Three
Tyler raced through the burning streets of Vancouver gripping an axe firmly, his shoulders square and his stride loose. He marched between the burning buildings, making his way toward the Tremont Hotel. His face gleamed with sweat and the dark curls that normally fell across his tanned forehead were pasted to his scalp. Tyler’s breathing was labored from the heat and lack of oxygen. He’d removed his jacket and vest, and his soaked shirt was unbuttoned. Overhead clouds of acrid, black smoke had turned the morning into night.
Tyler cursed softly as he found the way ahead blocked by a wall of flame that leapt in the air some twenty feet above his head. He turned to his right and quickly made his way down a side street until he was able to see the Tremont. From where he stood it seemed
