The Dead Zone

by Stephen King

He allowed her to lead him to the ticket booth, where he surrendered another dollar bill. As he paid he told her, “When I was in high school, I knew this kid who worked at the fair, and he said most of the guys who put these rides together are dead drunk and they leave off all sorts of…” “Go to hell,” she said merrily, “nobody lives forever.” “But everybody tries, you ever notice that?” he said, following her into one of the swaying gondolas.

He laughed and shook his head. “Hardly ever.” The smile slipped a little. “But it was strong tonight, Sarah. I had that Wheel…” He closed his fists softly and looked at them, now frowning. “I had it right here. And it had the strangest goddam associations for me.” “Like what?” “Rubber,” he said slowly. “Burning rubber. And cold. And ice. Black ice. Those things were in the back of my mind. God knows why. And a bad feeling. Like to beware.”