In a sudden explosion of movement, Blaylock whipped his pistol from its holster—fast despite the awkward fumbling across his body—and fired. The bullet tore through Randall's belly and out his back, grazing Lydia's hip as it flew. The youth crumpled with a groan. His fall revealed Lydia's silver-haired nemesis, standing c****d at an awkward angle, his right arm in a dirty sling. His left hand wavered and wobbled with the unaccustomed weight of the g*n, but at only a few paces, even the poorest shot would certainly not miss.
“You bastard!” Lydia cried. “How could you kill your own son?” This ends now! She lifted the stolen pistol and took aim at Blaylock's head, knowing as she did so that she'd never get him before he got her. So we both die. At least Addie will be all right. Time seemed t
