Chapter 4, of Ashes to Dust

Chapter 4

He listened to his heart slow. His thoughts stopped rushing with his blood.(Page 134) The sound of helicopters beating their wings circled far behind him in a city that showed no more trace of dignity toward Montag. Water dripped from his brow and curved along every crevice in the shirt he wore gave, dropping silently into the water it came. Was it all worth it? Was losing his friend, his job, and his house all worth it? The question hung in the air for a moment before Montag could brush it away, staring up at the moon that slowly lost it's light to the many trees shielding his figure.

The night held an awkward loneliness as Montag stood up in the water, only for his shoes to brush along the dirt and sand he hadn't felt in what seemed an eternity. Everything was as real as he could imagine, and not a piece of technology that simulated the life outside of his town. No, it was all real and he was there to enjoy it. The river continued to swim down a separate route, parting Montag as he walked further through the woods.

Montag's gossamer sleeves followed the wind's movement as he thought about the things to come. But who was there to believe in the same things he stood up for other than the animals who were demure and quiet as in their nature, soundlessly following Montag on his journey. It was all coming back to him, a mess and a soundless world in which nothing stood, and what did was a trick of the mind. The dirt grabbed at Montag's feet like a game, the wind playing a melody only it caught on to.

Montag hadn't thought about what he was to do when he rebelled, only hoping for a better future once he met the hobos Faber spoke of. Would there ever be anyone else like him, who saw the same things he saw and heard the same things he heard? What a fool, he thought to himself, for who acts before they think? A whirlpool of leaves circled around his feet before being dragged off into the distance around a large tree and stopped. The body of a fallen tree lie blocking his path. The prints of shoes and bare feet sunk deep in the ground, just ahead of him. Leg by leg, left and right, he carried himself to the spot and stared. Who else could be here, he thought, who else would have ventured this far?

Montag stood in place, like a child who had discovered how to stand, and thought before following the trail to another pile of dead leaves that wrapped themselves around his legs, and thought some more. It seemed like an impossibility and wondered if anyone else had rebelled. But who else was there? Certainly no one from his town, he thought.

The brief fire of curiosity that had warmed him was out now, withering away in a furnace of adventure that begged for Montag to sit by. He continued to explore, walking as if he had come to a new world. It was then that the air stood warmer and his breath lasted longer like it had before when he met Clarisse, but this time she was nowhere to be found. Her imagination and questions intrigued him, and the mystery behind her disappearance was still haunting. Was Mildred really right? Did she really die? He hadn't heard anything about it, but how was he? Always working, always wearing a mask... but he didn't have the mask anymore. He hadn't seen it for a long time.

A large boom cut through the sky as the clouds split and the stars cried, the solemn figures of jets outlined by the night. Like a clap of thunder, they had passed by in a moment, bombs strapped to their bellies like belts and a face of death trailing not far behind them. A shiver climbed up Montag's back, waiting for the moment to come. Montag, worn out and immense pain still jolting through his leg, sat upon the ground and against a tall, lean tree, falling fast asleep.

But, while Montag shut his eyes, the earth shook below him as a large blow hit his ears and the sight of fire flaring up in the city surpassed him, the sky lighting up with ash. It was an all too familiar sight, one that plagued him now and planned to never stop. The air grew thicker and warmer while he sat there, opening his eyes to the sight of another set of footprints. They appeared to be heading just a little more down the path Montag had been following, as he abided the trail's beckoning and continued onward.

Montag's hungry eyes ate everything they saw; pillars of burning wood, plaster, and ash painting the ground only yards away from him. The earth stood still, and so did Montag, as the hammering realization of what happened hit him. But he didn't care. The city destroyed itself, falling from the boundaries it stood on, and he tried to stand it back up already.

Montag looked from the path of destruction and instead carried on the path redemption, of adventure, of knowledge as he continued out of the forest and to an open plain. Grass colored the ground like it had always been there, creating a familiarity Montag had yearned for all those solemn years. But, off in the distance, something was different. A patch of grass pressed against the ground, as if someone had stepped upon it, and revealed yet another patch. Montag, following each dying piece of grass, came to the sight of someone else.

"Who are you?" Montag asked, staring at their back hunched over in a small pocket of flowers.

The milky white face of a young girl, one he had known before turned around to face Montag as she asked him a question. But Montag didn't listen; he stared in disbelief at her eyes and her nose and every feature in her otherwise featureless face.

"Yes, yes I have." Montag replied, a sort of hope growing in his chest.