Marcus sprinted away from Ackerman and toward the stairwell. At his back, he heard the voice of the fire call out to him as the flaming object gave life to its brethren. The legion of flames hurtled toward him, consuming everything in its path.
He felt the heat at his back and dove forward.
The initial blast lost momentum as he made it into one of the open doorways.
But the heat remained. He felt pain on his shoulders and realized that he was on fire.
The flames sought to consume him as he rolled around the floor. The fire fought with ferocity, but he ground it out and stripped off his smoldering shirt. His shoes still burned where he had stepped in the gasoline. He kicked them off and backed into the corner.
His lungs searched for air. He felt disoriented. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the burns weren’t as bad as they felt.
He steeled himself and ran back into the hall. Luckily, the flames’ concentration centered upon the area where Ackerman had splashed the gasoline, but he knew that it wouldn’t take long for the fire to blossom out onto the entire floor and the rest of the building.
He reached the stairwell and ascended the short distance to the roof. He kicked through the doorway. Leading with the pistol, he scanned the immediate vicinity.
The wind howled like the shriek of a banshee whose song could only be heard by those who had stood in the presence of death. He took in a deep breath of the fresh air. The cool breeze felt soothing against his back.
Several vents and pipes dotted the rooftop. Some were large, and some were small. As he rounded one large mound of vents, he saw Ackerman and Emily Morgan standing at the roof’s edge.
Ackerman held Emily as a human shield.
A feeling of déjà vu hammered against his heartstrings. He thought of his last encounter with the madman. He glanced down at Emily’s foot as he approached but saw no rope.
Ackerman pressed the gun against her right temple.
His eyes met the killer’s.
“Marcus, I want to play a game. Let’s call this one … Last Man Standing.”