It

still sounding more than a little like a human bull, Henry said, ‘I got bones to pick with a lot of you, but I can let that go for today. I want that nigger. So you little shits buzz off.’
‘Right!’ Belch said smartly.
‘He killed my dog!’ Mike cried out, his voice shrill and breaking. ‘He said so!’
‘You come on over here right now,’ Henry said, ‘and maybe I won’t kill you.’
Mike trembled but did not move.
Speaking softly and clearly, Bill said: ‘The B-Barrens are ours. You k-k-kids get out of h-here.’
Henry’s eyes widened. It was as if he’d been slapped unexpectedly.
‘Who’s gonna make me?’ he asked. ‘You, horsefoot?’
‘Uh-Uh-Us ,’ Bill said. ‘We’re through t-t-taking your shit, B-B-Bowers. Get ow-ow-out.’
‘You stuttering freak,’ Henry said. He lowered his head and charged.
Bill had a handful of rocks; all of them had a handful except Mike and Beverly, who was only holding one. Bill began to throw at Henry, not hurrying his throws, but chucking hard and with fair accuracy. The first rock missed; the second struck Henry on the shoulder. If the third had missed, Henry might have closed with Bill and wrestled him to the ground, but it didn’t miss; it struck Henry’s lowered head.
Henry cried out in surprised pain, looked up . . . and was hit four more times: a little billet-doux from Richie Tozier on the chest, one from Eddie that ricocheted off his shoulder –blade, one from Stan Uris that struck his shin, and Beverly’s one rock, which hit him in the belly.
He looked at them unbelievingly, and suddenly the air was full of whizzing missiles. Henry fell back, that same bewildered, pained expression on his face. ‘Come on, you guys!’ he shouted. ‘Help me!’
‘Ch-ch-charge them,’ Bill said in a low voice, and not waiting to see if they would or not, he ran forward.
They came with him, firing rocks not only at Henry now but at all the others. The big boys were grubbing on the ground for ammunition of their own, but before they could gather much, they had been peppered. Peter Gordon screamed as a rock thrown by Ben glanced off his cheekbone and drew blood. He backed up a few steps, paused, threw a hesitant rock or two back . . . and then fled. He had had enough; things were not done this way on West Broadway.
Henry grabbed up a handful of rocks in a savage sweeping gesture. Most of them, fortunately for the Losers, were pebbles. He threw one of the larger ones at Beverly and it cut her arm. She cried out.
Bellowing, Ben ran for Henry Bowers, who looked around in time to see him coming but not in time to sidestep. Henry was off-balance; Ben was one hundred and fifty trying for one-sixty; the result was no contest. Henry did not go sprawling but flying. He landed on his back
and skidded. Ben ran toward him again and was only vaguely aware of a warm, blooming pain in his ear as Belch Huggins nailed him with a rock roughly the size of a golf ball.
Henry was getting groggily to his knees as Ben reached him and kicked him hard, his sneakered foot connecting solidly with Henry’s left hip. Henry rolled over heavily on his back. His eyes blazed up at Ben.
‘You ain’t supposed to throw rocks at girls!’ Ben shouted. He could not remember ever in his life feeling so outraged. ‘You aint — ‘
Then he saw a flame in Henry’s hand as Henry popped the wooden match alight. He touched it to the thick fuse of the M-80, which he then threw at Ben’s face. Acting with no thought at all, Ben struck the ashcan with the palm of his hand, swinging at it as one would swing a racket at a badminton birdie. The M-80 went back down. Henry saw it coming. His eyes widened and then he rolled away, screaming. The ashcan exploded a split-second later, blackening the back of Henry’s shirt and tearing some of it away.
A moment later Ben was hit by Moose Sadler and driven to his knees. His teeth clicked together over his tongue, drawing blood. He blinked around, dazed. Moose was coming toward him, but before he could reach the place where Ben was kneeling, Bill came up behind him and began pelting the big kid with rocks. Moose wheeled around, bellowing.
‘You hit me from behind, yellowbelly!’ Moose screamed. ‘You fuckin dirtyfighter!’
He gathered himself to charge, but Richie joined Bill and also began to fire rocks at Moose. Richie was unimpressed with Moose’s rhetoric on the subject of what might or might not constitute yellowbelly behavior; he had seen the five of them chasing one scared kid, and he didn’t think that exactly put them up there with King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. One of Richie’s missiles split the skin above Moose’s left eyebrow. Moose howled.
Eddie and Stan Uris moved up to join Bill and