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It
made
a
single
last
leap
into
the
air
,
coming
down
at
Montag
from
a
good
three
feet
over
his
head
,
its
spidered
legs
reaching
,
the
procaine
needle
snapping
out
its
single
angry
tooth
.
Montag
caught
it
with
a
bloom
of
fire
,
a
single
wondrous
blossom
that
curled
in
petals
of
yellow
and
blue
and
orange
about
the
metal
dog
,
clad
it
in
a
new
covering
as
it
slammed
into
Montag
and
threw
him
ten
feet
back
against
the
bole
of
a
tree
,
taking
the
flame-gun
with
him
.
He
felt
it
scrabble
and
seize
his
leg
and
stab
the
needle
in
for
a
moment
before
the
fire
snapped
the
Hound
up
in
the
air
,
burst
its
metal
bones
at
the
joints
,
and
blew
out
its
interior
in
the
single
flushing
of
red
colour
like
a
skyrocket
fastened
to
the
street
.
Montag
lay
watching
the
dead-alive
thing
fiddle
the
air
and
die
.
Even
now
it
seemed
to
want
to
get
back
at
him
and
finish
the
injection
which
was
now
working
through
the
flesh
of
his
leg
.
He
felt
all
of
the
mingled
relief
and
horror
at
having
pulled
back
only
in
time
to
have
just
his
knee
slammed
by
the
fender
of
a
car
hurtling
by
at
ninety
miles
an
hour
.
He
was
afraid
to
get
up
,
afraid
he
might
not
be
able
to
gain
his
feet
at
all
,
with
an
anaesthetized
leg
.
A
numbness
in
a
numbness
hollowed
into
a
numbness
...
And
now
...
?
The
street
empty
,
the
house
burnt
like
an
ancient
bit
of
stage-scenery
,
the
other
homes
dark
,
the
Hound
here
,
Beatty
there
,
the
three
other
firemen
another
place
,
and
the
Salamander
...
?
He
gazed
at
the
immense
engine
.
That
would
have
to
go
,
too
.
Well
,
he
thought
,
let
's
see
how
badly
off
you
are
.
On
your
feet
now
.
Easy
,
easy
...
there
.
He
stood
and
he
had
only
one
leg
.
The
other
was
like
a
chunk
of
burnt
pine-log
he
was
carrying
along
as
a
penance
for
some
obscure
sin
.
When
he
put
his
weight
on
it
,
a
shower
of
silver
needles
gushed
up
the
length
of
the
calf
and
went
off
in
the
knee
.
He
wept
.
Come
on
!
Come
on
,
you
,
you
ca
n't
stay
here
!
A
few
house-lights
were
going
on
again
down
the
street
,
whether
from
the
incidents
just
passed
,
or
because
of
the
abnormal
silence
following
the
fight
,
Montag
did
not
know
.
He
hobbled
around
the
ruins
,
seizing
at
his
bad
leg
when
it
lagged
,
talking
and
whimpering
and
shouting
directions
at
it
and
cursing
it
and
pleading
with
it
to
work
for
him
now
when
it
was
vital
.
He
heard
a
number
of
people
crying
out
in
the
darkness
and
shouting
.
He
reached
the
back
yard
and
the
alley
.
Beatty
,
he
thought
,
you
're
not
a
problem
now
.
You
always
said
,
do
n't
face
a
problem
,
burn
it
.
Well
,
now
I
've
done
both
.
Good-bye
,
Captain
.
And
he
stumbled
along
the
alley
in
the
dark
.
A
shotgun
blast
went
off
in
his
leg
every
time
he
put
it
down
and
he
thought
,
you
're
a
fool
,
a
damn
fool
,
an
awful
fool
,
an
idiot
,
an
awful
idiot
,
a
damn
idiot
,
and
a
fool
,
a
damn
fool
;
look
at
the
mess
and
where
's
the
mop
,
look
at
the
mess
,
and
what
do
you
do
?
Pride
,
damn
it
,
and
temper
,
and
you
've
junked
it
all
,
at
the
very
start
you
vomit
on
everyone
and
on
yourself
.
But
everything
at
once
,
but
everything
one
on
top
of
another
;
Beatty
,
the
women
,
Mildred
,
Clarisse
,
everything
.
No
excuse
,
though
,
no
excuse
.
A
fool
,
a
damn
fool
,
go
give
yourself
up
!
No
,
we
'll
save
what
we
can
,
we
'll
do
what
there
is
left
to
do
.
If
we
have
to
burn
,
let
's
take
a
few
more
with
us
.
Here
!
