Weston should of realized, of course, he was clever - 'Have you been itching?' That was what he should have asked May, that one question - but he had so much on his mind - between research and maneuvering within his family, his cattle and property, and of course scrappin'

"God damn, what did we get into!" Hunter cussed, and his eyes drifted again to the Red River, Weston's right behind them, the peculiar itch almost felt like he was being watched, and before he could ask Chase was running -

Weston stared at him, thought maybe he'd been stung, but he heard the sudden laughter - from the other two and they were chasing Chase, Weston started to run with them - they were younger. Not by much, but that's still what it was - the difference.

He watched Chase hopping, trying to unlace his boots without losing his lead, then Hunter shoved him, almost a tackle! Gage charged right past them both, his shirt already off, but they didn't have a chance. Weston's arms fired like pistons, the lead closing, his competitiveness like the whistling steam of a locomotive.

Then he was in the lead - past defeated groans, that distance was gone, down to his underwear and diving into the water, up for a breath before the next toe had made a splash - he stood, letting the water run down and soothe his skin.

"Damn." He heard an impressed voice, he was fast - and Weston floated on his back, pleased, looking down at his skin, searching, but the only welts were from scratching, red against his soft tan. He looked at the others, saw them poking at their own bodies - he saw Gage's back where it crested the water and shined in the late light that beckoned toward the closing day - it was perfect, not a mark or bite on it.

Hunter laughed, started to say - Weston swung his head to see a teasing grin pushed underwater as Chase dunked him, he came back up sputtering and coughing, wrestling each other, having fun - And -

He was suddenly rushing, splashing toward Gage before he'd realized it - he slowed, held back and Gage turned toward him.

He was different, more serious, or there was something -

But it, it wasn't that, because Gage had crouched, ready to lock with him - then stood erect, they weren't really friends, was that it?

'Friends are bullets.' Weston reminded himself - and he'd always agreed. Plentiful, cheap, useful for a purpose, they kept your hands clean, his father could explain, to be aimed - disposable. But -

"Idiots." Gage nodded at the two, grinning, Chase had Hunter, both hands on his friend's shoulders and was lifting and slamming the other's face into the water, taunting laughter.

"Fu-u-ck Y-oo-oo-u!" The coughing voice and Weston looked back, a glance at Gage - he shrugged, and Weston turned - Slam -

He was hit, shoved - to the water, felt his torso twist, and he wasn't ready. Distracted, and it was - he didn't -

He looked at his fist, and Gage, floating - the splash of water, the ripples pushed back from a bobbing, still body that had been grinning, a second -

"Gage!"

"God damn it!"

They were splashing over, not as fast - but Weston had him, scooped up and he was on the bank, laying him down, looking at the nose, broke, flattened - blood pouring out of it, rivulets that leaked down his strong face and across the rippling musculature, past the valley of his pecs, the ravines of his abs, to pool within his navel.

As bright as Grandmother's lipstick -

"No. I'm - I'm "

'A Covanger doesn't apologize.'

"Gage, Gage!" Hunter shouted, arriving, slapping the unconscious face with the concern of frantic friendship - hazel eyes fluttered open, met Weston's and he waited for the anger, but it was the unfocused, the dizziness, and he felt the shove, he'd been expecting it - this time from Chase, and it rocked him back, his hand muddy, it should have knocked him over from his crouch, he caught himself on the hard, the sturdy - leaning and held on -

"What the fuck!" Chase shouted with the push, not hard enough -Hit me, please - forgive me.

Don't -

Weston stared, he gaped, gasped - he'd been pushed, he -

"In the face!" Hunter swore, he turned away and spat, Weston watched the plug of tobacco bounce twice on the grass then still. He stared at it.

My pride is my strength.

Weston felt his hand move, the sun warmed rock he'd rested it on - he looked down and saw it on Gage's arm instead and blinked, followed the trail up to the only voice that had remained silent and found eyes that were clear now - blood not tears - Weston jerked his hand back.

'Bad blood. Nothing worse.'

Weston felt, felt suddenly angry, furious - at the need to explain, the words he wanted to -

Covanger pride - what was he doing? What, what -

They'd never forgive him, and he needed them, but he couldn't -

'Don't apologize.'

