PART TWO

CHAPTER ONE

"Can you shoot a slingshot?" Ben asked me, quietly, so as not to wake the others.

After Bill had woken up yesterday, we had decided to go to Mike's Safe Spot, because smoke was still drifting around inside the clubhouse, and Mike's spot was the closest.

"Don't know," I replied. "I've only ever shot arrows."

We had grabbed everything we needed. I had attached my quiver to my hip and had balanced the bow across my chest, leaving my hands free. The others had left the food and drinks, but they had grabbed everything else that seemed necessary that could not be found at the house. By the time we were ready, the sun was slowly setting.

"I guess an arrow might work," Ben mused aloud, half to himself, and half to me, "but it would have to be dipped in silver, I think."

Our casual walk had turned into a mad sprint when Bill reminded us that, while it would take all day for It to bury Its dead, all bets were off for the night. The sun was half-hidden behind trees, and we were only, according to Mike, halfway there.

"Is a silver-dipped projectile really going to kill It?" I asked.

By the time the house came into view, night had fallen completely. And we could all sense that It was coming. So we ran even faster.

"It almost did last time," he replied. "If we'd had one more shot, then we could've saved ourselves a lot of trouble."

No matter how fast It was, we could have made it easily into that house at the rate we were going. But Eddie, who had never run this far this fast before, combined with his terror of It, simply passed out while running. His hands flew up instinctively, breaking his fall, but he did not get up.

"Does it have to be from a slingshot, do you know?" I asked Ben.

Bill had stopped first, and Richie almost plowed into him. We had all stopped then, all of us panting for breath. Bill turned and ran back to Eddie, and then lifted him, as Richie had lifted Bill himself last night, holding under his knees and supporting his back. Eddie's head lolled back.

"If you can shoot arrows with more accuracy then any of us with a slingshot, then you should probably do that," Ben said. "I'm almost positive that that will work just as well. It's the silver that counts."

We had resumed running then, all of us slowing down for Bill. We could here It now, and we knew that It was closing in. Still, no one had run any faster. Stan, for just a second, had looked ready to sprint, but he had stayed behind with the rest of us. I wondered, briefly, if our second interlude with It would be here and now.

"Are you expecting me to shoot?" I asked.

I was the first to see It. One of the two remaining, at least. For me, it had always been the phantom figure, nothing that could be brought down or killed. But now, it looked like an animal. Richie had started gibbering then,

(oh god, it's the werewolf)

but to me, it just looked like prey. My bow, already strung, was off my chest in a heartbeat, and an arrow was strung just as fast. Get going! I had shouted to the others. I shot, strung another, shot again, strung another, shot. I heard one make contact, and then It was gone. But not gone, though… just changing form. It was then that I ran to catch the others.

"It might be you," Ben responded. "It's mainly whoever can shoot the best. It was Bev last time, by a long shot. None of us were really good at it. Bev had a shot that none of us could match."

The Losers were already there, and they had the doorway open. I heard the phantom's swish as It closed in, and I thought that I was dead for sure. I was calm, though. I knew I had accomplished my purpose, that I had done what the turtle had sent me to do, and I could die knowing that maybe, I had made a difference. Saved a life or saved the world.

"How are we going to test that?" I asked. "Are we going to shoot in the house?"

As it closed in, the others, grouped at the doorway, had shouted for me to dive. It had sounded absurd, them shouting dive! dive! just like in a baseball game or something, and I had to fight down hysterical laughter as I propelled off of the second-to-last step on the porch, diving for the doorway, one hand stretched out. I knew that I was not going to make it.

"Yes, probably. I guess the lady who lives here won't mind, knowing we had done it to save Derry, possibly the world."

I landed half inside, and half out. The Losers had grabbed my hands and arms, and I felt It's grip tighten on my ankle.

"And the silver? Where's that going to be coming from?"

It started gnawing on my foot, the same foot, and I had shouted to it then: you got some kind of fucking foot fetish? let me alone

"I found a couple sets of earrings. I already checked them out, they're pure silver. And Mike said last night that he saw a blowtorch in the garage, so we can melt them down."

My fear had turned entirely to rage, and I think that that was the reason It hesitated, why It's grip loosened just enough for The Losers to pull me through.

"Is the garage safe?"

