might be possible.
15
Pete Randolph did try to pray, but there was too much on his mind. Besides, the Lord helped those who helped themselves. He didn’t think that was in the Bible, but it was true just the same. He called Andy Sanders’s cell from the list of numbers thumb-tacked to the bulletin board on the wall. He hoped for no answer, but the guy picked up on the very first ring—wasn’t that always the way?
‘Hello, Andy. Chief Randolph here. I’ve got some pretty tough news for you, my friend. Maybe you better sit down.’
It was a difficult conversation. Hellacious, actually. When it was finally over, Randolph sat drumming his fingers on his desk. He thought—again—that if Duke Perkins were the one sitting behind this desk, he wouldn’t be entirely sorry. Maybe not sorry at all. It had turned out to be a much harder and dirtier job than he had imagined. The private office wasn’t worth the aggravation. Even the green Chief’s car wasn’t; every time he got behind the wheel and his butt slipped into the hollow Duke’s meatier hindquarters had made before him, the same thought occurred: You’re not up to this.
Sanders was coming down here. He wanted to confront Barbara.
Randolph had tried to talk him out of it, but: halfway through his suggestion that Andy’s time would be better spent on his knees, praying for the souls of his wife and (daughter—not to mention the strength to bear his cross—Andy had broken the connection.
Randolph sighed and punched up another number. After two rings, Big Jim’s ill-tempered voice was in his ear. ‘What? What?’
‘It’s me, Jim. I know you’re working and I hate to interrupt you, but could you come down here? I need help.’
16
The three children stood in the somehow depthless afternoon light, under a sky that now had a decided yellowish tinge, and looked at the dead bear at the foot of the telephone pole. The pole was leaning crookedly. Four feet up from its base, the creosoted wood was splintered and splashed with blood. Other stuff, too. White stuff that Joe supposed was fragments of bone. And grayish mealy stuff that had to be brai—
He turned around, trying to control his gorge. He almost had it, too, but then Benny threw up—a big wet yurp sound—and Norrie followed suit. Joe gave in and joined the club.
When they were under control again, Joe unslung his backpack, took out the bottles of Snapple, and handed them around. He used the first mouthful to rinse with, and spat it out. Norrie and Benny did the same. Then they drank. The sweet tea was warm, but it still felt like heaven on Joe’s raw throat.
Norrie took two cautious steps toward the black, fly-buzzing heap: at the foot of the phone pole. ‘Like the deer,’ she said. ‘Poor guy (jlidn’t have any riverbank to jump over, so he beat his brains out on a phone-pole.’
‘Maybe it had rabies,’ Benny said in a thin voice. ‘Maybe the deer I did, too.’
Joe guessed that was a technical possibility, but he didn’t believe it. ‘I’ve been thinking about this suicide thing.’ He hated the tremble he heard in his voice, but couldn’t seem to do anything about it. ‘Whales and dolphins do it—they beach themselves, I’ve seen it on TV. And my dad says octopuses do it.’
‘Pi,’ Norrie said. ‘Octopi.’
‘Whatever. My dad said when their environment gets polluted, they I eat off their own tentacles.’
‘Dude, do you want me to throw up again?’ Benny asked. He sounded querulous and tired.
‘Is that—what’s going on here?’ Norrie asked. ‘The environment’s polluted?’
Joe glanced up at the yellowish sky. Then he pointed southwest, where a hanging black residue from the fire started by the missile strike discolored the air. The smutch looked to be two or three hundred feet high and a mile across. Maybe more.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but that’s different. Isn’t it?’
Joe shrugged.
‘If we’re gonna feel a sudden urge to kill ourselves, maybe we should go back,’ Benny said. ‘I got a lot to live for. I still haven’t been able to beat Warhammer!
‘Try the Geiger counter on the bear,’ Norrie said.
Joe held the sensor tube out toward
