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In
an
instant
the
whole
creature
was
in
flames
,
a
prancing
,
writhing
pyre
on
the
snow
.
It
bellowed
in
rage
and
pain
,
seeming
to
chase
its
flaming
tail
as
it
zigzagged
away
from
Hallorann
.
He
thrust
his
own
arm
deep
into
the
snow
,
killing
the
flames
,
unable
to
take
his
eyes
from
the
hedge
lion
’
s
death
agonies
for
a
moment
.
Then
,
gasping
,
he
got
to
his
feet
.
The
arm
of
Durkin
’
s
parka
was
sooty
but
unburned
,
and
that
also
described
his
hand
.
Thirty
yards
downhill
from
where
he
stood
,
the
hedge
lion
had
turned
into
a
fireball
.
Sparks
flew
at
the
sky
and
were
viciously
snatched
away
by
the
wind
.
For
a
moment
its
ribs
and
skull
were
etched
in
orange
flame
and
then
it
seemed
to
collapse
,
disintegrate
,
and
fall
into
separate
burning
piles
.
(
Never
mind
it
.
Get
moving
.
)
He
picked
up
the
gascan
and
struggled
over
to
the
snowmobile
.
His
consciousness
seemed
to
be
flickering
in
and
out
,
offering
him
cuttings
and
snippets
of
home
movies
but
never
the
whole
picture
.
In
one
of
these
he
was
aware
of
yanking
the
snowmobile
back
onto
its
tread
and
then
sitting
on
it
,
out
of
breath
and
incapable
of
moving
for
a
few
moments
.
In
another
,
he
was
reattaching
the
gascan
,
which
was
still
half
-
full
.
His
bead
was
thumping
horribly
from
the
gasfumes
(
and
in
reaction
to
his
battle
with
the
hedge
lion
,
he
supposed
)
,
and
he
saw
by
the
steaming
hole
in
the
snow
beside
him
that
he
had
vomited
,
but
he
was
unable
to
remember
when
.
The
snowmobile
,
the
engine
still
warm
,
fired
immediately
.
He
twisted
the
throttle
unevenly
and
started
forward
with
a
series
of
neck
-
snapping
jerks
that
made
his
head
ache
even
more
fiercely
.
At
first
the
snowmobile
wove
drunkenly
from
side
to
side
,
but
by
half
-
standing
to
get
his
face
above
the
windscreen
and
into
the
sharp
,
needling
blast
of
the
wind
,
he
drove
some
of
the
stupor
out
of
himself
.
He
opened
the
throttle
wider
.
(
Where
are
the
rest
of
the
hedge
animals
?
)
He
didn
’
t
know
,
but
at
least
he
wouldn
’
t
be
caught
unaware
again
.
The
Overlook
loomed
in
front
of
him
,
the
lighted
first
-
floor
windows
throwing
long
yellow
rectangles
onto
the
snow
.
The
gate
at
the
foot
of
the
drive
was
locked
and
he
dismounted
after
a
wary
look
around
,
praying
he
hadn
’
t
lost
his
keys
when
he
pulled
his
lighter
out
of
his
pocket
…
no
,
they
were
there
.
He
picked
through
them
in
the
bright
light
thrown
by
the
snowmobile
headlamp
.
He
found
the
right
one
and
unsnapped
the
padlock
,
letting
it
drop
into
the
snow
.
At
first
he
didn
’
t
think
he
was
going
to
be
able
to
move
the
gate
anyway
;
he
pawed
frantically
at
the
snow
surrounding
it
,
disregarding
the
throbbing
agony
in
his
head
and
the
fear
that
one
of
the
other
lions
might
be
creeping
up
behind
him
.
He
managed
to
pull
it
a
foot
and
a
half
away
from
the
gatepost
,
squeezed
into
the
gap
,
and
pushed
.
He
got
it
to
move
another
two
feet
,
enough
room
for
the
snowmobile
,
and
threaded
it
through
.