It had dug in deeply this time, and I had wrapped it up in a bandage that Mike had found in the lady-who-lived-here's bathroom cabinet. I could just walk on it, but it did hurt.

"I'm not sure, but if It can get onto the porch alright, I think anything outside the main house should be considered unsafe."

The night previous, we had found food for dinner in the pantry, and we all slept in the same room, the living room. Bill and Eddie had shared one of those beds that were folded into the couch, Stan had slept on the couch adjacent to the first one, and the rest of us had pulled out sleeping mattresses and sleeping bags. I had fallen asleep quickly, but I imagined that the others had stayed up later, probably talking with each other. The next morning, before anyone besides Ben and I had woken, he had crept soundlessly to me, and had asked me if I could shoot a slingshot.

"Then I guess once Mike wakes up, I can get him to go and get the blowtorch."

"God, this is like a bad dream," Ben said quietly. "I just keep expecting to wake up, but I just don't."

"I know what you're talking about," I said quietly. "It feels so surreal when I wake up, like maybe it was all a dream, like maybe I'm still dreaming now."

Ben sighed. "Well, the others will be up soon, and we can talk about what to do then."

I looked over at the others, all sleeping, and felt another wave of unreality hit me then. This was like being in a movie, or a book, maybe. The way things were happening all seemed so pre-planned that it was scary.

As my gaze fell over Eddie, he turned over in his troubled sleep. He seemed to be having nightmares again. He suddenly shouted out and woke up, waking everyone else up, too.

Bill, his instincts having been sharpened to a deadly point by now, threw himself away from the noise, over and off the bed, nearly landing on Richie, who had pulled out a mattress next to the bed the previous night. His arm was promptly tangled in Richie's sleeping bag, which Richie then forced his way out of.

"Now Bill," Richie said, sounding much calmer then he had any right to be, having just been startled awake, "We discussed this already. I just don't like you like that."

"Eat sh-shit and d-die," Bill said lightheartedly as he wrenched his arm free. We all laughed at that. I was amazed that we still could laugh. Even Eddie was laughing now, although shakily, nearly hyperventilating. He reached for his aspirator. No one asked him about his dream, but accepted it and moved on.

"Gonna get some breakfast," Beverly murmured after a minute as she stood up and walked in to the kitchen. We all stood up and followed her, all except for Big Bill and Eddie. We raided the pantry, the cupboards, and the refrigerator until we had found something we wanted to eat. It was mostly cereal and junk we had pulled out, but Beverly had found some canned peaches, and was searching the cabinets for a can opener.

I could here Bill and Eddie talking, Eddie, sounding shaky but mostly okay, and Bill, sounding as confident as ever. Just as Beverly had found the opener and had started sawing off the top of the can, they stopped talking.

"What…" Eddie asked, and trailed off. There were suddenly footsteps, running towards the kitchen. Bill appeared at the doorway, panting slightly.

"What h-h-happened?" he asked, his eyes wide and shocked.

"Nothing," Mike answered, confused. "Nothing hap-"

His reassurance was cut of when Beverly screamed. Her left hand was suddenly coated in blood, and the jagged side of the can's lid clattered to the floor.

"Wh-what happened?" Bill asked frantically again, this time to Beverly.

"Cut my fingers off, oh God, I cut my fucking fingers off…"

This was an exaggeration. Although the blood had coated her hand too thickly to tell much of anything, there were obviously no missing digits. All the same, the way the blood spurted up was very unnerving, and I wondered if there were veins in fingers, if she could bleed to death just from a cut finger. But it slowed after about another ten seconds (as it did, Eddie appeared at the doorframe and hovered there, looking pale and worried about whatever had just happened), and stopped flowing after thirty. Ben, who had bolted out after just few seconds, returned with bandages, similar to the one I was wearing on my foot. He wordlessly took Beverly's hand, looked it over, took her to the sink, washed her hand off (grimacing when she cried at the pain), and wrapped her first two fingers with the bandage.

"Thank you, doctor Benjamin," Beverly said shakily when he had finished.

"You're going to be okay," he said, smiling, falling neatly into a doctor role, "Just stay off it for two weeks."

"You knew," Stan said to Bill accusingly. "You ran in before she cut herself."

