520美书楼

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第76部分（第1页）

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　Id　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

couldnt　keep　it　out　entirely。　Some　of　it　was　slipping　through；　flooding　his

brain　with　sinister　subliminal　images。　More　and　more　he　got　the　image　of　a　badly

hurt　woman　in　a　bathroom；　holding　her　hands　up　uselessly　to　ward　off　a　blow；　and

he　felt　more　and　more　that　the　woman　must　be　—

（Jesus；　watch　out！）

The　embankment　was　looming　up　ahead　of　him　like　a　freight　train。　Wool…

gathering；　he　had　missed　a　turn　sign。　He　jerked　the　snowmobiles　steering　gear

hard　right　and　it　swung　around；　tilting　as　it　did　so。　From　underneath　came　the

harsh　grating　sound　of　the　snowtread　on　rock。　He　thought　the　snowmobile　was

going　to　dump　him；　and　it　did　totter　on　the　knife…edge　of　balance　before　half…

driving；　half…skidding　back　down　to　the　more　or　less　level　surface　of　the　snow…

buried　road。　Then　the　dropoff　was　ahead　of　him；　the　headlamp　showing　an　abrupt

end　to　the　snowcover　and　darkness　beyond　that。　He　turned　the　snowmobile　the

other　way；　a　pulse　beating　sickly　in　his　throat。

（Keep　it　on　the　road　Dicky　old　chum。）

He　forced　himself　to　turn　the　throttle　up　another　notch。　Now　the　speedometer

needle　was　pegged　just　below　fifty。　The　wind　howled　and　roared。　The　headlamp

probed　the　dark。

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