BONK. Silence.
BONK. Silence.
Ollie Dinsmore sat cross-legged four feet from the Dome with his old Boy Scout pack beside him. The pack was full of rocks he'd picked up in the dooryard - so full, in fact, that he'd staggered down here rather than walked, thinking that the canvas bottom would tear out of the pack and spill his ammo. But it hadn't, and here he was. He selected another rock - a nice smooth one, polished by some ancient glacier - and threw it overhand at the Dome, where it struck what appeared to be thin air and bounced back. He picked it up and threw it again.
BONK. Silence.
The Dome had one thing going for it, he thought. It might be the reason his brother and his mother were dead, but by the hairy old Jesus, one load of ammunition was enough to last all day.
Rock boomerangs, he thought, and smiled. It was a real smile, but it made him look somehow terrible, because his face was far too thin. He hadn't been eating much, and he thought it would be a good long while before he felt like eating again. Hearing a shot and then finding your mother lying beside the kitchen table with her dress flipped up to show her underpants and half her head blown off... a thing like that did nothing for a fellow's appetite.
BONK. Silence.
The other side of the Dome was a hive of activity; a tent city had sprung up. Jeeps and trucks scooted to and fro, and hundreds of military guys went buzzing around while their superiors shouted orders and cussed them out, often in the same breath.
In addition to the tents that had already been erected, three long new ones were being put up. The signs already planted in front of them read VISITORS' HOSPITALITY STATION 1, VISITORS' HOSPITALITY STATION 2, and FIRST AID STATION. Another tent, even longer, had a sign in front of it reading LIGHT REFRESHMENTS. And shortly after Ollie sat down and began tossing his trove of rocks at the Dome, two flatbed trucks loaded with Port-A-Potties had arrived. Now ranks of cheery-looking blue shithouses stood over there; well away from the area where relatives would stand to speak with loved ones they could look at but not touch.
The stuff that had come out of his mother's head had looked like rjnoldy strawberry jam, and what Ollie couldn't understand was why she'd done it that way, and in that place. Why in the room where they ate most of their meals? Had she been so far gone that she hadn't realized she had another son, who might eat again (assuming he didn't starve to death first) but who would never forget the horror of what lay there on the floor?
Yep, he thought. That far gone. Because Rory was always her favorite, her pet. She hardly knew I was around, unless I forgot to feed the cows or swab put the stalls when they were afield. Or if I brought home a D on my rank ifard. Because he never got nothing but As.
He threw a rock.
BONK. Silence.
There were several Army guys putting up pairs of signs over there near the Dome. The ones facing in toward The Mill read
WARNING!
FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY!
KEEP 2 YARDS (6 FEET) FROM THE DOME!
Ollie guessed the signs pointing the other way said the same, and on the other side they might work, because on the other side there would be lots of guys to keep order. Over here, though, there were going to be maybe eight hundred townies and maybe two dozen cops, most of them new to the job. Keeping people back on this side would be like trying to protect a sand castle from the incoming tide.
Her underpants had been wet, and there had been a puddle between her splayed legs. She'd pissed herself either right before she pulled the trigger, or right after. Ollie thought probably after.
He threw a rock.
BONK. Silence.
There was one Army guy close by. He was pretty young. There wasnfc any kind of insignia on his sleeves, so Ollie guessed he was probably a private. He looked about sixteen, but Ollie supposed he had to be older. He'd heard of kids lying about their age to get into the service, but he guessed that was before everybody had computers to keep track of such things.
The Army guy looked around, saw no one was paying him any attention, and spoke in a low voice. He had a southern accent. 'Kid? Would y'all stop doing that? It's drivin me bugshit.'
'Go someplace else, then,' Ollie said.
BONK. Silence.
'Caint. Orders.'
Ollie didn't reply. He threw another rock, instead.
BONK. Silence.
'Why y'all doin it?' the Army guy asked. He was now just fiddling with the pair of signs he was putting up so he could talk to Ollie.
'Because sooner or later, one of them won't bounce back. And when that happens, I'm going to get up and walk away and never see this farm again. Never milk another cow. What's the air like out there?'
'Good. Chilly, though. I'm from South Cah'lina. It ain't like this in South Cah'lina in October, I can tell you that.'