sk.theshining-第82部分

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trength？　She　wanted　to　shriek　Why　aren't　you　dead？　at　the　locked　door。
　　Instead　she　turned　around。　She　and　Danny　would　have　to　go　into　the　attached　bathroom　and　lock　that　door；　too；　in　case　Jack　actually　could　break　through　the　bedroom　door。　The　thought　of　escaping　down　the　dumb…waiter　shaft　crossed　her　mind　in　a　wild　burst；　and　then　she　rejected　it。　Danny　was　small　enough　to　fit　into　it；　but　she　would　be　unable　to　control　the　rope　pull。　He　might　go　crashing　all　the　way　to　the　bottom。
　　The　bathroom　it　would　have　to　be。　And　if　Jack　broke　through　into　there…　But　she　wouldn't　allow　herself　to　think　of　it。
　　〃Danny；　honey；　you'll　have　to　wake　up　n…〃　But　the　bed　was　empty。
　　When　he　had　begun　to　sleep　more　soundly；　she　had　thrown　the　blankets　and　one　of　the　quilts　over　him。　Now　they　were　thrown　back。
　　〃I'll　get　you！〃　Jack　howled。　〃I'll　get　。both　of　you！〃　Every　other　word　was　punctuated　with　a　blow　from　the　roque　hammer；　yet　Wendy　ignored　both。　All　of　her　attention　was　focused　on　that　empty　bed。
　　〃e　out　here！　Unlock　this　goddam　door！〃
　　〃Danny？〃　she　whispered。
　　Of　course　。　。　。　when　Jack　had　attacked　her。　It　had　e　through　to　him；　as　violent　emotions　always　seemed　to。　Perhaps　he'd　even　seen　the　whole　thing　in　a　nightmare。　He　was　hiding。
　　She　fell　clumsily　to　her　knees；　enduring　another　bolt　of　pain　from　her　swollen　and　bleeding　leg；　and　looked　under　the　bed。　Nothing　there　but　dustballs　and　Jack's　bedroom　slippers。
　　Jack　screamed　her　name；　and　this　time　when　he　swung　the　mallet；　a　long　splinter　of　wood　jumped　from　the　door　and　clattered　off　the　hardwood　planking。
　　The　next　blow　brought　a　sickening；　splintering　crack；　the　sound　of　dry　kindling　under　a　hatchet。　The　bloody　mallet　head；　now　splintered　and　gouged　in　its　own　right；　bashed　through　the　new　hole　in　the　door；　was　withdrawn；　and　came　down　again；　sending　wooden　shrapnel　flying　across　the　room。
　　Wendy　pulled　herself　to　her　feet　again　using　the　foot　of　the　bed；　and　hobbled　across　the　room　to　the　closet。　Her　broken　ribs　stabbed　at　her；　making　her　groan。
　　〃Danny？〃　She　brushed　the　hung　garments　aside　frantically；　some　of　them　slipped　their　hangers　and　ballooned　gracelessly　to　the　floor。　He　was　not　in　the　closet。
　　She　hobbled　toward　the　bathroom　and　as　she　reached　the　door　she　glanced　back　over　her　shoulder。　The　mallet　crashed　through　again；　widening　the　hole；　and　then　a　hand　appeared；　groping　for　the　bolt。　She　saw　with　horror　that　she　had　left　Jack's　key　ring　dangling　from　the　lock。
　　The　hand　yanked　the　bolt　back；　and　as　it　did　so　it　struck　the　bunched　keys。
　　They　jingled　merrily。　The　hand　clutched　them　victoriously。
　　With　a　sob；　she　pushed　her　way　into　the　bathroom　and　slammed　the　door　just　as　the　bedroom　door　burst　open　and　Jack　charged　through；　bellowing。
　　Wendy　ran　the　bolt　and　twisted　the　spring　lock；　looking　around　desperately。
　　The　bathroom　was　empty。　Danny　wasn't　here；　either。　And　as　she　caught　sight　of　her　own　bloodsmeared；　horrified　face　in　the　medicine　cabinet　mirror；　she　was　glad。　She　had　never　believed　that　children　should　be　witness　to　the　little　quarrels　of　their　parents。　And　perhaps　the　thing　that　was　now　raving　through　the　bedroom；　overturning　things　and　smashing　them；　would　finally　collapse　before　it　could　go　after　her　son。　Perhaps；　she　thought；　it　might　be　possible　for　her　to　inflict　even　more　damage　on　it　。　。　。　kill　it；　perhaps。
　　Her　eyes　skated　quickly　over　the　bathroom's　machine…produced　porcelain　surfaces；　looking　for　anything　that　might　serve　as　a　weapon。　There　was　a　bar　of　soap；　but　even　wrapped　in　a　towel　she　didn't　think　it　would　be　lethal　enough。
　　Everything　else　was　bolted　down。　God；　was　there　nothing　she　could　do？
　　Beyond　the　door；　the　animal　sounds　of　destruction　went　on　and　on；　acpanied　by　thick　shouts　that　they　would　〃take　their　medicine〃　and　〃pay　for　what　they'd　done　to　him。〃　He　would　〃show　them　who's　boss；〃　They　were　〃worthless　puppies；〃　the　both　of　them。
　　There　was　a　thump　as　her　record　player　was　overturned；　a　hollow　crash　as　the　secondhand　TV's　picture　tube　was　smashed；　the　tinkle　of　windowglass　followed　by　a　cold　draft　under　the　bathroom　door。　A　dull　thud　as　the　mattresses　were　ripped　from　the　twin　beds　where　they　had　slept　together；　hip　to　hip。　Boomings　as　Jack　struck　the　walls　indiscriminately　with　the　mallet。
　　There　was　nothing　of　the　real　Jack　in　that　howling；　maundering；　petulant　voice；　though。　It　alternately　whined　in　tones　of　selfpity　and　rose　in　lurid　screams；　it　reminded　her　chillingly　of　the　screams　that　sometimes　rose　in　the　geriatrics　ward　of　the　hospital　where　she　had　worked　summers　as　a　high　school　kid。　Senile　dementia。　Jack　wasn't　out　there　anymore。　She　was　hearing　the　lunatic；　raving　voice　of　the　Overlook　itself。
　　The　mallet　smashed　into　the　bathroom　door；　knocking　out　a　huge　chunk　of　the　thin　paneling。　Half　of　a　crazed　and　working　face　stared　in　at　her。　The　mouth　and　cheeks　and　throat　were　lathered　in　blood；　the　single　eye　she　could　see　was　tiny　and　piggish　and　glittering。
　　〃Nowhere　left　to　run；　you　cunt；〃　it　panted　at　her　through　its　grin。　The　mallet　descended　again；　knocking　wood　splinters　into　the　tub　and　against　the　reflecting　surface　of　the　medicine　cabinet　（！！　The　medicine　cabinet　！！）　A　desperate　whining　noise　began　to　escape　her　as　she　whirled；　pain　temporarily　forgotten；　and　threw　the　mirror　door　of　the　cabinet　back。　She　began　to　paw　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　fingerscough　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　German