I didn't even take the ring off. This was wrong, Grandpappy, why can't I apologize - explain, it was an accident -

"It's cool." Gage's voice was tinny, strange. From a broken nose - it's cool.

"No." Weston whispered. Feeling it - hating it -

"Forget about it."

Forgiveness. Worse, Undeserved forgiveness! What a fool -

"No!" Chase stood up, huffing, chest out -

Look in the mirror -

Gage stuck his hand out, open, there was blood on it - to shake. To forgive him, unasked but offered...

Blood. Bad blood.

Hand held out, open - not a fist to punch back, to equalize, but for Weston to grab and he did, he clasped it, cupped fists, together, thumbs locked, flesh and blood and gold - they even shake hands wrong. Still, he moved his hand up and down, could see Hunter's face still furious - throw his arms up and put them on his head - in disbelief?

"Help him up you idiot!"

"Oh shit!" Weston pulled Gage up and felt an arm go around his back, the crush, with just their fists between the rest, he felt two hard thunks - hits, punches delivered to his back, solid. Felt blood trickling, dripping onto his shoulder -

"I get it." Gage whispered, "Later."

What? You have no idea -

And then it was just a breeze touching him and he was no closer to understanding, wouldn't have time to because a wound opened up in the world, and that itching, that unseen blister that was forming and so briefly forgotten - it popped.

All four of them let out a keening, harsh breath and if the tension was still there it was nothing compared to that feeling of wrongness, Weston reached for his clothes, but - the others, the others were running -

"Hickory!" Hunter shouted it, and they left everything, sprinting, and the name, how obvious it was, and Weston was running, too - to what, where? Danger? It felt like danger...What were they going to do?

The sun seemed to cough, the evening that was creeping took another step, the sick stick that was the feeling of unease now cracked, and a vulgar dimness occluded the light -

He'd frozen, staring at the Sun high in the sky, it should have hurt his eyes but it was like a filthy pair of sunglasses had been shoved over his face, the grime he saw on the horizon - and he heard the clicking -

"Swap the batteries!" Doors thrown open, popping the hood, he looked - their truck, sometimes it didn't start - Chase had a battery on a rope, like a basket and a wrench, running out front and throwing up the hood - Gage sat in the drivers seat, blood smeared all over his face like a red skin to war, and Hunter was in the back seat, searching -

"Get in!" Weston yelled, throwing his arm up and scooping them toward his own truck - as he ran again, waving like an air traffic controller because that darkness was bubbling, gurgling - gross and smoky, that it felt like something was coming.

The battery was dropped, they left the doors open, the truck abandoned and he saw - Chase had a bat, Hunter - a rifle, of course, and Gage - a pump shotgun, ammo bags -

And their underwear - that's it, even him - he realized, as they piled into his truck, he smashed the start button, a purring ignition -

"Fuck, this is nice you rich prick." Hunter said, "Doubt you can even drive -" Weston gunned it, felt Hunter's face smack into the back of his head rest and rapped the brakes -Thunk- a donut, spinning and the overdrive flicked, he four wheeled the fuck out of there, onto the road, the loudest sound was Hunter fumbling for a seatbelt, unless you could hear Weston's smile, Gage's grin -

The three were looking, up and out, to the right - and Weston realized, he too felt something - he tried to guess, where -

"The fountain-" Gage's nasal voice had Weston gritting his teeth - he'd seen him raise his fingers up twice to it in a pinch, to what? John Wayne that shit?

-Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-

"Faster."

"Faster!"

"Not that fast!!!"

-Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-

"Fuck me."

The roads were empty, the vehicles they saw were pulled over, drivers looking at phones, at the sky.

Faster.

Reaching for his phone, of course - he'd left it, too.

Faster.

"Holy fuck." Gage's whisper whined like a weed eater -

"What? What?" Weston demanded, keeping his eyes on the road, watching houses, telephone poles whip by, the broken yellow line was solid at this speed -

"Bats. Big fucking bats." Hunter said with fearful awe - as Gage rolled down his window -

"What are you -"

-Bam-

"Jesus-"

-Bam-

"Christ-"

- Bam - Bam - Bam -

"You almost killed-"

"Got one!"

