through its contents。 Behind her that hoarse voice bellowed： 〃Here I e now！
Here I e now； you pig！〃 It was demolishing the door in a machinelike frenzy。
Bottles and jars fell before her madly searching fingers — cough syrup； Vaseline；
Clairol Herbal Essence shampoo； hydrogen peroxide； benzocaine — they fell into
the sink and shattered。
Her hand closed over the dispenser of double…edged razor blades just as she
heard the hand again； fumbling for the bolt and the spring lock。
She slipped one of the razor blades out； fumbling at it； her breath ing in
harsh little gasps。 She had cut the ball of her thumb。 She whirled around and
slashed at the hand； which had turned the lock and was now 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 from 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