“We have to go,” Hallorann said.
“I'm not dressed… my clothes…”
Danny darted out of her arms then and raced down the corridor. She looked after him, and as he vanished around the corner, back at Hallorann. “What if he comes back?”
“Your husband?”
“He's not Jack,” she muttered. “Jack's dead. This place killed hire. This damned place.” She struck at the wall with her fist and cried out at the pain in her cut fingers. “It's the boiler, isn't it?”
“Yes, ma'am. Danny says it's going to explode.”
“Good.” The word was uttered with dead finality. “I don't know if I can get down those stairs again. My ribs… he broke my ribs. And something in my back. It hurts.”
“You'll make it,” Hallorann said. “We'll all make it.” But suddenly he remembered the hedge animals, and wondered what they would do if they were guarding the way out…
Then Danny was coming back. He had Wendy's boots and coat and gloves, also his own coat and gloves.
“Danny,” she said. “Your boots.”
“It's too late,” he said. His eyes stared at them with a desperate kind of madness. He looked at Dick and suddenly Hallorann's mind was fixed with an image of a clock under a glass dome, the clock in the ballroom that had been donated by a Swiss diplomat in 1949. The hands of the clock were standing at a minute to midnight.
“Oh my God,” Hallorann said. “Oh my dear God.”
He clapped an arm around Wendy and picked her up. He clapped his other arm around Danny. He ran for the stairs.
Wendy shrieked in pain as he squeezed the bad ribs, as something in her back ground together, but Hallorann did not slow. He plunged down the stairs with them in his arms. One eye wide and desperate, the other puffed shut to a slit. He looked like a one-eyed pirate abducting hostages to be ransomed later.
Suddenly the shine was on him, and he understood what Danny had meant when he said it was too late. He could feel the explosion getting ready to rumble up from the basement and tear the guts out of this horrid place.
He ran faster, bolting headlong across the lobby toward the double doors.
It hurried across the basement and into the feeble yellow glow of the furnace room's only light. It was slobbering with fear. It had been so close, so close to having the boy and the boy's remarkable power. It could not lose now. It must not happen. It would dump the boiler and then chastise the boy harshly.
“Mustn't happen!” it cried. “Oh no, mustn't happen!”
It stumbled across the floor to the boiler, which glowed a dull red halfway up its long tubular body. It was huffing and rattling and hissing off plumes of steam in a hundred directions, like a monster calliope. The pressure needle stood at the far end of the dial.
“No, it won't be allowed!” the manager/caretaker cried.
It laid its Jack Torrance hands on the valve, unmindful of the burning smell which arose or the searing of the flesh as the red-hot wheel sank in, as if into a mudrut.
The wheel gave, and with a triumphant scream, the thing spun it wide open. A giant roar of escaping steam bellowed out of the boiler, a dozen dragons hissing in concert. But before the steam obscured the pressure needle entirely, the needle had visibly begun to swing back.
“I WIN!” it cried. It capered obscenely in the hot, rising mist, waving its flaming hands over its head. “NOT TOO LATE! I WIN! NOT TOO LATE! NOT TOO LATE! NOT-”
Words turned into a shriek of triumph, and the shriek was swallowed in a shattering roar as the Overlook's boiler exploded.
Hallorann burst out through the double doors and carried the two of them through the trench in the big snowdrift on the porch. He saw the hedge animals clearly, more clearly than before, and even as he realized his worst fears were true, that they were between the porch and the snowmobile, the hotel exploded. It seemed to him that it happened all at once, although later he knew that couldn't have been the way it happened.
There was a flat explosion, a sound that seemed to exist on one low allpervasive note
(WHUMMMMMMMMM-)
and then there was a blast of warm air at their backs that seemed to push gently at them. They were thrown from the porch on its breath, the three of them, and a confused thought
(this is what superman must feel like)
slipped through Hallorann's mind as they flew through the air. He lost his hold on them and then he struck the snow in a soft billow. It was down his shirt and up his nose and he was dimly aware that it felt good on his hurt cheek.
Then he struggled to the top of it, for that moment not thinking about the hedge animals, or Wendy Torrance, or even the boy. He rolled over on his back so he could watch it die.
