Well... no, Ollie probably wouldn't have thought that. Ollie's mathematical abilities had topped out at simple multiplication.
Rory, however, was already taking college-track algebra, and knocking it dead. If asked how a bullet could accomplish what a truck or an airplane hadn't, he would have said the impact effect of a Winchester Elite XP would be far greater than either. It stood to reason. For one thing, the velocity would be greater. For another, the impact itself would be concentrated upon the point of a 180-grain bullet. He was sure it would work. It had the unquestionable elegance of an algebraic equation.
Rory saw his smiling (but of course modest) face on the front page of USA Today; being interviewed on Nightly News with Brian Williams; sitting on a flower-bedecked float in a parade in his honor, with Prom Queen-type girls surrounding him (probably in strapless gowns, but possibly in bathing suits) as he waved to the crowd and confetti floated down in drifts. He would be THE BOY WHO SAVED CHESTER'S MILL!
He snatched the rifle from the closet, got the step stool, and pawed a box of XPs down from the shelf. He stuffed two cartridges into the breech (one for a backup), then raced back outside with the rifle held above his head like a conquering rebelista (but - give him this - he engaged the safety without even thinking about it). The key to the Yamaha ATV he had been forbidden to ride was hanging on the pegboard in barn 1. He held the key fob between his teeth while he strapped the rifle to the back of the ATV with a couple of bungee cords. He wondered if there would be a sound when the Dome popped. He probably should have taken the shooter's plugs i from the top shelf of the closet, but going back for them was unthinkable; he had to do this now.
That's how it is with big ideas.
He drove the ATV around barn 2, pausing just long enough to size up the crowd in the field. Excited as he was, he knew better than to head for where the Dome crossed the road (and where the smudges of yesterday's collisions still hung like dirt on an unwashed windowpane). Someone might stop him before he could pop the Dome. Then, instead of being THE BOY WHO SAVED CHESTER'S MILL, he'd likely wind up as THE BOY WHO GREASED COW TITS FOR A YEAR. Yes, and for the first week he'd be doing it in a crouch, his ass too sore to sit down. Someone else would end up getting the credit for his big idea.
So he drove on a diagonal that would bring him to the Dome five hundred yards or so from the tent, marking the place to stop by the crushed spots in the hay. Those, he knew, had been made by falling birds. He saw the soldiers stationed in that area turn toward the oncoming blat of the ATV. He heard shouts of alarm from the fair-and-prayer folks. The hymn-singing came to a discordant halt.
Worst of all, he saw his father waving his dirty John Deere cap at him and bawling, 'RORY OH GODDAMMIT YOU STOP:'
Rory was in too deep to stop, and - good son or not - he didn't want to stop. The ATV struck a hummock and he bounced clear of the seat, holding on with his hands and laughing like a loon. His own Deere cap was spun around backward and he didn't even remember doing it. The ATV tilted, then decided to stay up. Almost there now, and one of the fatigues-clad soldiers was also shouting at him to stop.
Rory did, and so suddenly he almost somersaulted over the Yamaha's handlebars. He forgot to put the darned thing in neutral and it lurched forward, actually striking the Dome before stalling out. Rory heard the crimp of metal and the tinkle of the headlight as it shattered.
The soldiers, afraid of being hit by the ATV (the eye which sees nothing to block an oncoming object triggers powerful instructs), fell off to either side, leaving a nice big hole and sparing Rory the need of telling them to move away from a possible explosive blowout. He wanted to be a hero, but didn't want to hurt or kill anybody to do it.
He had to hurry. The people closest to his stopping point were the ones in the parking lot and clustered around the Summer Blowout Sale tent, and they were running like hell. His father and brother were among them, both screaming at him to not do whatever he was planning to do.
Rory yanked the rifle free of the bungee cords, socked the butt-plate into his shoulder, and aimed at the invisible barrier five feet above a trio of dead sparrows.
'No, kid, bad idea!' one of the soldiers shouted.
Rory paid him no mind, because it was a good idea.Ths people from the tent and the parking lot were close, now. Someone - it was Lester Coggins, who ran a lot better than he played guitar - shouted: 'In the name of God, son, don't do that!"
Rory pulled the trigger. No; only tried to. The safety was still on. He looked over his shoulder and saw the tall, thin Treacher from the holy-roller church blow past his puffing, red-faced father. Lester's shirttail was out and flying. His eyes were wide. The cook from Sweetbriar Rose was right behind him. They were no more than sixty yards away now, and the Reverend looked like he was just getting into fourth gear.
Rory thumbed off the safety.
'No, kid, no!' the soldier cried again, simultaneously crouching on his side of the Dome and holding out his splayed hands.
Rory paid no attention. It's that way with big ideas. He fired.
It was, unfortunately for Rory, a perfect shot. The hi-impact slug struck the Dome dead on, ricocheted, and came back like a rubber ball on a string. Rory felt no immediate pain, but a vast sheet of white light filled his head as the smaller of the slug's two fragments thumbed out his left eye and lodged in his brain. Blood flew in a spray, then ran through his fingers as he dropped to his knees, clutching his face.
12
'I'm blind! I'm blind!' the boy was screaming, and Lester immediately thought of the scripture upon which his finger had landed: Madness and blindness and astonishment of the heart.
'I'm blind! I'm blind!'
Lester pried away the boy's hands and saw the red, welling socket. The remains of the eye itself were dangling on Rory's cheek. As he turned his head up to Lester, the splattered remains plopped into the grass.