Under the Dome

'No,'Andy admitted.What he saw were townspeople he'd known all his life standing in clumps along Main Street, not talking, only watching that strange sunset with their hands shading their eyes.

'Do you see me? Big Jim persisted.

Andy turned to him. 'Sure I do,' he said. Sounding perplexed. 'Sure I do, Big Jim.'

'Which means I haven't been Raptured,' Big Jim said. 'I gave my heart to Jesus years ago, and if it was End Times, I wouldn't be here. Neither would you, right?'

'Guess not,' Andy said, but he felt doubtful. If they were Saved—washed in the Blood of the Lamb—why had they just been talking to Stewart Bowie about shutting down what Big Jim called 'our little business'? And how had they gotten into such a business to start with? What did running a meth factory have to do with being Saved?

If he asked Big Jim, Andy knew what the answer would be: the ends sometimes justify the means. The ends in this case had seemed admirable, once upon a time: the new Holy Redeemer Church (the old one had been little more than a clapboard shack with a wooden cross on top); the radio station that had saved only God knew how many souls; the ten percent they tithed—prudently, the contribution checks issued from a bank in the Cayman Islands—to the Lord Jesus Missionary Society, to help what Pastor Coggins liked to call 'the little brown brothers.'

But looking at that huge blurry sunset that seemed to suggest all human affairs were tiny and unimportant, Andy had to admit those things were no more than justifications. Without the cash income from the meth, his drugstore would have gone under six years ago. The same with the funeral home. The same—probably, although the man beside him would never admit it—with Jim Rennie's Used Cars.

'I know what you're drinking, pal,' Big Jirn said.

Andy looked up at him timidly. Big Jim was smiling… but not the fierce one. This one was gentle, understanding. Andy smiled back, or tried to. He owed Big Jim a lot. Only now things like the drugstore and Claudie's BMW seemed a lot less important. What good was a BMW, even one with self-parking and a voice-activated sound system, to a dead wife?

When this is over and Dodee comes back, I'll give the Beemer to her, Andy decided. It's what Claudie would have wanted.

Big Jim raised a blunt-fingered hand to the declining sun that seemed to be spreading across the western sky like a great poisoned egg. 'You think all this is our fault, somehow. That God is punishing us for propping up the town when times were hard. That's just not true, pal. This isn't God's work. If you wanted to say getting beat in Vietnam was God's work—God's warning that America was losing her spiritual way—I'd have to agree with you. If you were to say that nine-eleven was the Supreme Being's response to our Supreme Court telling little children they could no longer start their day with a prayer to the God who made them, I'd have to go along. But God punishing Chester's Mill because we didn't want to end up just another moribund wide spot in the road, like Jay or Millinocket?' He shook his head. 'Nosir. No.'

'We also put some pretty good change in our own pockets,' Andy said timidly.

This was true. They had done more than prop up their own businesses and extend a helping hand to the little brown brothers; Andy had his own account in the Cayman Islands. And for every dollar Andy had—or the Bowies, for that matter—he was willing to bet that Big Jim had put away three. Maybe even four.

'"The workman is worthy of his hire,"'Big Jim said in a pedantic but kindly tone. 'Matthew ten-ten.' He neglected to cite the previous verse: Provide neither gold, nor silver, nor brass in your purses.

He looked at his watch. 'Speaking of work, pal, we better get moving. Got a lot to decide.' He started walking. Andy followed, not taking his eyes off the sunset, which was still bright enough to make him think of infected flesh. Then Big Jim stopped again.

'Anyway, you heard Stewart—we're shut down out there. "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. In fact, this might be a sign that we're supposed to close up shop forever. A sign from the Almighty.'

'That would be good,'Andy said. But he had a depressing insight: if the Dome disappeared, Big Jim would change his mind, and when he did, Andy would go along. Stewart Bowie and his brother Fernald would, too. Eagerly. Partly because the money was so unbelievable—not to mention tax-free—and partly because they were in too deep. He remembered something some long-ago movie star had said: 'By the time I discovered I didn't like acting, I was too rich to quit.'