Page 54 of Toxic Apple Turnovers
“Never mind.”
“Both of you, in the bus.” The thug points wildly with the working end of that gun—mygun.
“You did it, didn’t you?” I say to him as Noah and I slowly back up. “You’re both a part of that gang. You were at the bank that day.”
“Good eye,” the snake tattoo man pipes up as he pulls out a gun of his own. Perfect. Two idiots with a gun apiece—and I thought a drunk sister was the last thing this night needed. “It’s nice to be recognized by a pretty lady. I bet it’d feel even better to be kissed.”
“Not happening,” Noah whispers for my ears only.
“Darn tootin’!” Greer shouts as she dives over the redhead and knocks him to the ground.
“Crap!” he calls out, and his friend jumps to his feet as Max begins to dissipate.
The tiny Chihuahuas attack, latching onto the gunman, making him stumble, and that ornery bear knocks him to the ground and takes a seat right over his lap.
A string of expletives roars from him as his friend heads over to help him up. That gun is still pointed sloppily in our direction, and my adrenaline hikes to unsafe levels.
“Noah, we only have a few seconds.”
“Both of you freeze!” Noah shouts so loud I’m sure everyone at the festival has just solidified in their tracks.
Greer heads over to the redhead and kicks the guns loose out of his hands. And then, just like that, her light begins to dim.
“Greer!” I shout just as she dissolves to nothing. “No, not Greer,” I whimper.
The squirrel takes over, picking up the weapon and bringing it my way. He gets just past the two men before evaporating into a plume of celestial dust.
The man with the pushed-in nose picks it right up again and aims it at us just as Dutch, the ever-faithful Golden Retriever, bounds onto him and wrangles it loose with his mouth.
“What the hell keeps happening?” the man shouts as his buddy crawls his way over. Dutch begins to fade, and a horrid sound emits from my vocal cords.
“Dutch!No!”
He turns my way with those burning coals for eyes and pants. I would bet anything he was smiling at me.
“Goodbye, Lottie. I love you.” It sounds so precious coming from his deep, husky voice. I want to memorize it and drink it down straight to my bones. I’d give anything to have Dutch with me forever.
Macon the Macaw appears. “Oh, Ms. Lemon,” he bemoans. “There are no talons stronger than those I possess.” He plucks the gun right out of the man’s hand and lands it in mine before he lets out an egregiously loud squawk.
The men roll on the ground, their hands fly in the air, but there’s still one gun unaccounted for, mine.
Cookie bounds up in all his dark, fluffy glory, translucent as he might be.
The man with the snake tattoo pats the ground under the bus.
“Cookie, get it!” I howl, but the man comes up victorious.
He points the gun our way, and an explosive sound detonates into the night. Both Noah and I exchange a glance. Cookie deflects his arm, and the shot shoots straight to heaven—and in a ball of brilliant light, so does Macon.
Cookie jumps up and goes for the jugular. He clamps his mouth over that tattooed snake, and the gun drops right out of the man’s hand.
I’m about to lunge that way, and Noah pulls me back. “We don’t need a hostage situation, Lottie.”
“He’s right,” a gentle, all too familiar voice bleats from behind, and I turn to find Nell walking forward.
“No,” I cry out. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
“Oh, Lottie. You’ll never truly lose me.” She walks right through me, right through the man on the ground, and picks up the gun from under the tire before walking over and laying it in my hand, where it rightfully belongs.