There was a song that often got stuck in his head. He'd hum to it while studying, he'd find it stuck in his head when he went to sleep. His father used to sing it, just milling around the house. He sang it while working on the car, while building shelves, while reading the newspaper. It was part of his childhood, so he sang it too. He remembered the lyrics, the sound of his father's voice while singing them.

"Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run. Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run. Bang, bang, bang, bang goes the farmer's gun. Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run run."

And run he did, wide-eyed and ears alert, as fast as he could muster. Like the rabbit he sang about. Run, rabbit, run! His heart pounded in his chest, breath stinging his lungs, blood warm against his skin.

There was no farmer with a gun but a wolf with savage teeth and a thirst for blood. His blood. One moment he was running and then the next the wolf's teeth were in him, dragging him down. To drown him. To kill him. In a matter of seconds, he was choking, drowning in his own blood, light fading from his eyes as he cried. As he died. Blood seeped into the thick forest floor with its bed of leaves and twigs, ready to welcome him back into the earth.

And that blood, which perhaps future poets would try to turn beautiful, never once was beautiful. It was only ever just red, spilled senselessly and without remorse. No justice for its being there, only the simple fact that it was and forever would be. Because there was no emotion in it, only raw nature, as if it were necessary.

The wolf, however, did not cry, nor did it feel remorse. It reveled in the end of the hunt with apathy, knife meeting flesh. It was, in fact, no wolf but a beast of a man, eager to kill, thrilled by the hunt, as if it was his only true nature. His lip curled when he grinned and he stood tall over his prey, breathing hard from exertion.

Running wouldn't do for the next one, the man thought. He was much too crippled to run after them like this. He'd gotten lucky this time. The poor, young man had tired himself quickly, leaving himself almost no energy to run. He would have much preferred that he'd tried to hide instead, like the last one. That was fun. And the gratification of outsmarting them gave him a rush he didn't know he needed. But there was no gratification in running. He could barely walk as it was.

With a huff, he knelt, putting his knife back into the young man's skin. He was still warm, very warm in fact, despite that his heart had stopped beating. No, running in fact would not do for the next one. He'd need to figure out a way to keep them from doing so.

Aptly, the man took hold of his victim's ankle, bringing his knife across the back of it. It was a clean cut, and he felt the tendon slack and recoil under his hand. Yes, that would do just fine for the next one.

He grinned in satisfaction, moving to pick the limp body up. "Now, to put you where you'll be found."

It had been Grant's idea in the first place. He and Tank had found it in the junkyard and brought it to the farm for General to see, who called Thunder and Diablo. It was raining that night, and quite windy.

With an orange extension cord pinched under his hood, Diablo ran it from the house to the barn, smoking out when he was safe and dry, handing the cord to General, who connected it to the black cord of the television. Grant pressed a button on the device and out came static. Thunder unfolded the antennae, the rabbit ears, and pointed them to the sky. Slowly, a picture began to form, and audible words came between the static. But it wasn't enough.

Thunder grabbed the antennae, putting one hand on the small television and holding the antennae up over his head. Finally, the audio and video cleared, and the Defects cheered. Tank and Grant were quick to huddle under a blanket and General and Diablo settled on the ground beside them, General taking a bite from a candy bar he'd procured.

With the effort they'd gone to just to get to this point, they had no real desire to change the channel. The movie being shown featured a crying woman with mascara running down her face. And she cried, wondering why her husband wouldn't love her the same as his mistress. Oh, the drama.

And it wasn't fifteen minutes into the discovery of this film that the little television suddenly shut off and there was a loud rumble of thunder from outside. A collective groan rose up and General ran back to the television, trying to turn it back on. But it was dead.

"Guess that's all it took," Thunder said, setting the antennae back down.

Diablo groaned. "Agh, now we'll never know what happened to Angela!"

It was then that Grant seemed to get yet another idea. "Hey, this town's got a movie theater, we could always go there!"

General stood, resting his hands on his hips. "We'd need money to get in."

"I… didn't think about that."

"Yeah, we've never really needed money for anythin' before. How would we even get some?" Tank asked.

"Maybe we could ask for some?"

"From who?" General asked.

Grant shrugged. "Didn't think about that, either."

"Alright, tell y'all what. Y'all obtain some funds legally," he shot a glare at Grant and Tank, "we'll go to the movies."

"Deal!" Grant exclaimed.

They seem to be off to a good start this New Year.

The floor was cold on his feet, the house still. It was still dark but the rain had stopped, leaving it quiet, undisturbed. It was nothing new. The old farmhouse tended to get quite cold in the winter, as there was no heat other than the fireplace. It wasn't commonly needed in the south. But it had snowed on Christmas and the temperatures had yet to increase.

Nevertheless, out he stepped into the frigid air, breath coming out in a white cloud. Aptly, he walked to the barn, guided by the yard light. The barn door creaked on ancient hinges as he opened it, peeking inside the dimly lit space.

