Page 117 of Not Mine to Rescue

“Molly, drop it!” I yelled.

Surprisingly, she followed my order. Wombat pulled her away and fell into a sitting position against the wall.

Winter looked up at me, then straightened. She pointed the gun at both Wombat and Molly. “Say goodbye to everything you love.”

I didn’t think.

Or maybe I did.

But that’s the way it would play on the witness stand.

In reality, I knew she was telling the truth. She tightened her finger on the trigger of that gun. I ran at her and swung that book at her face with all my might. It caught her near the jawline, but the mass and force of my upswing snapped her head back. The gun went off.

Winter tipped backward and her head slammed into the corner stud between the stove and a closet where Wombat had a stacked washer and dryer alcove.

Her eyes fixed on me.

The gun in her hand fell to the floor.

I held the book ready for another swing. Hell, a thousand more.

One eye fell shut. She slurred her words. “You bitch.”

“Bitch? No. You’re the bitch. I bet you burned his barn down didn’t you?”

She laughed but it turned into a wheeze that died.

I still held the book ready for another swing. I wanted to take that book and grind her face into pulp. Mens rea means “guilty mind.” I finally understood there was no guilt about it. Only red hot murder.

“Wombat, what the fuck? I heard a gunshot.” Fly ran in with Lemon on his heels. I heard them, felt them hustling through the house, but kept my eyes fixed on Winter.

“Get Molly. I’ve got ’Bat.”

Fly’s words forced me to turn. The book became a lead weight in my hands. Blood pooled on the floor. “She shot them?”

“Shot Wombat for sure. I think Molly might have gotten hit, too.” Fly rolled Wombat over, he still clung to my shivering, whimpering dog. Molly crawled up his body and nuzzled her snout near his face. She did that to me after nightmares. Now she was comforting⁠—

The book fell to the floor. Papers spilled out and slid into the blood. I rushed over to my phone and dialed as quickly as I could.

“Nine-one-one, please state the address of the emergency.”

I rattled off the location. Then added, “There has been a shooting. We need emergency assistance for a gunshot wound. The victim is a white male twenty-five years old. An animal was injured as well. The shooter is a white female, age approximately twenty to twenty-five, blond hair, wearing a dark gray hoodie, dark jeans. Send emergency assistance immediately. I repeat, shooting victim is alive but needs emergency assistance now.” Then I hung up.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” Fly accused me with his glare.

“He needs an ambulance.”

Lemon begged Fly to move his hand so she could see the wound, and immediately pressed it back down again with an order to, “Press hard.”

Molly was still clinging to him. There was blood between their bodies.

“Is Molly okay?” I asked Lemon.

“You know the cops are going to blame Wombat for this? Or me. Fuck!” Fly’s expletive and subsequent force pressing down on Wombat made him moan.

“Dude, not so hard, you’re breaking my ribs.”

“Your sister said press hard. What the fuck am I supposed to do, asshole, let you bleed out?”