than sixty miles an hour had floated the Buick all the way around in a 360°
turn。 And there were still miles to travel with God alone knew what at the other
end of them。 He was terrified for the boy。 Now it was almost ten minutes to
seven and he had this whole song and dance to go through again。
〃Somebody is in trouble up there；〃 he said very carefully。 〃The son of the
caretaker。〃
〃Who？ Torrance's boy？ Now what kind of trouble could he be in？〃
〃I don't know；〃 Hallorann muttered。 He felt sick with the time this was
taking。 He was speaking with a country man； and he knew that all country men
feel a similar need to approach their business obliquely； to smell around its
corners and sides before plunging into the middle of dealing。 But there was no
time； because now he was one scared nigger and if this went on much longer he
just might decide to cut and run。
〃Look；〃 he said。 〃Please。 I need to go up there and I have to have a
snowmobile to get there。 I'll pay your price； but for God's sake let me get on
with my business！〃
〃All right；〃 Durkin said； unperturbed。 〃If Howard sent you； that's good
enough。 You take this ArcticCat。 I'll put five gallons of gas in the can。 Tank's
full。 She'll get you up and back down； I guess。〃
〃Thank you；〃 Hallorann said； not quite steadily。
〃I'll take twenty dollars。 That includes the ethyl。〃
Hallorann fumbled a twenty out of his wallet and handed it over。 Durkin tucked
it into one of his shirt pockets with hardly a look。
〃Guess maybe we better trade jackets； too；〃 Durkin said； pulling off his
parka。 〃That overcoat of yours ain't gonna be worth nothin tonight。 You trade me
back when you return the snowsled。〃
〃Oh； hey； I couldn't —〃
〃Don't fuss with me；〃 Durkin interrupted； still mildly。 〃I ain't sending you
out to freeze。 I only got to walk down two blocks and I'm at my own supper
table。 Give it over。〃
Slightly dazed； Hallorann traded his overcoat for Durkin's fur…lined parka。
Overhead the fluorescents buzzed faintly； reminding him of the lights in the
Overlook's kitchen。
〃Torrance's boy；〃 Durkin said； and shook his head。 〃Good…lookin little tyke；
ain't he？ He'n his dad was in here a lot before the snow really flew。 Drivin the
hotel truck； mostly。 Looked to me like the two of em was just about as tight as
they could get。 That's one little boy that loves his daddy。 Hope he's all
right。〃
〃So do I。〃 Hallorann zipped the parka and tied the hood。
〃Lemme help you push that out；〃 Durkin said。 They rolled the snowmobile across
the oil…stained concrete and toward the garage bay。 〃You ever drove one of these
before？〃
〃No。 〃
〃Well； there's nothing to it。 The instructions are pasted there on the
dashboard； but all there really is； is stop and go。 Your throttle's here； just
like a motorcycle throttle。 Brake on the other side。 Lean with it on the turns。
This baby will do seventy on hardpack； but on this powder you'll get no more
than fifty and that's pushing it。〃
Now they were in the service station's snow…filled front lot； and Durkin had
raised his voice to make himself heard over the battering of the wind。 〃Stay on
the road！〃 he shouted at Hallorann's ear。 〃Keep your eye on the guardrail posts
and the signs and you'll be all right； I guess。 If you get off the road； you're
going to be dead。 Understand？〃
Hallorann nodded。
〃Wait a minute！〃 Durkin told him； and ran back into the garage bay。
While he was gone； Hallorann turned the key in the ignition and pumped the
throttle a little。 The snowmobile coughed into brash； choppy life。
Durkin came back with a red and black ski mask。
〃Put this on under your hood！〃 he shouted。
Hallorann dragged it on。 It was a tight fit； but it cut the last of the
numbing wind off from his cheeks and forehead and chin。
Durkin leaned close to make himself heard。
〃I guess you must know about things the same way Howie does sometimes；〃 he
said。 〃It don't matter； except that place has got a bad reputation around here。
I'll give you a rifle if you want it。〃
〃I don't think it would do any good；〃 Hallorann shouted back。
〃You're the boss。 But if you get that boy； you bring him to Sixteen Peach
Lane。 The wife'll have some soup on。〃
〃Okay。 Thanks for everything。〃
〃You watch out！〃 Durkin yelled。 〃Stay on the road！〃
Hallorann nodded and twisted the throttle slowly。 The snowmobile purred
forward； the headlamp cutting a clean cone of light through the thickly falling
snow。 He saw Durkin's upraised hand in the rearview mirror； and raised his own
in return。 Then he nudged the handlebars to the left and was traveling up Main
Street； the snowmobile coursing smoothly through the white light thrown by the
streetlamps。 The speedometer stood at thirty miles an hour。 It was ten past
seven。 At the Overlook； Wendy and Danny were sleeping and Jack Torrance was
discussing matters of life and death with the previous caretaker。
Five blocks up Main； the streetlamps ended。 For half a mile there were small
houses； all buttoned tightly up against the storm； and then only wind…howling
darkness。 In the black again with no light but the thin spear of the
snowmobile's headlamp； terror closed in on him again； a childlike fear； dismal
and disheartening。 He had never felt so alone。 For several minutes； as the few
lights of Sidewinder dwindled away and disappeared in the rearview； the urge to
turn around and go back was almost insurmountable。 He reflected that for all of
Durkin's concern for Jack Torrance's boy； he had not offered to take the other
snowmobile and e with him。
（That place has got a bad reputation around here。）
Clenching his teeth； he turned the throttle higher and watched the needle on
the speedometer climb past forty and settle at forty…five。 He seemed to be going
horribly fast and yet he was afraid it wasn't fast enough。 At this speed it
would take him almost an hour to get to the Overlook。 But at a higher speed he
might not get there at all。
He kept his eyes glued to the passing guardrails and the dime…sized reflectors
mounted on top of each one。 Many of them were buried under drifts。 Twice he saw
curve signs dangerously late and felt the snowmobile riding up the drifts that
masked the dropoff before turning back onto where the road was in the
summertime。 The odometer counted off the miles at a maddeningly slow clip — five；
ten； finally fifteen。 Even behind the knitted ski mask his face was beginning to
stiffen up and his legs were growing numb。
（Guess I'd give a hundred bucks for a pair of ski pants。）
As each mile turned over； his terror grew — as if the place had a poison
atmosphere that thickened as you neared it。 Had it ever been like this before？
He had never really liked the Overlook； and there had been others who shared his
feeling； but it had never been like this。
He could feel the voice that had almost wrecked him outside of Sidewinder
still trying to get in； to get past his defenses to the soft meat inside。 If it
had been strong twenty…five miles back； how much stronger would it be now？ He