Under the Dome

Easy. Slow. Easy.

He dragged in a third long, steady inhale from the tire, and his pounding heart began to slow a little. He watched Julia lean forward and grip the box on either side. Nothing happened, and this didn't surprise Barbie. She had touched the box when they first came up here, and was now immune to the shock.

Then, suddenly, her back arched. She moaned. Barbie tried to offer her the spindle-straw, but she ignored it. Blood burst from her nose and began to trickle from the corner of her right eye. Red drops slid down her cheek.

'What's happenin?' Sam called. His voice was muffled, choked.

I don't know, Barbie thought. J don't know what's happening.

But he knew one thing: if she didn't take more air soon, she'd die. He pulled the spindle out of the tire, clamped it between his teeth, and plunged Sam's knife into the second tire. He drove the spindle into the hole and plugged it with the swatch of plastic.

Then he waited.

This is the time that is no time:

She's in a vast white roofless room with an alien green sky above. It's... what? The playroom? Yes, the playroom. Their playroom.

(No, she's lying on the floor of the bandstand.)

She's a woman of a certain age.

(No, she's a little girl.)

There is no time.

(It's 1974 and there's all the time in the world.)

She needs to breathe from the tire.

(She doesn't.)

Something is looking at her. Something terrible. But she is terrible to it, as well, because she's bigger than she's supposed to be, and she's here. She's not supposed to be here. She's supposed to be in the box. Yet she is still harmless. It knows that, even though it is

(just a kid)

very young; barely out of the nursery, in fact. It speaks.

-You are make-believe.

-No, I'm real. Please, I'm real. We all are.

The leatherhead regards her with its eyeless face. It frowns. The corners of its mouth turn down, although it has no mouth. And Julia realizes how lucky she is to have found one of them alone. There are usually more, but they have

(gone home to dinner gone home to lunch gone to bed gone to school gone on vacation, doesn't matter they're gone)

gone somewhere. If they were here together, they would drive her back. This one could drive her back alone, but she is curious.

She?

Yes.

This one is female, like her.

--Please let us go. Please let us live our little lives.

No answer. No answer. No answer. Then:

-You aren't real. You are -

What? What does she say? You are toys from the toyshop? No, but it's something like that. Julia has a flicker-memory of the ant farm her brother had when they were kids. The recollection comes and goes in less than a second. Ant farm isn't right, either, but like toys from the toyshop, it's close. It's in the ballpark, as they say.

-How can you have lives if you aren't real?

-WE ARE SO REAL! she cries, and this is the moan Barbie hears.-AS REAL AS YOU!

Silence. A thing with a shifting leather face in a vast white roofless room that is also somehow the Chester's Mill bandstand. Then:

-Prove it.

-Give me your hand.

-I have no hand. I have no body. Bodies aren't real. Bodies are dreams.

-Then give me your mind!

The leatherhead child does not. Will not.

So Julia takes it.

11

This is the place that is no place:

It's cold on the bandstand, and she's so scared. Worse, she's... humiliated? No, it's much worse than humiliation. If she knew the word abased, she would say Yes, yes, that's it, I'm abased.They took her slacks.

{And somewhere soldiers are kicking naked people in a gym. This is someone else's shame all mixed up with hers.)

She's crying.

{He feels like crying, but doesn't. Right now they have to cover this up.)

The girls have left her now, but her nose is still bleeding - Lila slapped her and promised to cut her nose off if she told and they all spit on her and now she is lying here and she must have cried really hard because she thinks her eye is bleeding as well as her nose and she can't seem to catch her breath. But; she doesn't care how much she bleeds or from where. She'd rather bleed to death on the bandstand floor than walk home in her stupid baby underpants. She'd gladly bleed to death from a hundred places if it meant she didn't have to see the soldier

(After this Barbie tries not to think of that soldier but when he does he thinks 'Hackermeyer the hackermonster.")

pull the naked man up by the thing

(hajib)

he's wearing on his head, because she knows what comes next. It's what always comes next when you're under the Dome.

She sees that one of the girls has come back. Kayla Bevins has come back. She's standing there and looking down at stupid Julia Shumway who thought she was smart. Stupid little Julia Shumway in her baby pannies. Has Kayla come back to take the rest of her clothes and throw them up onto the bandstand roof, so she has to walk home naked with her hands over her woofie? Why are people so mean?

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.