"We both heard her scream, and Bill ran in," Eddie said, still standing at the doorway.

Bill seemed about to add something to that, but that's when Its face appeared in the kitchen window. It was, again, a clown, as it often appeared to be when the entirety of the Losers was together.

"Did someone get a cut?" It asked in Its mocking, false-concern voice. Eddie squeaked and ran behind Bill. "Hiya Eddie!" It cried out cheerfully. "You got away once, but don't worry, it won't happen again!" Eddie trembled violently and paled even more then he had before. The others seemed set and grim, and they all stood up and walked to Bill's side. I, too, got up and joined them.

Two things suddenly dawned on me. The first that while It couldn't actually get in here, It could still make bad things happen. That's what It does; make bad things happen. The second was that the only thing keeping It at bay was our belief that It wouldn't come in, combined with some sort of magic of each place that had always been special to one of us. But the magic of the places was fading now (I had no reason for believing this but my own intuition, and maybe something from the turtle), especially since this was only one of the special places to one of us, to Mike. The magic was only being held intact by our own beliefs. At this point, if a door opened, or if a window was lifted as little as an inch, then It could enter. And It would kill us.

The second thought was important now, the first came back to haunt us later.

Bill, muttering darkly, walked across the kitchen and grabbed several knives from the knife rack. He turned and was about to throw one through the window, but I ran and caught his wrist before he could let fly.

"L-let me g-g-go, S-Sara," he said furiously.

"Bill, if you break that window, It's going to get in."

"C'mon, bucko!" Pennywise shouted from outside. "Free shot!" Pennywise then threw his head grotesquely to the left and back, leaving a perfect shot at his neck.

"A knife can't kill Pennywise," I said, trying to ignore It, trying to get Bill to ignore It. "A knife is only going to open the window for It." I looked out, and It had somehow placed a target symbol on Its neck.

"Who are you going to believe?" I asked. "Me or that clown?"

Bill, shaking with fury, slowly lowered his hand. For a second, I thought he would bring it up again and fire the knife off before I could do anything about it, but it stayed down.

Richie, who, along with the others, had simply been watching the banter, suddenly ran forwards, and began speaking in one of his voices, one that I had never heard before.

"Now why don't you just run along now," he said in a fussy, rushed voice. "We've got some work to do, plans to make, and other important things to do none of which include you, so chop-chop now!" he said. Voices cannot pierce glass, but it did pierce Pennywise's ears. He clutched his ears, sunk below sight line, and then It was gone.

"What kind of Voice was that?" Ben asked.

"Dunno," said Richie, sounding every bit as perplexed as we all did. "Just popped out."

Secretly, I thought that that one sounded like a parent, or some sort of powerful authority. Whatever it was, it had done the trick. It was gone, and It was not coming back, at least, not for a while.

"Please don't tell me you're left-handed," I said quietly to Beverly. I had been trying to find something to say that would take attention away from It. Bill still looked about ready to beat the shit out of something, Eddie still looked on the verge of passing out, and Stan was now sitting quietly in a corner, gazing out vacantly, as though refusing to believe in any of this. I was hoping that I would bring hope to the Losers, with half of them so dispirited, figuring that the odds were good that she was not, and that that would remind everyone that she could still shoot, that everything was still in check. However, I realized a half-second after I had said that that It had done this, and It had aimed to cause as much damage as possible. Duh, of course she was left-handed.

I was not surprised when she looked away, and nodded. "Yes, I am."

"Can you shoot right-handed?" Ben asked, probably, too, attempting to bring some life back into this place.

"I'm not too good at it," she said. "But I can try."

"Let's give it a shot," Mike said. I looked up at him and realized that he had been drawing something with a pencil and a sheet of paper, his breakfast since finished. He lifted one up and showed it to us. It was a target symbol, with alternating gray and white stripes.

Everyone looked at it thoughtfully, all except for Bill. He glanced up once, looked away, but then took a double take, eyes wide.

"Wuh-why'd you d-draw…" his voice trailed off as he stared at the makeshift target.

"To shoot at, Bill," Mike said apprehensively, after he saw that Bill was not going to finish his question.

Bill blinked rapidly, closed his eyes, shook his head, and looked at it again in confusion. "N-never mind," he said slowly. "Let's sh-shoot."