Page 419 - The Book Thief

and the ruined cases of buildings were piled up in mounds. Framework leaned.

The smoke bombs stood like matchsticks in the ground, filling the citys lungs.

Hans Hubermann was in a group of four. They formed a line. Sergeant Boris
Schipper was at the front, his arms disappearing into the smoke. Behind him was
Kessler, then Brunnenweg, then Hubermann. As the sergeant hosed the fire, the
other two men hosed the sergeant, and just to make sure, Hubermann hosed all
three of them.

Behind him, a building groaned and tripped.

It fell face-first, stopping a few meters from his heels. The concrete smelled
brand-new, and the wall of powder rushed at them.

Gottverdammt, Hubermann! The voice struggled out of the flames. It was
followed immediately by three men. Their throats were filled with particles of
ash. Even when they made it around the corner, away from the center of the

wreckage, the haze of the collapsed building attempted to follow. It was white
and warm, and it crept behind them.

Slumped in temporary safety, there was much coughing and swearing. The
sergeant repeated his earlier sentiments. Goddamn it, Hubermann. He scraped at
his lips to loosen them. What the hell was that?

It just collapsed, right behind us.

That much I know already. The question is, how big was it? It must have been
ten stories high.

No, sir, just two, I think.

Jesus. A coughing fit. Mary and Joseph. Now he yanked at the paste of sweat
and powder in his eye sockets. Not much you could do about that.

One of the other men wiped his face and said, Just once I want to be there when
they hit a pub, for Christs sake. Im dying for a beer.

Each man leaned back.