Dew came up the stairs just as the flames lashed out into the hallway, five feet high and growing fast. The place was going up like a dry Christmas tree. He stopped, looking for a target. On the other side of the hungry flames, he saw a huge naked man clutching something in each hand.
Through the distorted, waving heat haze, Dew saw that the man stood on one leg. The other hung limply, the foot a few inches off the floor. The man turned and hopped away, his bulk already obscured by the raging flames.
Dew started firing, emptying the seven-round magazine in less than three seconds. The lethal. 45-caliber bullets disappeared into the fire-Dew didn’t know if he’d hit Dawsey or not.
And there was only one way to find out.
He popped a fresh mag into the Colt. 45, hesitated for only a moment, then sprinted toward the raging fire.