sk.theshining-第103部分

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　fumbling　for　the　bolt。
　　Jack　screamed。　The　hand　was　jerked　back。
　　Panting；　holding　the　razor　blade　between　her　thumb　and　index　finger；　she　waited　for　him　to　try　again。　He　did；　and　she　slashed。　He　screamed　again；　trying　to　grab　her　hand；　and　she　slashed　at　him　again。　The　razor　blade　turned　in　her　hand；　cutting　her　again；　and　dropped　to　the　tile　floor　by　the　toilet。
　　Wendy　slipped　another　blade　out　of　the　dispenser　and　waited。
　　Movement　in　the　other　room…　（？？　going　away　？？）　And　a　sound　ing　through　the　bedroom　window。　A　motor。　A　high；　insectile　buzzing　sound。
　　A　roar　of　anger　from　Jack　and　then…yes；　yes；　she　was　sure　of　it…he　was　leaving　the　caretaker's　apartment；　plowing　through　the　wreckage　and　out　into　the　hall。
　　（？？　Someone　ing　a　ranger　Dick　Hallorann　？？）
　　〃Oh　God；〃　she　muttered　brokenly　through　a　mouth　that　seemed　filled　with　broken　sticks　and　old　sawdust。　〃Oh　God；　oh　please。〃　She　had　to　leave　now；　had　to　go　find　her　son　so　they　could　face　the　rest　of　this　nightmare　side　by　side。　She　reached　out　and　fumbled　at　the　bolt。　Her　arm　seemed　to　stretch　for　miles。　At　last　she　got　it　to　e　free。　She　pushed　the　door　open；　staggered　out；　and　was　suddenly　overe　by　the　horrible　certainty　that　Jack　had　only　pretended　to　leave；　that　he　was　lying　in　wait　for　her：　Wendy　looked　around。　The　room　was　empty；　the　living　room　too。　Jumbled；　broken　stuff　everywhere。
　　The　closet？　Empty。
　　Then　the　soft　shades　of　gray　began　to　wash　over　her　and　she　fell　down　on　the　mattress　Jack　had　ripped　from　the　bed；　semiconscious。
　　　
　　　》
　　HALLORANN　LAID　LOW
　　
　　Hallorann　reached　the　overturned　snowmobile　just　as；　a　mile　and　a　half　away；　Wendy　was　pulling　herself　around　the　corner　and　into　the　short　hallway　leading　to　the　caretaker's　apartment。
　　It　wasn't　the　snowmobile　he　wanted　but　the　gascan　held　onto　the　back　by　a　pair　of　elastic　straps。　His　hands；　still　clad　in　Howard　Cottrell's　blue　mittens；　seized　the　top　strap　and　pulled　it　free　as　the　hedge　lion　roared　behind　him…a　sound　that　seemed　to　be　more　in　his　head　than　outside　of　it。　A　hard；　brambly　slap　to　his　left　leg；　making　the　knee　sing　with　pain　as　it　was　driven　in　a　way　the　joint　had　never　been　expected　to　bend。　A　groan　escaped　Hallorann's　clenched　teeth。　It　would　e　for　the　kill　any　time　now；　tired　of　playing　with　him。
　　He　fumbled　for　the　second　strap。　Sticky　blood　ran　in　his　eyes。
　　（Roar！　Slap！）　That　one　raked　across　his　buttocks；　almost　tumbling　him　over　and　away　from　the　snowmobile　again。　He　held　on…no　exaggeration…for　dear　life。
　　Then　he　had　freed　the　second　strap。　He　clutched　the　gascan　to　him　as　the　lion　struck　again；　rolling　him　over　on　his　back。　He　saw　it　again；　only　a　shadow　in　the　darkness　and　falling　snow；　as　nightmarish　as　a　moving　gargoyle。　Hallorann　twisted　at　the　can's　cap　as　the　moving　shadow　stalked　him；　kicking　up　snowpuffs。
　　As　it　moved　in　again　the　cap　spun　free；　releasing　the　pungent　smell　of　the　gasoline。
　　Hallorann　gained　his　knees　and　as　it　came　at　him；　lowslung　and　incredibly　quick；　he　splashed　it　with　the　gas。
　　There　was　a　hissing；　spitting　sound　and　it　drew　back。
　　〃Gas！〃　Hallorann　cried；　his　voice　shrill　and　breaking。　〃Gonna　burn　you；　baby！
　　Dig　on　it　awhile！〃　The　lion　came　at　him　again；　still　spitting　angrily。　Hallorann　splashed　it　again　but　this　time　the　lion　didn't　give。　It　charged　ahead。　Hallorann　sensed　rather　than　saw　its　head　angling　at　his　face　and　he　threw　himself　backward；　partially　avoiding　it。　Yet　the　lion　still　hit　his　upper　rib　cage　a　glancing　blow；　and　a　flare　of　pain　struck　there。　Gas　gurgled　out　of　the　can；　which　he　still　held；　and　doused　his　right　hand　and　arm；　cold　as　death。
　　Now　he　lay　on　his　back　in　a　snow　angel；　to　the　right　of　the　snowmobile　by　about　ten　paces。　The　hissing　lion　was　a　bulking　presence　to　his　left；　closing　in　again。　Hallorann　thought　he　could　see　its　tail　twitching。
　　He　yanked　Cottrell's　mitten　off　his　right　hand；　tasting　sodden　wool　and　gasoline。　He　ripped　up　the　hem　of　the　parka　and　jammed　his　hand　into　his　pants　pocket。　Down　in　there；　along　with　his　keys　and　his　change；　was　a　very　battered　old　Zippo　lighter。　He　had　bought　it　in　Germany　in　1954。　Once　the　hinge　had　broken　and　he　had　returned　it　to　the　Zippo　factory　and　they　had　repaired　it　without　charge；　just　as　advertised。
