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He
walked
back
to
the
snowmobile
and
gave
the
side
of
it
a
good
healthy
kick
as
he
went
by
.
Well
,
that
was
the
end
of
it
.
He
would
just
have
to
tell
Wendy
sorry
,
baby
,
but
-
There
was
a
box
sitting
in
the
corner
by
the
door
.
The
stool
bad
been
right
over
it
.
Written
on
the
top
,
in
pencil
,
was
the
abbreviation
Skid
.
He
looked
at
it
,
the
smile
drying
up
on
his
lips
.
Look
,
sir
,
it
’
s
the
cavalry
.
Looks
like
your
smoke
signals
must
have
worked
after
all
.
It
wasn
’
t
fair
.
Goddammit
,
it
just
wasn
’
t
fair
.
Something
-
luck
,
fate
,
providence
-
had
been
trying
to
save
him
.
Some
other
luck
,
white
luck
.
And
at
the
last
moment
bad
old
Jack
Torrance
luck
had
stepped
back
in
.
The
lousy
run
of
cards
wasn
’
t
over
yet
.
Resentment
,
a
gray
,
sullen
wave
of
it
,
pushed
up
his
throat
.
His
hands
had
clenched
into
fists
again
.
(
Not
fair
,
goddammit
,
not
fair
!
)
Why
couldn
’
t
he
have
looked
someplace
else
?
Anyplace
!
Why
hadn
’
t
he
had
a
crick
in
his
neck
or
an
itch
in
his
nose
or
the
need
to
blink
?
Just
one
of
those
little
things
.
He
never
would
have
seen
it
.
Well
,
he
hadn
’
t
.
That
was
all
.
It
was
an
hallucination
,
no
different
from
what
had
happened
yesterday
outside
that
room
on
the
second
floor
or
the
goddam
hedge
menagerie
.
A
momentary
strain
,
that
was
all
.
Fancy
,
I
thought
I
saw
a
snowmobile
battery
in
that
corner
.
Nothing
there
now
.
Combat
fatigue
,
I
guess
,
sir
.
Sorry
.
Keep
your
pecker
up
,
son
.
