Original text by Ray Bradbury, starting page 112:

Montag heard the distant voice calling, “Montag, you all right?”

Beatty switched the green bullet off and thrust it in his pocket. “Well–so there’s more here than I thought. I saw you tilt your head, listening. First I thought you had a Seashell. But when you turned clever later, I wondered. We’ll trace this and drop it on your friend.”

         “No!” said Montag. He twitched the safety catch on the flamethrower.

Beatty glanced instantly at Montag’s fingers and his eyes widened the faintest bit. Montag saw the surprise there and himself glanced to his hands to see what new thing they had done. Thinking back later he could never decide whether the hands or Beatty’s reaction to the hands gave him the final push toward murder. The last rolling thunder of the avalanche stoned down about his ears, not touching him.

Beatty grinned his most charming grin. “Well, that’s one way to get an audience. Hold a gun on a man and force him to listen to your speech. Speech away. What’ll it be this time? Why don’t you belch Shakespeare at me, you fumbling snob? `There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, for I am arm’d so strong in honesty that they pass by me as an idle wind, which I respect not!’ How’s that? Go ahead now, you second-hand litterateur, pull the trigger.” He took one step toward Montag.

Montag only said, “We never burned right…”

“Hand it over, Guy,” said Beatty with a fixed smile.

New ending by Stephen L., beginning where previous scene left off:

 

Montag hesitated. No, murder he could not, and will not do. Beatty’s smile grew real as he handed over the flamethrower.

“You made the right decision,” said Beatty.

Montag only glared at Beatty as he was forced to the ground by the other firemen. They strapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. Montag, a wild tiger, was finally caged, and his purpose silenced.

Montag was shoved into the jail cell. Water was dripping down the painted walls and the cell was brown from rust. Two small beds were bolted tight to the left wall. Toilets were on the opposite side. Why two?

“I know it’s not much, but I hope you get comfy in here,” said Beatty, entering the prison.

“Why are there two beds here?”

“Thought you might enjoy a guest,” Beatty said with a chuckle.

The gate opened and Faber stumbled through. The firemen took him by the arms and thrusted him inside the cell.

“I owed you a favor. You saved my life and therefore, you saved his. An eye for an eye, a life for a life.”

“You seem to be enjoying this an awful lot.”

“Aw, you know, I finally got a bee out of my hair and can finally breathe. I was hoping that you would realize your mistakes, enjoy the blessing you have in  life, but you still wouldn’t change. Now you’re out of my way,” Beatty said.

His cheery mood suddenly faded like fog that was swept away by the sun. “I really liked you. I wish you would have been successful. You had to throw your life away. Montag, you know what we do with those who are like you. Why do you think there is no one in this prison?”

Beatty left the prison, wearing a mask of stone. His footsteps receded along the stone steps. Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Faber turned to look at Montag.

“Don’t listen to him. Focus, breathe.”

“My wife, gone.”

“Don’t think like that!”

“My house, gone.”

“Montag! Focus.”

“My purpose, gone.”

Faber slapped Montag, hard.

“Guy, you are not done yet. You are not to let your life be wasted. We will find a way to get out.”

“I dug myself a hole and I can’t see a way to get out. I lost everyone, everything, and now, my life will end. Maybe it would be a relief to finally be able to crawl out of that hole.

“You will, damn you,” Faber shouted. “We will find a way out. We will go down the railroad tracks, and finally help our cause.”

Montag looked at Faber strangely. “Why railroad tracks?”

“I heard there are a lot of hobo camps who travel along the tracks. They are wanted in the cities and they support our purpose. There are a couple of Harvard degrees there.”

Montag shook his head. “How do we get out then?

“I don’t know, but we’ll find a way.”

Just then, the ground shook.

“What was that?” Faber asked Montag.

Montag could only shrug.

The ground shook again and after a few minutes, again.

Faber said, “No earthquake lasts this long.”

Montag said gravely, “That’s no earthquake. The war has started.”

 

The bombs struck, but the prison was several miles underground. The ceiling shook, dust fell, but Faber and Montag stayed safe. However, Montag knew he needed a way out. The prison wouldn’t hold forever. Looking around, Montag desperately tried to look for an exit. He checked every nook and cranny, but couldn’t find anything.

“There!” Faber shouted.

The ceiling shook. Montag looked. Right in front of him was the graffiti. It read, “Life”.

Frustrated, Montag screamed. “How does this help us?”

Faber put an arm on his shoulder to calm him down. “Look at the arrow.”

What Montag dismissed as part of an intricate, useless piece of art, Faber saw an arrow pointing to a small opening between the bars on the floor. It was a very small opening, hidden behind the bed. The rusted bars seemed to have bent by only what could be the brute force of a bull. It was just large enough to fit a desperate man, and desperate, Montag was. Montag started through the hole and quickly pushed himself out. He turned to help Faber just as the whole world shook.

“My leg’s stuck!”

“Come on, old man!”

“Go!”

“I’m not leaving you, Faber!”

Montag couldn’t leave him. Faber was the only person he had. The world had left him nothing but fire and destruction. It took away everything he loved, everything he longed for, and now, Faber was the only thing left still dear to Montag.

In a last, desperate attempt, Montag pulled with all his might and hauled Faber out.

The ceiling shook one last time, dust settled, and finally, all was still.

“Is that it?” Montag asked.

Faber grimaced. “Let’s get out.”

The two of them pushed hard on the weakened gate leading to the exit, and walked the long walk up and out of the prison.

 

Outside, the earth was barren. There was no sign of life, and the land was scorched and red. Wind whistled, dust kicked, but all was quiet. The river was filled with dust and was evaporated from the heat of the bombs, but if Montag and Faber looked, they could still see the path the river had followed.

The old professor and a retired fireman walked along the path, too exhausted to talk. In fact, the odd pair was so exhausted they could barely walk. Faber leaned on montag, unable to use his bruised and bloodied leg, and continued downstream. They walked maybe a mile more, before their feet bumped into something. What was it? Montag glanced down and saw tracks. Tracks! Giving renewed effort and using strength they didn’t know they had before, the couple dragged themselves along the abandoned path. However, they stopped suddenly when they heard words a little farther ahead.

“Hello?” Montag asked desperately, knowing that those words could be his last. “Is there anyone here? Help!”

Montag looked around one last time before falling to his knees from exhaustion. Almost losing consciousness, Montag and Faber fell back until someone caught them. They looked at their rescuer’s face in surprise.

The man, concerned, then amused, looked at them and said, “Well, you two are quite a couple.”

Montag asked, “Who are you?”

The mysterious man replied, “I’m Granger. One of the people wandering, looking for people like ourselves. We were heading to the city to check if there were any survivors after the bombs dropped.”

                Montag didn’t care about explanations.

“Are we safe?” he asked.

Granger smiled and replied, “Yes, you are.”