Asleep in his stall was General, back in his Charger body. Bo'd found that Defects preferred to sleep like this in order to prevent discomfort. This way, they were neither too hot nor too cold, and the discomfort from any type of surface wouldn't bother them. To him, honestly, it sounded like a dream.

He rapped his knuckles on the orange hood and whispered. "General, you up?"

The car's engine started and there came a low rumble along with a groan. "Huh? Yeah."

"You wanna go for a drive?"

General yawned. "Sure."

Bo climbed through the window, settling in the driver's seat. General put himself into gear, rolling out of the stall and nudging the barn door open with his nose. He yawned again as he took off into the early morning, picking up speed down the road and cruising along the curves.

After a mile or two, General finally spoke up. "So what's with all of these early mornin' drives lately? Somethin' botherin' you, kid?"

It took a moment for Bo to answer. "Just feel like drivin', General."

"You ain't sleepin'?"

"Just drive."

General rumbled, pulling to the side of the road. He heard Bo sigh but knew he was doing what needed to be done. "You're worried about somethin', I can tell."

Bo sighed, sitting up straight in his seat, and resting an arm on the steering wheel. "Don't you think it's weird that we ain't seen hide nor hair of this Allen feller for some two-odd months now?"

"I'd think that'd be somethin' you'd be relieved about."

Bo shook his head. "It plum worries me. Makes me feel like he's gettin' closer somehow."

"You're paranoid," General rumbled. "And in your situation, I don't blame you one bit."

"General…"

General rumbled again, waiting for him to go on.

"If… if somethin' bad were to happen to me, d'you think you'd be okay?"

"I think you're forgettin' one thing."

"What?"

"If you die, I go with you, remember?"

Bo grinned. "Oh yeah, you're right."

"But I reckon we'd be okay, for one, I don't think anythin' bad's gonna happen. And two, I hear Heaven's nice this time of year."

Bo snorted in a laugh.

"But I tell you what, Uncle Jesse and Daisy would just get plum tore up if anythin' were to happen to you. So don't go and do nothin' stupid, ya hear?"

Bo was quiet for a moment. "And Luke?"

"I think we both know the answer to that one."

"I ain't so sure anymore."

"He just wants to protect you, Bo. I know he's got a poor way of showin' things sometimes but… all he wants is for you to be safe." General rumbled again and continued on down the road, a bit slower than before, however.

"Don't he understand that I ain't a kid no more?" Bo asked. "I mean, I think I know enough not to just go off and get myself killed."

"I don't think that's quite it, kid. I mean, this whole situation with Allen-"

"And it was his fault in the first place."

"Now, Bo, you can't go blamin' Luke for nothin', especially now. He feels bad enough."

"Then why won't he do nothin' to fix it? He just keeps pushin' me away then tries to justify it sayin' he's tryna protect me. Meanwhile, I gotta sit here and waste my life away thinkin' that some big, bad man, who, mind you, I've never even met, is just gonna one day come and take me away." Bo shook his head. "D'you know what it's like, General? To sit here day after day, and just wait to die?"

"Well, that's every day, ain't it? I mean, ain't none of us immortal, we all gotta die at some point, that's how the world works. It's just a matter of when and how. So, really nothin's changed. You could die at any minute for any number of reasons but you still go on as normal. The only difference is, you don't expect it."

"That supposed to make me feel better?"

"Yeah, actually."

"It wasn't half bad but, you understand why I feel like this? Right?"

"Of course I do, I'm just sayin' that maybe you should stop worryin', I mean, it's been this long, ain't it? If I'm bein' honest, I don't think the big, bad wolf's comin'."

"You promise not to tell any of our conversations to Luke? If he found out I was worryin' like this I bet he'd never even let me outta the house."

"I can't promise that, but I won't tell him for the time bein' if it makes you feel any better."

"Thanks, General."

They rode in silence for a moment, Bo enjoying the view of the rising sun over the county. That is until they were both startled by a big, black form hitting the windshield. General swerved and Bo jumped, finding it to have been a single crow. As the bird flapped away, cawing, Bo watched it curiously, finding it odd that the bird had gotten into such vicinity of the vehicle.

General rumbled again, watching the crow as well. "Y'know that old sayin', don't you? About the crows?"

"What?"

"One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a weddin', four for a birth. Five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told. Eight for a wish, nine for a kiss, ten a bird you should never miss. Eleven for health, twelve for wealth, thirteen beware the Devil himself."

Bo was quiet for a long moment. "How d'you know that?"

"Oh, I'm good at memorizin' stuff. It's part of me tryna learn how to read. I memorized that poem 'cause I thought it sounded cool."

Bo looked out the window, however, the bird was gone. "One for sorrow, huh?"

"Oh, so you're gettin' superstitious on me now?"

"I have the Devil livin' in my house, I think we're past superstitious."

General rumbled. "I dunno, when's the last time you saw thirteen crows?"

Again, Bo was quiet for a moment. "Touché."

"You ready to go home?" General asked, stifling another yawn.

"Couple more miles. Just to get my head clear."

"Alright, you talked me into it."

General sped up, driving off into the hills beneath the orange sky.