-Bam-

"This is got to be some of the stupidest coon skin wearing, moonshine shit ever!" Weston screamed at them, slowing down, still holding onto the wheel and correcting the fish tail the shot gun surprise had sent him into, "Fucking warn me you fucking idiots!"

"Can't aim." Gage muttered.

"You never could!"

"Fuck you, my nose is broke." The words honked, and Hunter chuckled.

How could he aim at all, at this speed? Then Weston realized it was a shotgun and that meant - he saw them. Huge, hideous bats - shadowed creatures, like those flying monkeys - he'd had nightmares from those monkeys, as a child, seeing them rip that scarecrow apart...

"Watch where yer going!" Hunter shouted, and Weston spun his head back to the road, corrected with the thunk, it was just a mailbox, he'd fix it later -

"Fifty - sixty?"

"Stop!" -Screeeeeeeech- "It's Hickory!"

Weston had been on autopilot, but now - now his brain had caught up to what they were doing, what were they doing? The truck lurched, Gage reaching over him raining on the horn, Hunter shouting, "Hickory! Hickory!"

And in his rear mirror he saw him leap - a blur and thud in the back of his truck - a pounding on the roof of his cab, "Go!" Hickory shouted.

Weston took his foot off the break, and with a kid standing -

-Bam- -Bam-

Shooting - He was going -

"Go, God damn it!" Hickory yelled, and the fist that hit the cab was louder then the gun reports, denting it in, like he'd used a hammer and not his hand - What the fuck!

But Weston gunned it. Hickory gunned it, too -

-Bam- -Bam-

Gage fumbled with shells, reloading, flicking them into the hatch with his thumb, and he could smell the hot powder, feel Hunter's hands twisting on the shoulders of his seat, his panting breath as he shouted directions, navigated short cuts -

-Bam- -Bam-

All while Hickory surfed the truck bed, standing and shooting -

"Cut left up here!" Hunter pointed.

There's no road -

"I'm going too fast -

"Cut!" Hunter said reaching forward and grabbing the wheel, pushing it and Weston had to swing or just careen into a classroom, then they were bouncing the curb, tearing through the flowers and over the lawn, Weston felt his breath, hot and panting, Hunter eased his grip off the wheel and he was driving again - through the school, tearing up the lawn -

The bats, they were swooping at the Font, but he could see them smashing against a barrier, only visible in that quick contact, that force, there was a puff of smoke where it cracked like lightening and he could see it shrinking from the blows, smaller after each strike -

-Bam- -Bam-

And he was slowing as they neared, not a full brake but he heard the thud anyway, thought Hickory had slammed, the next two quick beats against his roof, and then he saw boots floating, three - five, ten feet before the parabola -

"What the hell."

Hickory had wings, of light - that was the thought, seeing Hickory soar overhead, into the thick mess of creatures that were now swarming him, too - and the bright light that extended out to his left, his right - but no, it was a sword, flashing in wide arcs so quick the afterimage looked like wings, the monkey-bats exploded in a gust of billowy black smoke around him, splashed with oily entrails - Hickory's neck whipped, and a darting jab took another that popped -

A sawed off shotgun hewed down to just a pistol grip in his left came up, the butt looked like it had been cut away with a scalpel, shaved clean - stained only with black ichor. Hickory was spinning, swiping with jumps of demolishing power, his left hand flicked and the gun opened, the shells, like small fireworks that celebrated his kills, but a grand finale was needed because there were so many more -

A dark wing, a claw caught Hickory's back, his attention had wavered, reaching for shells from a ragged bandolier of torn cloth and sliding them into the open barrel that rested on his shoulder, he swung his sword in front but it was from behind they hit - Hickory was dive bombed and slammed - By God!

Vampire bats!

It latched on, Weston could see the inky shadow pulsing like a jellyfish, slurping at Hickory's neck as though it was sucking him in, and with each swallow it grew! He could see the outline of radiance pulled out and into the monster!

