The Army guy - a Colonel but not his Colonel, seeing Cox would have completed Barbie's sense of mental dislocation - finished what he had to say. His glove made a windy whroop sound when he took it off the mike. He walked out of the shot, his face a stolid blank. Barbie recognized the look: Army pod-person.
Cooper was saying, 'The press is being told we have to fall back half a mile, to a place called Raymond's Roadside Store.'The patrons murmured again at this. They all knew Raymond's Roadside in Motton, where the sign in the window said COLD BEER HOT SANDWICHES FRESH BAIT. 'This area, less than a hundred yards from what we're calling the barrier - for want of a better term - has been declared a national security site. We'll resume our coverage as soon as we can, but right now I'm sending it back to you in Washington, Wolf.'
The headline on the red band beneath the location shot read BREAKING NEWS MAINE TOWN CUT OFF MYSTERY DEEPENS. And in the upper righthand corner, in red, the word SEVERE was blinking like a neon tavern sign. Drink Severe Beer, Barbie thought, and nearly chuckled.
Wolf Blitzer took Anderson Cooper's place. Rose had a crush on Blitzer and would not allow the TV to be tuned to anything but The Situation Room on weekday afternoons; she called him 'my Wolfie.' This evening Wolfie was wearing a tie, but it was badly knotted and Barbie thought the rest of his clothes looked suspiciously like Saturday grubs.
'Recapping our story,' Rose's Wolfie said,'this afternoon at roughly one o'clock - '
'Twas earlier than that, and by quite a patch,' someone said.
'Is it true about Myra Evans?' someone else asked. 'Is she really dead?'
;Yes,' Fernald Bowie said. The town's only undertaker, Stewp-Bowie, was Fern's older brother. Fern sometimes helped when he was sober, and he looked sober tonight. Shocked sober. 'Now shutcha quack so I can hear this.'
Barbie wanted to hear it, too, because Wolfie was even now addressing the question Barbie cared most about, and sayir g what Barbie wanted to hear: that the airspace over Chester's Mill hid been declared a no-fly zone. In fact, all of western Maine and eastern New Hampshire, from Lewiston-Auburn to North Conway, was a no-fly zone. The President was being briefed. And for the first time in nine years, the color of the National Threat Advisory had exceeded orange.
Julia Shumway, owner and editor of the Democrat, shot Barbie a glance as he passed her table. Then the pinched and secretive little smile that was her specialty - almost her trademark - flickered on her face. 'It seems that Chester's Mill doesn't want to let you go, Mr Barbara.'
'So it seems,' Barbie agreed. That she knew he had been leaving - and why - didn't surprise him. He'd spent enough time in The Mill to know Julia Shumway knew everything worth knowsng.
Rose saw him as she was serving beans and franks (plus a smoking relic that might once have been a pork chop) to a party of six crammed around a table for four. She froze with a plate in each hand and two more on her arm, eyes wide. Then she smiled. It was one full of undisguised happiness and relief, and it lifted his heart.
This is what home feels like, he thought. Goddamned if it isn't.
'Good gravy, I never expected to see you again, Dale Barbara!'
'You still got my apron?' Barbie asked. A little shyly. Rose had taken him in, after all - just a drifter with a few scribbled references in his backpack - and given him work. She'd told him she completely understood why he felt he had to blow town, Junior Rennie's dad wasn't a fellow you wanted for an enemy, but Barbie still felt as if he'd left her in the lurch.
Rose put down her load of plates anywhere there was room for them and hurried to Barbie. She was a plump little woman, and she had to stand on tiptoe to hug him, but she managed.
'I'm so goddam glad to see you!' she whispered. Barbie hugged her back and kissed the top of her head.
'Big Jim and Junior won't be,' he said. But at least neither Rennie was here; there was that to be grateful for. Barbie was aware:hat, for the time being, at least, he had become even more interesting to the assembled Millites than their very own town on national TV
'BigJim Rennie can blow me!' she said.Barbie laughed, delighted by her fierceness but glad for her discretion - she was still whispering. 'I thought you were gone!'
'I almost was, but I got a late start.'
'Did you see... it?'
'Yes. Tell you later.' He released her, held her at arm's length, and thought: If you were ten years younger, Rose.. . or even five...
'So I can have my apron back?'
She wiped the corners of her eyes and nodded. 'Please take it back. Get Anson out of there before he kills us all.'
Barbie gave her a salute, then hooked around the counter into the kitchen and sent Anson Wheeler to the counter, telling him to take bare of orders and cleanup there before helping Rose in the main room. Anson stepped back from the grill with a sigh of relief. Before going to the counter, he shook Barbie's right hand in both of his. 'Thank God, man - I never seen such a rush. I was lost.'
'Don't worry. We're gonna feed the five thousand.'
Anson, no Biblical scholar, looked blank. 'Huh?'
'Never mind.'
The bell sitting in the corner of the pass-through binged.'Order up!' Rose called.
Barbie grabbed a spatula before taking the slip - the grill was a mess, it always was when Anson was engaged in those cataclysmic heat-induced changes he called cooking - then slipped his apron over his head, tied it in back, and checked the cabinet over the sink. It was full of baseball caps, which served Sweetbriar Rose grill-monkeys as chef's toques. He selected a Sea Dogs cap in honor of Paul Gendron (now in the bosom of his nearest and dearest, Barbie hoped), yanked it on backward, and cracked his knuckles.
Then he grabbed the first slip and went to work.
By nine fifteen, more than an hour after their usual Saturday night closing time, Rose ushered the final patrons out. Barbie locked the door and turned the sign from OPEN to CLOSED. He watched those last four or five cross the street to the town common, where there were as many as fifty people gathered and talking among themselves. They were facing south, where a great white light formed a bubble over 119. Not TV lights, Barbie judged; that was the U.S. Army, creating and securing a perimeter. And how did you secure a perimeter at night? Why, by posting sentries and lighting the dead zone, of course. Dead zone. He didn't like the sound of that.