Tears were streaming freely down his face, and between them and the smoke, he could barely see. He drew closer to the shop’s rear, nearly there, and then he was there, looking for Kurt.
He found him, leaned up against the emergency door at the back of the shop, fingers jammed into the sliver of a gap between the door’s bottom and the ground. Alan tried the door’s pushbar, but there was something blocking the door from the other side.
He tried slapping Kurt a couple times, but he would not be roused. His breath came in tiny puffs. Alan took his hand, then the other hand, and hoisted his head and neck and shoulders up onto his back and began to crawl for the front door, going as fast as he could in the blaze.
He got lost again, and the floor was hot enough to raise blisters. When he emerged with Kurt, he heard the sirens. He breathed hard in the night air.
As he watched, two fire trucks cleared the corner, going the wrong way down one-way Augusta, speeding toward him. He looked at Billy.
“What?”
“Is Kurt all right?”
“Sure, he’s fine.” He thought a moment. “The ambulance man will want to talk with him, he said. “And the TV people, soon.
“Let’s get out of here,” Brad said.
“All right,” he said. “Now you’re talking.”