Under the Dome

She closes her eyes against tears and when she opens them again, Kayla has changed. Now she has no face, just a kind of shifting leather helmet that shows no compassion, no love, not even hate.

Only… interest.Yes, that. What does it do when I do… this?

Julia Shumway is worthy of no more. Julia Shumway doesn't matter; find the least of the least, then look below that, and there she is, a scurrying Shumway-bug. She is a naked prisoner-bug, too; a prisoner-bug in a gymnasium with nothing left but the unraveling hat on his head and beneath the hat a final memory of fragrant, freshly baked khubz held out in his wife's hands. She is a cat with a burning tail, an ant under a microscope, a fly about to lose its wings to the curious plucking fingers of a third-grader on a rainy day, a game for bored children with no bodies and the whole universe at their feet. She is Barbie, she is Sam dying in Linda Everett's van, she is Ollie dying in the cinders, she is Alva Drake mourning her dead son.

But mostly she is a little girl cowering on the splintery boards of the Town Common bandstand, a little girl who was punished for her i

-PLEASE LET US LIVE! I BEG YOU, PLEASE!

And for just one moment she is the leatherhead in the white room; she is the girl who has (for reasons she ca

Then she is only herself again.

Looking up at Kayla Bevins.

Kayla's family is poor. Her father cuts pulp on theTR and drinks down at Freshie's Pub (which will, in the fullness of time, become Dipper's). 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. Today she is wearing an old brown sweater and an old plaid skirt and scuffed loafers and white socks with saggy tops. One knee is scraped where she fell or was pushed down on the playground. It's Kayla Bevins, all right, but now her face is made of leather. And although it shifts through many shapes, none of them is even close to human.

Julia thinks: I'm seeing how the child looks to the ant, if the ant looks up from its side, of the magnifying glass. If it looks up just before it starts to burn.

-PLEASE, KAYLA! PLEASE! WE ARE ALIVE!

Kayla looks down at her without doing anything. Then she crosses her arms in front of her—they are human arms in this vision—and pulls her sweater over her head. There is no love in her voice when she speaks; no regret or remorse.

But there might be pity.

She says

12

Julia was hurled away from the box as if a hand had swatted her. The held breath blew out of her. Before she could take another one, Barbie seized her by the shoulder, pulled the swatch of plastic from the spindle, and pushed her mouth onto it, hoping he wouldn't cut her tongue, or—God forbid—skewer the hard plastic into the roof of her mouth. But he couldn't let her breathe the poisoned air. As oxygen-starved as she was, it might send her into convulsions or kill her outright.

Wherever she'd been, Julia seemed to understand. Instead of trying to struggle away, she wrapped her arms around the Prius tire in a deathgrip and began sucking frantically at the spindle. He could feel huge, shuddering tremors racing through her body.

Sam had finally stopped coughing, but now there was another sound. Julia heard it, too. She sucked in another vast breath from the tire and looked up, eyes wide in their deep, shadowed sockets.

A dog was barking. It had to be Horace, because he was the only dog left. He—

Barbie grabbed her arm in a grip so strong she felt he would break it. On his face was an expression of pure amazement.

The box with the strange symbol on it was hovering four feet above the ground.

13

Horace was first to feel the fresh air, because he was lowest to the ground. He began to bark. Then Joe felt it: a breeze, startlingly cold, against his sweaty back. He was leaning against the Dome, and the Dome was moving. Moving up. Norrie had been dozing with her flushed face resting on Joe's chest, and now he saw a lock of her dirty, matted hair begin to flutter. She opened her eyes.

'What-? Joey, what's happening?'

Joe knew, but was too stu

Horace was barking madly now, his back bowed, his snout on the ground. It was his 1-want-to-play position, but Horace wasn't playing. He stuck his nose beneath the rising Dome and sniffed cold sweet fresh air.

Heaven!

14

On the south side of the Dome, Pfc Clint Ames was also dozing. He sat cross-legged on the soft shoulder of Route 119 with a blanket wrapped around him Indian-style. The air suddenly darkened, as if the bad dreams flitting through his head had assumed physical form. Then he coughed himself awake.

Soot was swirling up around his booted feet and settling on the legs of his khaki everydays. Where in God's name was it coming from? All the burning had been inside. Then he saw. The Dome was going up like a giant windowblind. It was impossible—it went miles down as well as up, everybody knew that—but it was happening.

Ames didn't hesitate. He crawled forward on his hands and knees and seized Ollie Dinsmore by the arms. For a moment he felt the rising Dome scrape the middle of his back, glassy and hard, and there was time to think If it comes back down now, it'll cut me in two. Then he was dragging the boy out.

For a moment he thought he was hauling a corpse. 'No!' he shouted. He carried the boy up toward one of the roaring fans! Don't you dare die on me, cow-kid!'

Ollie began coughing, then leaned over and vomited weakly. Ames held him while he did it. The others were ru

Ollie puked again. 'Don't call me cow-kid; he whispered.

'Get an ambulance!' Ames shouted. 'We need an ambulance!'

'Nah, we'll take him to Central Maine General in the helicopter,' Groh said. 'You ever been in a helicopter, kid?'