Beatty Fahrenheit 451 Novels & Stories

“Well, no. He had me stir the pot a little while when he left the kitchen for a few minutes. Why do you ask?” Barry blew out a gush of air between his lips and ran his fingers through his hair. “Because the stew is burned and nearly impossible to eat.” “Burned?” she gasped. “The pot burned?” She shook her head. “It wasn’t burning while I was stirring it.” He came toward the bed, shaking his head. “The pot itself didn’t start on fire, but if you don’t stir the stew correctly, it sticks to the pot and burns. Have you eaten?”

I frantically adjusted the signal transmitter, my throat raw as I spoke out. “Ben! The brakes and doors have been tampered with! Send someone now!” However, all that reached me was the static hiss of electricity. From the other side came the faint scrape of a chair and the tap of keys. Then Mandy’s anxious voice cut in. “Sigh, I really don’t know how far Jane wants to take this car. The fire is already huge, and she still won’t slow down or stop. “Are those empty honors really more important than her life?”

“Please, get Jessica away from the house. I have other plans.” He hesitated only for a second, then moved. Even uncertain obedience looked like relief to me. The things that mattered were already being carried out; the rest could burn. Flames licked higher, throwing the room into jittery light. Heat rushed toward me in waves and the wine-slick carpet steamed where it had met the spill. The monitors, still displaying Becca on it's screen. I smiled then, a short, wild thing that did not reach my eyes. “Rebecca Belmont, you cannot run from me,” I murmured. I fed another sheet to the blaze as it took it greedily.