It wasn't just fear that had him frozen, it was - it was the absolute impossibility of what was happening, his door was cracked open, one foot out - gunfire, it was a war zone. Hunter knelt at the fountain using it as a brace to aim, the shield it provided - Gunfire from Gage wading into the swarm, and Chase was swinging, on the back of the truck, bouncing up and down on his roof - denting it further, his cab thundering with his bare feet - his bat thunking with heavy wetness.

Sweet Child of Mine played low on his speakers, and the world was ending. He was in his underwear, wet, his friend's blood still on him. Bullets -

His mind felt as cluttered as the scrap he'd used his truck to haul as he watched Hickory slay demons, like he was chasing butterflies with a willow stick, and there was just no making sense of anything and maybe he would have stayed in that truck forever, stayed in that state forever - if it wasn't for Gage.

"I'm out!" Gage shouted, and - Weston wasn't sure why that snapped him back to reality, but when he did snap, they were losing - the full flock had descended, like ravens - A Murder -

It was as if the winged beasts heard the announcement - felt the pulse of sudden fear that had to be there, Weston watched as a handful pulled out from their dive at the Font and were now careening for Gage.

Out of shells, Bullets - he was away from the shielding, he'd gotten too far from Hickory -

Gage saw them, too, his eyes were wide in that fight or flight, his face removed from all other concerns as whatever process his subconscious underwent to analyze - Weston saw the smallest of nods - not fear. What then?

He didn't run, looked at his shotgun, then brought it up like a baseball bat, and -

'Friends are bullets.'

And suddenly Weston's world shifted, like some of that bright radiance from Hickory's sword had reached him, had cut away a misunderstanding and he saw his Grandpappy, not in that rich painting, wearing oil baron blacks as his family now did, but on the frontier.

Dangerous - living in the Wild West, where attacks from natives, bandits, bears, mountain lions - not alone, no man could live like that alone.

Working day after day - in the heat, building cattle fencing, not just claiming the land but taming it -

Had Grandpappy ever worn that look? Had it ever paralleled Gage's hazel eyes? As his shotgun became next to useless, as he swung it back anyway prepared to face this diving death head on - How much is a bullet worth? Right then - when it was all that stood between a man and his life, a man and what he cared for more than his life...

'Friends are bullets -"

His bullets - And he suddenly felt something more important than fear, how could he not - when he was safe in here, when his friend felt none, facing death, stood strong - how could he feel anything but Proud? To know such a man? To call him friend -

Weston's dangling foot kicked, the driver's door whistled back, slammed, the window exploded in glass confetti, and if he was a locomotive earlier? It was steam and busted, because now it was Covanger Oil that pumped through his veins, and he was burning with it - that fuel, that fire.

Like Hickory's sword, but every inch of Weston was Covanger, and the swirling, diving monsters shrieked as they encountered his proud fire, his body, as he intercepted and swiped and slapped, swung and slid - kicking, flipping, and punching - Because he did know how to fight, maybe not scuffle, not tenderize like they did, but fight? Kill?

And kill he did! Because as he found himself running to Gage - to have his back, as he punched out and hit the monster that would have got his friend, felt his hand connect, felt his spirit soar with the pride of his actions - that contact was like flint and steel -

That bare fisted assault sparked a conflagration. The flame that Weston had believed to be there - became! And fire whooshed across his body -

Bats exploded like a child's birthday wish, pinatas torn apart, their insidious insides sprayed out, but only if he could hit hard enough - hard enough to break through the rubbery thickness of their hide, whatever armor that kept them whole - if just a fingernail made it past they were pumped with his fire, they burst like a zit -

Gage was cleared first and then Weston was wading into the thick, limited only by his reach but he could jump - jump and grab them, sear them - five, six feet off the ground and his hands wrapped, he was tearing, twisting, incinerating with a violence that defied any sensibility - the grass was his trampoline, and then - then he was panting and searching but the only movement was a tickling flame over his eyes -

A proud blue flame, not invisible, the others looked at it - it wasn't hot like fire, but almost cozy - almost smug? No, it was just pride and that it kept his chin up, that Crown that he now balanced?

As the adrenaline, the need - passed, or perhaps just exhaustion, he felt the flames recede, lick back up his bare feet, his legs, his fingers as though sucked back into that mental reservoir - where finally they only crested his head, became a ring of candles before snuffing out...

