The Shining

“It will be all right,” she said.
Hallorann made a smile and nodded.
As advertised the plane came down hard, reuniting with the earth forcefully enough to knock most of the magazines out of the rack at the front and to send plastic trays cascading out of the galley like oversized playing cards. No one screamed, but Hallorann heard several sets of teeth clicking violently together like gypsy castanets.
Then the turbine engines rose to a howl, braking the plane, and as they dropped in volume the pilot’s soft southern voice, perhaps not completely steady, came over the intercom system. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have landed at Stapleton Airport. Please remain in your seats until the plane has come to a complete stop at the terminal. Thank you.”
The woman beside Hallorann closed her book and uttered a long sigh. “We live to fight another day, Mr. Hallorann.”
“Ma’am, we aren’t done with this one, yet.”
“True. Very true. Would you care to have a drink in the lounge with me?”
“I would, but I have an appointment to keep.”
“Pressing?”
“Very pressing,” Hallorann said gravely.
“Something that will improve the general situation in some small way, I hope.”
“I hope so too,” Hallorann said, and smiled. She smiled back at him, ten years dropping silently from her face as she did so.

Because he had only the flight bag he’d carried for luggage, Hallorann beat the crowd to the Hertz desk on the lower level. Outside the smoked glass windows he could see the snow still falling steadily. The gusting wind drove white clouds of it back and forth, and the people walking across to the parking area were struggling against it. One man lost his hat and Hallorann could commiserate with him as it whirled high, wide, and handsome. The man stared after it and Hallorann thought:
(Aw, just forget it, man. That homburg ain’t comin down until it gets to Arizona.)
On the heels of that thought:
(If it’s this bad in Denver, what’s it going to be like west of Boulder?)
Best not to think about that, maybe.
“Can I help you, sir?” a girl in Hertz yellow asked him.
“If you got a car, you can help me,” he said with a big grin.
For a heavier-than-average charge he was able to get a heavier-than-average car, a silver and black Buick Electra. He was thinking of the winding mountain roads rather than style; he would still have to stop somewhere along the way and get chains put on. He wouldn’t get far without them.
“How bad is it?” he asked as she handed him the rental agreement to sign.
“They say it’s the worst storm since 1969,” she answered brightly. “Do you have far to drive, sir?”
“Farther than I’d like.”
“If you’d like, sir, I can phone ahead to the Texaco station at the Route 270 junction. They’ll put chains on for you. ‘
“That would be a great blessing, dear.”
She picked up the phone and made the call. “They’ll be expecting you.”
“Thank you much.”
Leaving the desk, he saw the sharp-faced woman standing on one of the queues that had formed in front of the luggage carousel. She was still reading her book. Hallorann winked at her as he went by. She looked up, smiled at him, and gave him a peace sign.
(shine)
He turned up his overcoat collar, smiling, and shifted his flight bag to the other hand. Only a little one, but it made him feel better. He was sorry he’d told her that fish story about having a steel plate in his head. He mentally wished her well and as he went out into the howling wind and snow, he thought she wished him the same in return

The charge for putting on the chains at the service station was a modest one, but Hallorann slipped the man at work in the garage bay an extra ten to get moved up a little way on the waiting list. It was still quarter of ten before he was actually on the road, the windshield wipers clicking and the chains clinking with tuneless monotony on the Buick’s big wheels.
The turnpike was a mess. Even with the chains he could go no faster than thirty. Cars had gone off the road at crazy angles, and on several of the grades traffic was barely struggling along, summer tires spinning helplessly in the drifting powder. It was the first big storm of the winter down here in the lowlands (if you could call a mile above sealevel “low”), and it was a mother. Many of them were unprepared, common enough, but Hallorann still found himself cursing them as he inched around them, peering into his snow-clogged outside mirror to be sure nothing was
(Dashing through the snow…)
coming up in the left-hand lane to cream his black ass.
There was more bad luck waiting for him at the Route 36 entrance