Page 68 of Every Which Way

Miller slid off the stool. “What’s going on?”

All around them, people started coughing. Doubled over, sputtering, and trying to breathe. Kenna watched them, trying not to panic. She slid her phone out and called 911, but she couldn’t say anything. They could use all the help they could get with this, so having every emergency department respond wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Roxanne glanced at Miller. “You always have the fries.”

But not today? That was the implication of her words—that and the fact this was happening to those who had eaten the fries. Like Kenna.

Miller said, “I didn’t have the stomach for food. When I knew this was coming?” He looked around. “What did you do to these people?”

Kenna cleared her throat. It didn’t alleviate the feeling that something was lodged there. She sucked in a long breath, keeping it easy. Getting as much air as she could. Freaking out wasn’t going to help anything.

“You’re going with them,” Miller said. “Because I can’t even look at you. I guess I’ll be here cleaning up this mess.”

“Yes, well,” Roxanne said, her accent back to British. Evidently, she didn’t feel the need to keep up the ruse now. “When you never see me again, perhaps you could ask these two where they’ve buried me. Leave some kind of marker so people can pay their respects.”

Kenna’s head swam. She needed more air than she was getting. She strode to the bartender and motioned for a drink. He gave her a bottled water, opening the cap for her.

Kenna handed over her phone, already connected to 911. He took the phone and spoke to the dispatcher.

The water had better help.She couldn’t think of anything else and didn’t want to have a tube shoved down her throat. She hadn’t eaten that many fries. Surely, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been otherwise. Not like some of the people in here. As she drank, she took in the whole roadhouse and the carnage from…it had to be poison.

Whatever Roxanne had introduced into the fries was causing people to collapse because they were unable to breathe.

“You’re murdering a room full of people,” Miller said, standing close to Roxanne.

She hadn’t moved, surveying her handiwork. Satisfied with herself.

“And for what?”

Roxanne turned to him, but only a fraction. “Because I can. Because my job is to slow you all down as much as possible.”

Ramon shifted, threat in every line of his body. He was going for his gun.

As he drew it out, Roxanne moved fast. Her arm flung out, and she tossed something at him.

She ran in front of Kenna toward a side door.

Ramon stiffened, his body jerking as a pocketknife embedded in his chest. Kenna dropped the bottle and went to him.

Miller sprinted after Roxanne. “I’ve got her.”

Kenna grabbed Ramon’s waist. The handle of the knife was at least three inches. It wasn’t long enough to be deep, but still… “You’ve been stabbed.”

He muttered something that didn’t sound good.

“You really do need to fix that language issue you have.” But he didn’t live by her tenets, so she wasn’t supposed to force him to an ideal she’d chosen, which he didn’t believe in. No one needed to be hit over the head with rules when they were missing the heart change that came with embracing the God who loved them.

Ramon spoke through gritted teeth. “Why are you crying?”

“I feel weird.” But the water must have helped since her throat was letting out just enough air for her to speak. She looked at the knife. “We should take that out. It’s hurting you.”

“It’ll hurt worse if you take it out.” He led her to a stool. “Sit.”

“I need my phone.” She twisted to the bartender. “We need…stuff. Things. For the…” She waved her hand.

He held out her phone. “Cops and ambulance are on the way. I’ll get the first aid kit for your boy here.”

“Thanks.” She had to brace herself on Ramon’s shoulder, or she was going to fall over.

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