He'd felt so much power, like it had been a drug, it had made him stronger, faster, perhaps even fiercer.

And looking at Hickory now? No wonder Weston had lost their previous duel, would probably still lose, Hickory was also coated in something, a barrier of blue hidden beneath the oily gore - it had been burnt away on Weston, but seemed to float on Hickory, held just away from his skin by whatever power he had at call.

"God damn." Hunter sagged coming over, breathing heavy more from relief then exertion, the ringing in Weston's ears from the gunshots gradually faded, only the wails of horns, of sirens - shocked voices approaching, dichotomous - he saw that people had been attracted, some came with guns, either following the shadowy eruption as they had, or just heard the rapports, others had fought?

The world felt still, his truck looked like it'd been through a hail storm, vandalized. Shattered glass from his window, grass and mud from the torn turf of his and Hickory's kicks and jumps. Bullet casings, shell wadding, dents on the roof, friends, in the middle of it all -

Yet how small they must look? Hickory, the smallest by far but at least clothed, leaning over to take a drink from the Font. The thick black oily gunk exploded off his barrier in a smoky haze as he sipped.

They all drank heavily, felt themselves cleaned, restored - Weston heard a pop, turned to see Gage pinched his nose with a strange look in his eye, the bleeding had long ceased, he drank again -

Did it heal him?

Weston tried thinking about that - and more importantly what he should do, of everything he needed to say and ask Hickory - all his plans, his machinations - except now everything felt so unimportant. They'd just been under attack...and so it was like a zombie that they moved back to the truck where they sagged in silent disbelief -

He felt Hickory look at him, his eyes passed over the others and landed between him and Gage, where they had sagged against the wheels, their shoulders touched and both of them too tired, too occupied to care -

Maybe it was more then that - Weston had friends now. They'd fought together - and that was something - he'd fought with Hickory, that once more it was like another barrier had crumbled, that there was a vulnerability not exposed here, but offered. Shared.

It was different now, wasn't it? Before it was them fighting against each other for May, against each other for control of the Font, the Book - but today, they had fought together - for everything...

'When you fight for something, you fight for everything...'

"My bad on that, I reckon, must have missed that one." Hickory said, "Thanks for the help."

"You've fought them before?"

Hickory nodded -

He'd been fighting this whole time? Alone?

"Why'd ya not say nothin?" Hunter asked, "We'd a given you a hand."

"I wasn't sure anybody else could see 'em. They normally ain't running about, they den up, easier to kill that way, really."

"Fuckin stupid." Gage said as he tapped his dip can - the rest of them nodded, including Hickory. How was he not even tired? Weston felt that while the violence still hung - the sky was clear, he kept himself from shivering - held onto the taciturn demeanor.

The others, aside from eyes, surprised, nearly white, wide in still bated disbelief, they slouched and relaxed as the pressure of the moment passed. Gage kept his dip can out while Hickory eyed it in what seemed some longstanding challenge - where he waited to be offered, and Gage waited to be asked.

"So you're the pretty one after my supper." Hickory said, snatching the can with a swipe, he turned to Weston and raised his eyebrows twice at him - Hunter cracked up -

"Careful, Hick. He's sensitive."

What?

"What?"

"Well ain't that nice, now you don't have to be the pussy all the time, Hunter."

Weston felt himself leave the relaxed slouch, getting up, standing straight, Hickory flicked his eyes over, grinning - Weston looked back, had to look down, near a foot and a half shorter - none of them stopped him, nobody said chill, and he could feel it. Hickory would fight right now, wanted to - for fun. It wasn't like before, it wasn't purposeful, it wasn't needed, or formal, but - why not?

Not on the face, that grin said, and he'd learned - been taught by this group of -

Was he sensitive?

This wasn't his world, he was bred for a board room, but his stock - Weston thought again of that great man, Grandpappy, and he wondered...how much had been lost - the sayings, the scripture, how much had been interpreted incorrectly, he'd never known his father to fire a gun, not in desperation, how could they understand?

The value of a bullet -

Hickory held his hand out - "Pardon me, Weston, I didn't mean to trample all over your fee-"

He punched Hickory in the gut.