Disclaimer: Again, do I even look or type like Ray Bradbury? The man won't even get on planes.
Thank you to Raven-Glinda-fan, and iamari. I'm glad someone reviewed.
Days later, Montag and his merry group of intellectuals came upon another group. Their leader was a skinny blonde woman, maybe more of a girl than a woman, with long hair and a scarf wrapped mostly around her face so that no one could recognize her. Probably on the run.
The group consisted of four people, the leader, a skinny bookish man with broken glasses, a loosely clothed man of considerable stature, and a voluptuous woman hidden under a heavy black coat. All four where travel worn and weary, and they decided to join Montag's group, at least for the moment.
The voluptuous woman was talking to the Reverend. Apparently she was Mathew and Mark, but her actual name was Rebecca. Montag himself was walking in front of the group like he normally did, only this time with the blonde leader who simply didn't talk. Something about her seemed familiar, like an old friend, but he brushed that off and listened instead to the others.
Granger was talking to the bookish man about life and philosophy. Typical Granger, and apparently, typical bookworm. Looking around, Montag realized that the whole group looked like they had walked from the sewers, and some of them smelled like it too. Which wasn't that nice.
Without a push, his mind went back to Beatty. To the burning, to the death. It went to Clarice, so young, too young to have died. What was it that Mildred said 'hit by a car?' It seemed so impersonal for such a lovely person. And Mildred? Killed in that explosion and never to be seen again. He hoped she had seen herself in that brief instance before death, just so she could've seen in horror what she had become. A hollow shell of herself. Beatty burning. Clarice dying. Mildred seeing the truth.
He shook himself from those delusions. He had to focus on the facts at hand. The people around him trusted him to get them past all of the evil in the world to something supposedly good. He had led them to St. Louis and what fun that had been.
FlashbackSt. Louis was seemed to be a million spires of silver and light. The St. Louis arch was diminished by the size of the surrounding building, and had lost it's supposed statuesque appearance.
It seemed like years ago since Montag had seen the Professor Faber, and he honestly didn't know if he was still alive. The city he had lived in had been bombed either right before or right after he left for St. Louis. His fellow comrades weren't really sure about going to a crowded city. Not exactly a smart idea, they said. Too many people want us dead.
He ignored them.
It was easy enough to find Faber. The city of St. Louis was equipped with it's own people 'search engine.' A Faber was there, and a new resident at that. He was sure it was him. Who else would've used the first name Macbeth to escape possible detection.
All around him the city was geared up for the war. Propaganda posters littered the walls, and in the occasional glassy window, the group caught sight of themselves. They were dingy and dirty and people went out of their way to avoid them.
Montag finally found the door where Faber was. He knocked, and the door was answered by…
Montag was shell shocked. The leader of the other group had finally undone the scarf and was sitting around the fire with the others. He suddenly realized why she was so familiar.