　　A　nightmare　flood　of　thoughts　flooding　through　his　mind　in　a　split　second。
　　（Dear　Zippo　my　lighter　was　swallowed　by　a　crocodile　dropped　front　an　airplane　lost　in　the　Pacific　trench　saved　me　from　a　Kraut　bullet　in　the　Battle　of　the　Bulge　dear　Zippo　if　this　fucker　doesn't　go　that　lion　is　going　to　rip　my　head　off）　The　lighter　was　out。　He　clicked　the　hood　back。　The　lion；　rushing　at　him；　a　growl　like　ripping　cloth；　his　finger　flicking　the　striker　wheel；　spark；　flame；　（my　hand）　his　gasoline…soaked　hand　suddenly　ablaze；　the　flames　running　up　the　sleeve　of　the　parka；　no　pain；　no　pain　yet；　the　lion　shying　from　the　torch　suddenly　blazing　in　front　of　it；　a　hideous　flickering　hedge　sculpture　with　eyes　and　a　mouth；　shying　away；　too　late。
　　Wincing　at　the　pain；　Hallorann　drove　his　blazing　arm　into　its　stiff　and　scratchy　side。
　　In　an　instant　the　whole　creature　was　in　flames；　a　prancing；　writhing　pyre　on　the　snow。　It　bellowed　in　rage　and　pain；　seeming　to　chase　its　flaming　tail　as　it　zigzagged　away　from　Hallorann。
　　He　thrust　his　own　arm　deep　into　the　snow；　killing　the　flames；　unable　to　take　his　eyes　from　the　hedge　lion's　death　agonies　for　a　moment。　Then；　gasping；　he　got　to　his　feet。　The　arm　of　Durkin's　parka　was　sooty　but　unburned；　and　that　also　described　his　hand。　Thirty　yards　downhill　from　where　he　stood；　the　hedge　lion　had　turned　into　a　fireball。　Sparks　flew　at　the　sky　and　were　viciously　snatched　away　by　the　wind。　For　a　moment　its　ribs　and　skull　were　etched　in　orange　flame　and　then　it　seemed　to　collapse；　disintegrate；　and　fall　into　separate　burning　piles。
　　（Never　mind　it。　Get　moving。）　He　picked　up　the　gascan　and　struggled　over　to　the　snowmobile。　His　consciousness　seemed　to　be　flickering　in　and　out；　offering　him　cuttings　and　snippets　of　home　movies　but　never　the　whole　picture。　In　one　of　these　he　was　aware　of　yanking　the　snowmobile　back　onto　its　tread　and　then　sitting　on　it；　out　of　breath　and　incapable　of　moving　for　a　few　moments。　In　another；　he　was　reattaching　the　gascan；　which　was　still　half…full。　His　bead　was　thumping　horribly　from　the　gasfumes　（and　in　reaction　to　his　battle　with　the　hedge　lion；　he　supposed）；　and　he　saw　by　the　steaming　hole　in　the　snow　beside　him　that　he　had　vomited；　but　he　was　unable　to　remember　when。
　　The　snowmobile；　the　engine　still　warm；　fired　immediately。　He　twisted　the　throttle　unevenly　and　started　forward　with　a　series　of　neck…snapping　jerks　that　made　his　head　ache　even　more　fiercely。　At　first　the　snowmobile　wove　drunkenly　from　side　to　side；　but　by　half…standing　to　get　his　face　above　the　windscreen　and　into　the　sharp；　needling　blast　of　the　wind；　he　drove　some　of　the　stupor　out　of　himself。　He　opened　the　throttle　wider。
　　（Where　are　the　rest　of　the　hedge　animals？）　He　didn't　know；　but　at　least　he　wouldn't　be　caught　unaware　again。
　　The　Overlook　loomed　in　front　of　him；　the　lighted　first…floor　windows　throwing　long　yellow　rectangles　onto　the　snow。　The　gate　at　the　foot　of　the　drive　was　locked　and　he　dismounted　after　a　wary　look　around；　praying　he　hadn't　lost　his　keys　when　he　pulled　his　lighter　out　of　his　pocket　。　。　。　no；　they　were　there。　He　picked　through　them　in　the　bright　light　thrown　by　the　snowmobile　headlamp。　He　found　the　right　one　and　unsnapped　the　padlock；　letting　it　drop　into　the　snow。　At　first　he　didn't　think　he　was　going　to　be　able　to　move　the　gate　anyway；　he　pawed　frantically　at　the　snow　surrounding　it；　disregarding　the　throbbing　agony　in　his　head　and　the　fear　that　one　of　the　other　lions　might　be　creeping　up　behind　him。
　　He　managed　to　pull　it　a　foot　and　a　half　away　from　the　gatepost；　squeezed　into　the　gap；　and　pushed。　He　got　it　to　move　another　two　feet；　enough　room　for　the　snowmobile；　and　threaded　it　through。
　　He　became　aware　of　movement　ahead　of　him　in　the　dark。　The　hedge　animals；　all　of　them；　were　clustered　at　the　base　of　the　Overlook's　steps；　guarding　the　way　in；　the　way　out。　The　lions　prowled。　The　dog　stood　with　its　fron