John Godey - The Snake

Because the fires were dispersed over so wide an area, six fire companies were eventually brought into the park. By the time the firemen reached some of the fires the gasoline vapours had already burned off and the color of the flames had changed from black to a dirty brown.

The spread of the individual fires varied, depending on the contiguity of trees and bushes in the surrounding terrain, but none, fortunately, posed a threat to any of the park's structures. Since hydrants were unavailable in most of the affected areas (hydrants were emplaced only on the East and West Drives, in the transverses, and adjacent to buildings), the firemen were obliged to use pumpers for their source of water. In the case of the most difficult of the fires, the pumpers of two companies emptied booster tanks as well as their regular tanks, and were faced with the alternative of running a stretch to the nearest hydrant or using a hard-suction hose, a device which, dropped into a lake or pond, would suck up water rapidly and impel it at the nozzle with force.

In the event, pumpers from other companies responded to the emergency with untapped tanks. Presently, the smoke from even the most stubborn of the fires changed from brown to white, and at this indication of abatement, the firemen breathed easier.

But even after the fires were well under control, it would be a long night for the firemen. In most of the areas where the fires were ignited, the vegetation had been compacted and dried for years, and would continue to smoulder with the persistence of peat. For hours after the flames had died, the firemen would be overhauling the areas, raking and chopping until no spark remained.

"What do you think they put sirens in these things for?" Eastman yelled.

"Turn it on. Turn it on."

But the wailing of the siren was just another instrument in the orchestra of official noises, and progress was slow. Eastman knew he could make better time running, but he needed the respite for the sake of his thumping heart and heaving chest. Both sides of Central Park West were jammed with spectators. Through a gap in the crowd Eastman caught a glimpse of Holly Markham. She was sitting on a bench, her head slumped toward her breast, her fists pressed hard into her diaphragm. Stitch in the side, Eastman guessed, and thought, If that splendid girl was my girl, I'm damned if I'd let any lousy snake keep me from giving her comfort.

The squad car found an opening and ploughed ahead to the Boys Gate. Eastman directed the car to the West Drive, and then realized that he didn't know where to go. To the left, a group of Puries ran by, brandishing shovels and axes. A moment later he recognized Converse. Eastman screamed at the cop driving the squad car to stop, but the cop's reaction was slow. By the time he got out, the Puries and Converse were both out of sight. He took three deep breaths, slowly, and then ran after them.

The snake crawled into a thicket and rested, its eyes fixed on the bobbing lights that had been clinging to it in pursuit. Suddenly, a light shone directly into its eyes, and behind the light the snake could make out a shadowy figure.

Bill Hextall, at the extreme right Hank of squad S, saw the snake when his flashlight beam reflected in its eyes. The snake, except for its head and neck, was hidden in brush. Hextall stared at the snake in fascination, then, as its head withdrew, let out a hoarse shout.

He saw the other members of the squad stop. He continued to shout until they started to run back toward him. He pointed toward the thicket where he had seen the snake, and half a dozen of them began to beat the area with their weapons. Then someone spotted it, gliding across an open area, speeding westward, where it disappeared into brush. Shouting, squad S took up the pursuit.

They picked up its trail again as it was crawling through the children's playground near the Boys Gate. It fled before them and ran through the opening into Central Park West.

Afterwards, in gloriously embroidered detail, a dozen or more citizens were to claim the honour of having been the first to see the snake slither out of the park and onto the pavement of Central Park West. Several others pinpointed the real discoverer as a well-dressed man wearing a pinstriped seersucker suit with shirt and tie, and a cocoa straw hat.

This man, who shouted in a strangulated voice described predictably by those who heard it as sounding like "a man having his throat cut," saw the snake reverse itself and curve back toward the shelter of the park retaining wall.

The commingled voices of the crowd, including those who never actually saw the snake themselves, combined overtones of fear, horror, terror, revulsion, triumph, and pure excitement. The more prudent among them pushed backwards; others poised themselves in a balance that would allow them to retreat if the snake came toward them; still others pressed forward. From north and south along Central Park West, new crowds of people, hearing the screams and shouts and sensing a denouement, converged on the scene.

Given the stifling heat and the bodily reaction to the release of their emotions, it was little wonder that everyone in the crowd was pouring sweat. The mingled odour of burned foliage and petroleum was suffocating, and massive clouds of smoke were drifting murkily across the leaden sky.

Into this scene, a cop, who had been directing traffic at an inter section, arrived with drawn gun. He stood well back from the snake, which was crawling along the base of the retaining wall, aimed at its elevated head, and pulled the trigger. The shot struck the stone wall a full foot to the left of the snake, ricocheted, and tore a hole in the door of an unoccupied car parked at the curb.

The snake swerved outward from the wall, and, with the crowd retreating before it, crawled toward the curb and ran up into the open door of a taxi which had just pulled up, and which contained a man and two women in its back seat.

Squad S poured out of the park behind Buck Pell.

The snake panicked in the close confines of the taxi, It struck out at the flailing legs, bit once, twice, a third time, perhaps the same leg. Then it succeeded in turning around, and it dropped to the pavement, already squirming forward, its whiplike tail following. It ran toward the entrance to the park, but there were many figures blocking its path. It changed direction to its left and the figures moved with it; to the right, and the figures moved with it. It stopped, piled its length into a coil, lifted its head hi, — hissed dryly, opened its mouth wide, and swayed menacingly.

The sound of the crowd carried into the park, and Eastman knew that the snake had been found. He lowered his head and ran, making outrageous demands on his heavy, out-of-shape body, grunting and sobbing as he fought for breath.

And if I have a stinking heart attack, he thought, there will be no in spector's funeral, just the ordinary burial of a fat cop who died rather normally in line of duty, and thank God for the pension, though it won't be enough to see the boys through college and so they'll drift into the NYPD, and start accumulating pensions of their own, which, God willing, they'll collect before they get so fat that they die in the simple act of running.

He heard the sound of a shot.

Converse had lagged behind the Puries, poking in some underbrush, when he heard the shot from outside the park. He began to run. By the time he burst out of the park, hurdling the stone wall, only dimly aware that the plodding figure he had passed was Eastman's, the snake was in the center of a ring of black-clad Puries, which in its turn was surrounded by a massed, concentric ring of onlookers.

Holding the Pilstrom tongs over his head, he strained to break through the crowd to the inner ring. Pushing, pleading, using his shoulders and elbows, he tried to make a passage for himself. Once, when he raised his head to take a deep breath, he caught a glimpse of Holly, her face pale, her body cramped by the press of other bodies.