The Overlook's windows shattered. In the ballroom, the dome over the mantelpiece clock cracked, split in two pieces, and fell to the floor. The clock stopped ticking: cogs and gears and balance wheel all became motionless. There was a whispered, sighing noise, and a great billow of dust. In 217 the bathtub suddenly split in two, letting out a small flood of greenish, noxious-smelling water. In the Presidential Suite the wallpaper suddenly burst into flames. The batwing doors of the Colorado Lounge suddenly snapped their hinges and fell to the dining room floor. Beyond the basement arch, the great piles and stacks of old papers caught fire and went up with a blowtorch hiss. Boiling water rolled over the flames but did not quench them. Like burning autumn leaves below a wasps' nest, they whirled and blackened. The furnace exploded, shattering the basement's roofbeams, sending them crashing down like the bones of a dinosaur. The gasjet which had fed the furnace, unstoppered now, rose up in a bellowing pylon of flame through the riven floor of the lobby. The carpeting on the stair risers caught, racing up to the first-floor level as if to tell dreadful good news. A fusillade of explosions ripped the place. The chandelier in the dining room, a two-hundred-pound crystal bomb, fell with a splintering crash, knocking tables every which way. Flame belched out of the Overlook's five chimneys at the breaking clouds.
(No! Mustn't! Mustn't! MUSTN'T!)
It shrieked; it shrieked but now it was voiceless and it was only screaming panic and doom and damnation in its own ear, dissolving, losing thought and will, the webbing falling apart, searching, not finding, going out, going out to, fleeing, going out to emptiness, notness, crumbling.
The party was over.
57. Exit
The roar shook the whole facade of the hotel. Glass belched out onto the snow and twinkled there like jagged diamonds. The hedge dog, which had been approaching Danny and his mother, recoiled away from it, its green and shadowmarbled ears flattening, its tail coming down between its legs as its haunches flattened abjectly. In his head, Hallorann heard it whine fearfully, and mixed with that sound was the fearful, confused yowling of the big cats. He struggled to his feet to go to the other two and help them, and as he did so he saw something more nightmarish than all the rest: the hedge rabbit, still coated with snow, was battering itself crazily at the chainlink fence at the far end of the playground, and the steel mesh was jingling with a kind of nightmare music, like a spectral zither. Even from here he could hear the sounds of the close-set twigs and branches which made up its body cracking and crunching like breaking bones.
“Dick! Dick!” Danny cried out. He was trying to support his mother, help her over to the snowmobile. The clothes he had carried out for the two of them were scattered between where they had fallen and where they now stood. Hallorann was suddenly aware that the woman was in her nightclothes, Danny jacketless, and it was no more than ten above zero.
(my gad she's in her bare feet)
He struggled back through the snow, picking up her coat, her boots, Danny's coat, odd gloves. Then he ran back to them, plunging hip-deep in the snow from time to time, having to flounder his way out.
Wendy was horribly pale, the side of her neck coated with blood, blood that was now freezing.
“I can't,” she muttered. She was no more than semiconscious. “No, I… can't. Sorry.”
Danny looked up at Hallorann pleadingly.
“Gonna be okay,” Hallorann said, and gripped her again. “Come on.”
The three of them made it to where the snowmobile had slewed around and stalled out. Hallorann sat the woman down on the passenger seat and put her coat on. He lifted her feet up-they were very cold but not frozen yet-and rubbed them briskly with Danny's jacket before putting on her boots. Wendy's face was alabaster pale, her eyes halflidded and dazed, but she had begun to shiver. Hallorann thought that was a good sign.
Behind them, a series of three explosions rocked the hotel. Orange flashes lit the snow.
Danny put his mouth close to Hallorann's ear and screamed something.
“What?”
“I said do you need that?”
The boy was pointing at the red gascan that leaned at an angle in the snow.
“I guess we do.”
He picked it up and sloshed it. Still gas in there, he couldn't tell how much. He attached the can to the back of the snowmobile, fumbling the job several times before getting it right because his fingers were going numb. For the first time he became aware that he'd lost Howard Cottrell's mittens.
(i get out of this i gonna have my sister knit you a dozen pair, howie)
“Get on!” Hallorann shouted at the boy.
Danny shrank back. “We'll freeze!”
“We have to go around to the equipment shed! There's stuff in there… blankets… stuff like that. Get on behind your mother!”
Danny got on, and Hallorann twisted his head so he could shout into Wendy's face.
“Missus Torrance! Hold onto me! You understand? Hold on!”
She put her arms around him and rested her cheek against his back. Hallorann started the snowmobile and turned the throttle delicately so they would start up without a jerk. The woman had the weakest sort of grip on him, and if she shifted backward, her weight would tumble both her and the boy off.
